So leaving Scario behind we make for the anchorage a Sapri
only six miles away.
It was one of those none rushy days so we pulled out the
sails and sat back to glide slowly and silently to our destination barely
making two knots. Lovely. My kind of work pace.
The thing about anchoring is that if there is one other boat
anchored it is where you want to be. No matter where you go you end up looking
at the other boat and thinking if he would just move over a bit than everything
would be better. But your mind is drawn away from such thoughts usually by four
things in Italy, firstly there will be some twit hairing around on some kind of
high pitched water speed machine causing waves around the anchorage. Then there
will be the incessantly barking dog in the distance. Thirdly beach music will
thud out just as you are settling down and if all that fails there will be some
pointless and tuneless bell ringing extravaganza for no apparent reason at all.
Strangely I seem to be the only person in Italy grumbling about these issues,
no Italians seem to hear it.
The other boat at Sapri was our South African friends on
their huge catamaran 'Absolutely Magic'. The only consolation for me was that I
knew secretly that the Cat's Skipper heard these things too.
Despite these issues we had quite a good night at Sapri and
set off the next morning with a vague plan to anchor somewhere near the Island
of Dino after popping in to Maratea to get some fuel.
As usual we went through the 'everyones parked where I want
to park' routine and ended up at a little place called Saracen's Grotto where,
strangely, the best spot was in fact empty so I took it and sat there proudly
half expecting someone to turn up and give a very good reason why no one else
had anchored there. No one came and I think I detected a few envious looks from
other boaties. The Grotto was a very busy little spot with tourist boats
picking up and dropping people off on the beach.
We even got a visit from a guy who had introduced a fifth
most annoying element to my anchorage sounds. He was a vendor of some sort and
continually hooted a hooter with the aim being that the only way to stop him
was to buy something from him.
Quite a nice chap really who told us all about his famous
name and how famous the beach was although we did struggle with his English a
little as he insisted he was selling coconuts but probably meant coca cola.
We were sure that once the tourist boats left we would have
a comfortable night but unfortunately, although things did quieten down, a bit
of a roll set in causing us to bob about like a cork all night.
An early start due to
the rolyness and we made for the only remaining harbour along Italy's lower
shin, Cetraro.
Cetraro's claim to fame seems to revolve around the dumping
of toxic waste by the Mafia of the area who were accused, by an ex member, of
sinking ships off the coast containing barrels of nasty stuff. It might account
for the strange fish you see in the markets, three eyes one leg and a beak!
Anyway a nice night anchored just outside the marina near the
beach. We also managed a trip to a local Lidl much to Mrs K's delight. More
stuffed vine leaves and part baked baguettes.
In line with the lack of harbours our next sail was 50
nautical miles to Vibo Valentia just near Italy's big toe. As usual not a breath
of wind so Hermy's engine would take the strain.
Mrs K busies herself around the boat!
We listened to Sunday love songs via Mrs K's computer giving
tips on how to be romantic. I made Mrs K a romantic cup of tea and pumped out
the holding tank for her. No tips needed here!
Whilst I was engaged in these activities I recalled a
comment by Mrs K about how I can sit for hours on my boat but sit me on a beach
and I can't stay there for more than ten minutes. Strange but true. I call it
boat philosophy. Mrs K also commented on the poor condition of my toe nails and
when would I get round to trimming my nasal hair. Romance is alive and well on
the Yacht Hermione.
We arrived safely at Vibo Valentia and met up with the South
African Cat again. And met Angela the Canadian co-owner of the Marina who gave
us a good run down on the Italian sailor.
We had a couple of days off and were invited aboard the
South African Cat for drinks. It's not really a Catamaran but an oil rig painted white with a sail. It is huge. Note to self be careful drinking with South
Africans, they keep on filling up your glass. (Note says find more South
Africans.)
The very next hung over day we decided that a visit to
Stromboli was called for and off we set across the forty two mile stretch of
water to get there, Again not a breath.
Soon the burbling old man loomed in to view. Described as a
dribbler not a boomer. I understand that feeling. It was very busy so we
decided to go round the island as we are told the exciting bit is on the West
side.
Well they were sort of right. The old man wasn't that dribbly of late just gave off a plume of
gas every now and again but the weather did pick up and before we knew it we
were bouncing along dodging boats seeking more sheltered spots.
We returned to the East side and looking at what other boats
were doing we made for a small beach and after a warning about mooring chains
we picked a surprisingly good spot we thought. The problem with being the boat
that got it right is that other people, in a crowded anchorage will come too
close to you to feed off your advantage. It's just like being a pop star I
imagine. Well as close as I'll get to knowing what that feels like. Anyway all
seemed well. Until we realised that we had just managed to park right under the
'all bloody night' disco. If there were church bells, speed boats, hooting
vendors or barking dogs they were all bloody drowned out by the, so called,
music.
The DJ from hell finally wound up at 5 am just as a huge
wind blew up and the guy who I thought was too close wasn't but the damn great
motor launch that I thought was miles away suddenly started to make unwanted
advances on Hermy. We upped anchor and fled.
Mr Heikell says that you should get out of the Aeolian
islands at the first sign of bad weather which was probably the day before. We
needed sleep so we made for the nearest port, Tropea back on the mainland. A
very lumpy crossing and a very expensive marina. Well at least we will sleep.
No there was a bloody Elvis impersonator at the marina bar. What the hell is
going on in Italy?
They did do a free bus in to town so we went up the next
morning and were pretty impressed by it. Very old with nice streets and lovely
beaches.
We needed more nights at anchor to balance the books and
being charged 7 euros for two bottles of iced tea from the Latticini
supermarket in Tropea made us decide not to have lunch out. I thought she said
two euros but it turned out to be three
fifty each. I must work on my Italian or use my fingers more.
Well back to Vibo Valentia for yet another trip home.
Weddings, birthdays. It's all very difficult you know!.
