West Side Story

The decision was made, travel back to Blighty, attend 25th wedding anniversary, visit friends and family and go to old friend's, but far too young to die, funeral. The yacht's planner (Mrs K) leapt into motion and we needed to catch a ferry, a bus, a plane, a train, and cadge a lift from Granddad. Easy all booked.

9 hours there eight hours back to the boat. Took me a while but I worked out why in the end.

We sat next to a lovely Sardinian lady both on the way out and surprisingly on the way back too. She worked to rid the world of modern slavery although she was quite dismissive of my case against Mrs K.

Deadlines cause more sailing disasters than anything else. So we have to be on the Italian mainland by 11th June. Where are we now? The bottom of Sardinia. That's three weeks in which to do it.

It'll be fine!

Not sure why Mrs K made me sit here just after I said that!

Our first stop 45 nautical miles up the West coast was Oristano. I dearly wanted to go in to the small port of Buggeru but as the name suggests it is very silted up and is limited to boats of less than 10 Metres. Hermy doesn't mind shallow but she is no size 10.

Weather is rainy and someone has plonked tuna nets stretching out a couple of miles off Capo Altano. How inconsiderate.

Now I had heard that to the North of Oristano Bay, just under the ruins of the ancient town of Tharros, there were mooring bouys where it was a little too early in the season for the owners to be bothered to collect any fees. So in an effort to satisfy Mrs K's frugal desires we plumbed for them.

Rainy and lumpy. Note how the extendable deck brush stops the bimini filling with water. Modern technology! As the night went on it got lumpier and creakier. No sleep. I had not satisfied my wife's need for slumber. Bad husband!

The weather had come in and we had to decide whether to hide at Porto Torres or go for Bosa 30 miles up the coast. The deadline won the day and we had a bouncy motorsail North with a toot and a wave from a passing coast guard motor launch. I believe Sardinian for 'what on earth are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in a bar somewhere?'

Mr Heikell says that if it is blowing more than a force four then it is dangerous to enter Bosa River due to large breaking waves. Luckily it was fine and the waves died down and the sun came out.

Bosa has gone on my list of top Sardinian spots. It has a castle, a river, a museum,  a tower, a church, tiny medieval streets, a port and a beach. That just about ticks everything.

Now despite our lack of sleep and due to our lack of time on docking we had to go exploring and with Malaspina Castle sitting on top of the hill that was a must.

Mrs K was fueled with ice cream which improves her hill climbing qualities.

And up we went.

You could just imagine marauders coming up the river and seeing this castle and thinking do we have enough ice cream to take that?

Not being content with her ability to steer Hermy better than me Mrs K determined that she needed more knowledge about the finer workings of our boat and stated that she wanted to know what goes on in the engine room each morning. I had to confess that it may not be quite  the scientific process I may have lead her to believe and I showed her how to check the oil and water and look for things that didn't look right. She picked it up and she has also taken to planning and plotting our journey's too. I realised that my emasculation was complete when on leaving Bosa harbour and getting underway Mrs K  said "Hoi Galley boy get bellow and make the tea." I think I need to speak to our Sardinian lady on the plane again.

A lovely sail to Alghero under the command of Captain K.

Five hours to do 20 miles but sailing is much better than motoring even under a tyrannical captain.

The Bottom Passage!

The trouble with bloody rain on a boat is it points out that your boat leaks but not in any way that is useful because a leak that starts at the mast can show itself in the stern cabin. Also because there is so much moisture in the air and ventilation is down to a minimum then condensation develops and slides along whatever edge it likes then drops water drops in any particular spot. Usually just near a screw or hatch making you think that there is a leak when there isn't. It's not easy having a boat.

Mrs K becomes a little stir crazy when boat bound and has to take up a position to spy on the neighbours to see how they are struggling. Although she does seem a little happier now that I have a mosquito bite on my arm.

Continuing with the condensation theme I really don't get it, women seem to know things. We have a lovely stern berth on Hermy and when it came to selecting sides Mrs K said she would let me sleep on the side with the hatch above it. I saw this as a real win as I could look at the stars  and see the dawn rising and escape first if we sank at night. 

Now just going back to the condensation edge dribbling point it wasn't long before one morning lying on my side a large and cold blob of water landed in my left ear. In a half conscious state I repositioned myself on my back in order to receive the next blob right in my left eye. A subsequent shuffle lined up my right ear perfectly to receive what felt like an inordinately large blob. Well I awoke in a 'to do' and ranted at the hatch only to catch a glimpse of Mrs K rolling over with a wry smile on her face. Women. They know these things!

Now you don't buy a boat and sail all the way to Cagliari just to suffer Macclesfield weather. But we did. We even got our wellies out which have not been used at all in three seasons. Luckily the handle on this five litre box of grape juice didn't give out until I was on board. Then I opened it and I gave out.

Ten days in Cagliari waiting for the weather and finally it sorts itself out. We say goodbye to the nice French, American, Spanish and English people we have met and hot foot it out of the harbour. Being a commercial port makes it a bit more complicated with its four lane traffic separation scheme and a prohibited area just off the oil refinery at Sarroche adds to your problems. Anyway I thought I had done it right but you can never be too sure. I usually rely on VHF  Channel 16 which usually bursts in to life with words like 'the yacht in position so and so are you receiving? And that hesitant reply 'Hello Yacht Hermione do you mean me?' But nothing this time and just as I am congratulating myself and trying to get Mrs K to appreciate the importance of correct navigation techniques, I looked over my shoulder and I could see a grey, very military type, boat making for my stern. Most boats approaching from behind will offset their course to make it clear that they will overtake you but this one didn't. They only send a boat when you are really in trouble!

He wanted me and came alongside asking for my papers and passports. Interestingly they didn't board but poked a large net at me to drop my stuff in to which I duly did wondering which violation I was guilty of.  After five minutes they reappeared and poked the net back at me with my papers in saying everything was fine and 'enjoy your holiday.' 

I did get the feeling that a more economic way of checking boaties papers might be to stroll along the dock when we are in harbour but the presence of his, albeit covered up, machine gun made me select my words very carefully just as Mrs K had taught me over the years. We continued on our way and finally anchored up at Teulada bay just next to the Budello tower for the night. Built in 1601 to protect a fish pond. Bloody poachers. At least we weren't kept awake by the bloody Dutchman's bloody dog in Cagliari.

It wasn't the Dutchman's dog but some other bloody dog as well as a bit of rocking that kept us awake but not  too a bad night.

Teulada has very little around it other than a pretty landscape and one of the largest live firing ranges in Italy. The trouble with these ranges is that they simply draw a large square extending a long way out to sea and say ' Live firing, dangerous to enter.' Great, we say, and where do we find out if there are any trigger happy artillery soldiers on duty today? Well it mentions the' Italian Annual Summary Firing Ranges' but that reveals nothing on the internet that I could find and anyway sounds like it might just be a list of their yearly successes. 50 targets 3 motorboats a fisherman and 12 yachts!

The trouble with this square is that it had been drawn right in our way and I didn't fancy going  round it. So Channel 16 on, main sail up, motor on full and go, was my meticulous strategy. A keen look out for any flashing and listen for low flying jets. You can't stop imagining how tempting a small slow moving blob on a flat landscape is to a bored artillery soldier.

Despite no other boats being about we pressed on and were within two miles of the exit line of the square when the radio crackled up ' yacht Cannonball, Cannonball this is Echo India 321 are you receiving? It took a minute to work out that this wasn't a warning about an incoming cannonball. The rather irritated man on the radio only got an answer after about five calls interestingly in English and with a slight hesitation in the skippers voice he explained that he was sorry as his radio was on channel 9 as he had just come from the marina. He was duly told off that he was in a live firing range during a military exercise and was given a course by which to exit. Interestingly a similar course to our exit point. Luckily we had been too far out to get a call but I can imagine the temptation on their part to pop off a warning 30 pounder!

Just when we were getting a little bored we were joined by a couple of dolphins who obliged by swimming under our bows and consented to a photo. Lovely.

This event occurred just as we passed the Island of Sant Antioch. Again a place of importance to the Phoenicians and the Romans for its resources of silver and lead. Originally known as Sulki Island then the island of Lead. Clearly it needed a dead saint to come floating in so that it may receive a more appropriate name. And, luckily, just that happened when Sant Antioch having been despatched in Africa, no doubt for listening to Christians,  washed up together with his identification papers and became the patron saint of the island. His remains are in the very old church above the town to prove it.

We were making for the Island of Sant Pietro named after a short weather bound stop over by St Peter. The town of Carloforte is actually one of the more picturesque of our travels and reasonably priced so we decide that this was a good place to stop for a quick jaunt home.

Very Pretty. Would be even prettier in the sunshine. Still We hear it is really sunny in Blighty!

It rains in Cagliari too!

Keeping Mrs K happy is the duty of all around her and I was sensing that a distinct lack of civilisation was beginning to get to her. So in order to carry out my duty I suggested that we stay in Cagliari for a few days rest as this is the capital of Sardinia and should be busier than we have encountered so far.

We sailed, or rather motored from our nice anchorage and entered the bay of Cagliari.

We opted for the family run marina Del Sole in the right hand corner of the harbour at 20 Euros a night and a discount if you stay a week. They knew how to make Mrs K happy.

As it happened we had arrived at a particularly festive time as it was the celebration of St Efisio and his ridding Cagliari of the plague in 16 something. Apparently the promise was that if he got rid of the plague the town would hold a procession from Cagliari to where he was beheaded on the beach at Nora about 20 miles up the coast and further by road. The trip goes on over four days in all but has been observed for the last 350 years or so. 

Efisio had been a Roman soldier sent to persecute Christians and savages in Sardinia but had converted to Christianity. It is always dangerous to listen to those you are persecuting! Emperor Diocletian saw this as a breach of contract and had him dragged from Cagliari to Nora where his head was duly lopped. It's not clear why they dragged him so far for this. I don't think they were thinking future yearly processions at the time. Apparently he promised to protect Cagliarians just before sentence was pronounced. So we will hang around and enjoy that.

We had a good explore and was pleasantly surprised at the amount of interesting things there are to do and see.They had their own Roman amphitheatre for dispatching Christians and entertaining the richer Romans although there were cheaper seats. The tunnels and caves were for introducing wild animals to the unsuspecting performers.

They have a nature reserve.

Flamingoes in the salt flats. Apparently this area and the nature reserve behind it attract a great many species. Note how bird wildlife are happy to pose for the cameras.

Weird plants in the botanic gardens. Even plants can think hang on a minute I may need to broaden my stance if I can't diet.

The ancient centre has many old and unique buildings often built on Roman foundations but even before this the Phoenicians, whoever they were, settled here about 700 BC.

They had a real tough way of burying their dead.

Digging out these tombs from the limestone at Tuvixeddu can't have been easy. There are about 1700 of these still remaining despite 2000 years of quarrying. You can just imagine the conversation:

"Where shall we bury our dead? Shall we find a nice soft earthy area or what about that really hard patch of Limestone over there?"

Clearly someone didn't like someone in the Phoenician camp.

What I like about Sardinia and particularly Cagliari is that prices are reasonable. I recall spending eight Euros on two small beers in Corsica but we had a large one and a small one, I won't say who, and that came to four Euros. I think you can judge a nation on the price of its beer. Also museums galleries and grottos are very cheap if not free to go in. They don't max out on the souvenirs shop  at the end either.

We were wondering around the city looking for St Efisio's church when we came upon a cave or grotto  with a guy sitting there collecting 2 Euros to enter. This was the crypt of Santa Restituta of Africa another victim of the Diocletian 'I'm not having any of those damn Christians around here' campaign. She was captured in Africa , tortured and cast adrift in a burning boat. She did not suffer any burns but did die and washed up on some other Italian island where she was pronounced a Saint. Her relics ended up in Sardinia and this cave, probably dug by the Phoenicians initially as they can't resist a bit of stone chipping, was dedicated to her. Used by many an outcast minority and falling in to disuse for many centuries it became a bomb shelter in world war two and then returned as a shrine attracting a two Euro entry fee. But actually it was very interesting to visit.

Just up the road was the quite plain but obviously quite important church of Sant Efisio. Clearly the church had been built before they realised his plague curing skills otherwise he would have merited a small cathedral but actually a very nice little church because it was cared for. I suppose it helped that we were approaching his four day trek to reminisce on the beach where he was relieved of his swede.

With all this habitation there was also a large amount of archaeology and most of it, unsurprisingly was found in the Archaeology museum. Lots of Nuraghe, Pheonician, Roman and medieval stuff in pretty good repair.

I am sure I use to work with this guy.

King Alfonso of Aragona built a fort and a church on the hill at Bonaria and the current church which has bits of the old one contains the wooden statue of Santa Maria of Bonario. Again there's a great story behind it, it was in a box and chucked overboard from a sinking Spanish ship in  13 something but all suddenly became calm as the box contacted the water. The box subsequently washed up on the port of Bonaria now part of Cagliari harbour and the friars took it in. Presumably thinking this will go nicely in our new church.

The Emperor Charles V of Spain popped in to the Church of St Michele to celebrate his victory over Tunis in 1535.

There were an abundance of Saints in Cagliairi and corresponding Churches. The oldest church being that dedicated to St Saturnino again a victim of that baddy Diacletion but his story is too unclear to recount other than simply beheaded and buried, no long treks or the inconvenience of being washed up, but It all went on in Cagliari.

Unfortunately as you may expect even in sun rinsed destinations like Cagliari if you plan an outdoor festival you can guarantee that it will piss down on the day. And it did.

Large bulls, horses, carriages and people, hundreds of them.

Annoyingly just as you thought something was about to happen it would rain and all the brolleys went up obscuring everything. Still stuck it out until the statue of old Efisio came by at the end.

Nice lunch and back to the boat to entertain, drink wine with, Jim passing through on his 44 footer to Turkey.

Now Mrs K doesn't go on the attack too often but this morning just after a scrambled egg breakfast she casually stated that she had been bitten all over by mosquitoes. She then enquired as to my suffering to which I explained that I was indeed bite free. I was expecting a 'well lucky old you' but I wasn't expecting a  "well bugger you and your rotten old leathery skin." I sometimes think that Mrs K doesn't like to suffer alone.

Right that's enough of enjoying ourselves back to sailing around Sardinia. Just as soon as it stops bloody raining.