Bobbing around the Aeolians.

I'm not sure what it is that attracts me to Volcanoes. Is it their immense power? Is it their steamy nature? Is it their explosive unpredictability? I think Mrs K may have volcanic tendencies. Anyway our first stop on leaving the rather scruffy Millazzo was the island of Vulcano from which I believe all volcanoes get their name, except for the' U'.

We slid in to the East bay of Levante and were immediately approached by a berth hungry rib driver who wanted to put us up for a mere 60 Euros for the night or we could rough it on a mooring bouy for a mere 50 Euros we decided to anchor for no Euros and managed to get a top spot not too far from the Beach.

It's one thing being attracted to volcanoes and another having to walk up the bloody things. However it was a must and we donned our hiking sandals and joined the long line of tired old people making for the top in the blistering heat.

Two steamy volcanoes.

With the whole reason for the climb being the view and an opportunity to take a picture of my beloved - Hermy. There she is nearest the beach. Oh and Mrs K too. We liked Vulcano so stopped for a couple of nights at anchor swimming in the bubbling sea and taking in the smelly aroma of Sulphur  gases.

We decided that the low lying island of Panarea should be our next stop about ten miles North and out towards that other Volcano Stromboli.

The weather was a little blowy and a bit swelly from the North East which made Panarea a 'not so good' place to try to anchor for the night. Careful seaman like observations can confirm this in the way that no other bugger has tried to. So we circumnavigated Panarea after missing some nasty rocks and made for Salina, an island about 8 miles to the West. Sure enough we got there and saw five other boats anchored up so we crept behind them and anchored up among our new mates. Well it was like Hermy was the scratchy kid at school who no one wanted to sit next to. Within an hour they .all picked up their tackle and sodded off. We reassessed our situation, does Hermy need a bath? Yes, We were still a little exposed to the North East and I spotted a big 'no anchoring' sign on my chart so we did the same and left.

We kept out of this guy's way, we didn't want any give way lessons from him and went in to a little village called Rinella on the south coast of Salina. A pretty little spot with moorings for 40 Euros. We had had enough by then so took them up on it.

We climbed a hill and found a bar overlooking the harbour. Lovely. The above hydrofoil called in here about three or four times a day but no one seemed to get on or off, very strange, still a quiet and pretty village where the major excitement was a fisherman in the harbour hauling an octopus on board that had crept beneath his boat for a quiet night. After a little rough treatment he was ready for the pot.

A sail around the island showed off its rugged landscape.

And we headed for Pignatara the northerly end of Lipari town on Lipari Island and got a berth for 50 Euros and could have had a three for the price of two. Eolmare marina was well managed and had lovely people dockside although the lady in the office had that Italian lady look that made me feel that I had just wet myself on her new carpet. She did however speak good English and despite her inherent disapproval of me. she was very efficient. I am sure Mrs K has some Italian in her.

Despite being ripped off paying 8 Euros for two small beers and the 'Would you like to take a boat ride?' Touters, Lipari was quite an interesting little town with some nice shops and of course a castle plateau that seems to have been inhabited for  thousands of years. It was quite disappointing that after such a time its link to famous people seemed to be confined to Natalie Umbruglio's dad being born here. Even he left when he was five. Although apparently St Bartholemew washed up here having been martyred in Asia. A tricky sail in an iron coffin.

The Museum however was tip top.

A 2000 year old wine shipment.

One of the major trading commodities throughout history was the sale of Obsidian. A strange black, glass/ flint material belched out of volcanoes which turned out to be useful in the sharp and pointy tools world, very much like flint. It was also believed to have therapeutic effects creating inner  clarity, equilibrium and harmony giving calmness and reflection. A slight contradiction having just been jettisoned from an angry and upset volcano. I wanted to buy Mrs K a lump of this stone.

When there are only two of you crewing a boat then you are constantly aware of the other person and constantly looking out for their safety. You have to be prepared to be the life saver, the help when none is available. It's in our sub consciousness it's a kind of sixth sense. you become aware when one may be in danger.  So just prior to leaving Lipari and in preparing Hermy to leave, my overconfidence in managing the plank got the better of me and in I went. I came to the surface knowing my partner and co-sailor would be there. No Mrs K was hoovering. Didn't hear a thing.

 I emerged, showered, dressed and then realised my sunglasses were missing. So in again to retrieve them. I need a lump of that Obsidian stone.

Back to Vulcano. West bay Porto Ponente, for the night.

All the weather Apps seemed to align and say that the weather would deteriorate. Mr Heikell says don't hang around in the Aeolians in such circumstances so we left this serene anchorage and ran for Cap d'Orlando the nearest safe harbour. Very posh.

That's Mainland Italy done

The running, or rather feeble jogging, continued to go poorly. Second time out and using some odd App called Strava I managed to take a wrong turn and ran the wrong side of the railway line. I realised a mile in to it when going back was just as far as carrying on. I think I might try Pilates.

Our time at Vibo Valentia Marina had come to an end and it was time to make for Sicily. It might be September but Italians still know how to charge too much for overnight stops in Marinas. So off we set to anchor off Tropea but it had a bit of a rocky bottom so we back tracked two miles to a little spot where we saw others anchored at Parghelia.

By night time we were alone and after a bit of a roly night we decided to make for the small port of Bagnara Calabra. Seemed a bit dodgy and not seeing any other yachts we made for Scilla towards the entrance of the Messina straits. Apart from a small encounter with a pot bellied Italian motor boater who after crossing our bows decided to do a U turn at close quarters and then tried to make out he had right of way, which he did technically.I think he was testing us. I wanted to test his knowledge of the abandon ship procedure by cutting his little motor boat in half but Mrs K wouldn't let me and we duly gave way with some interesting international gestures. I think I am spotting a trait amongst Italian motor boaters.

Going to Scilla was a good decision. A very pretty little town.

And lovely harbour.

Hermy is moored in the centre disconcertingly clear water as all rocks were visible. The castle was great with its little museum and fantastic views. Mrs K liked the views .On the other side is a really nice beach too.

Apart from Scilla's association with Greek mythology it is famous for swordfish fishing and today they use a weird type of boat to harpoon them with a really long front and a helm at the top of the mast. Crazy.

I think it may be possible to take your love for swordfish too far!

Anyway we liked Scilla and spent another night there anchored off the beach. A young German man swam up to us and asked if we would like a couple of tuna steaks as he had caught a whopper the day before. We said yes please and in exchange for a bottle of plonk we got some massive lumps of fish that did two meals one just fried and one with pasta.

It was at this point that I began to wonder whether the stars were in fact fully aligned when Mrs K and I took up the gauntlet of marriage. I was raving about the tuna and particularly the pasta dish when Mrs K cut in and said " I prefer tinned." Now I had noticed that she wasn't as enthusiastic about historic archaeological sites as I first thought after she had made a few 'Rubble' comments and as we crossed the Messina straits I was explaining a bit about the history of Sicily when she said " I don't give a stuff about all that, will we see Inspector Montalbano's house?" Inspector Montalbano being our latest box set in Sicily.

Well I was taken aback but we spent a day at Milazzo which has a great archaeological museum, Mrs K agreed to come as it was free and I thought I spotted her looking up some artefact on her phone.

Next stop The Aeolian Islands.

It's all too much!

A trip home seemed to be much needed. Mrs K was suffering in the heat, marinas were very expensive and socialising was scarce. Mrs K is usually good at keeping her cool but I had detected the odd sign of stress in some of her subtle actions. For instance whilst drying up, just allowing the large chef's knife to linger in her hand. Feeling the weight of the large frying pan in a sort of, 'could this double as a club kind of way, suggesting that rather than taking a  mask and snorkel swimming I might want to take the stern anchor with me. Or after a long and tiring journey back to Blighty and, just as I was about to set off driving to  Hampshire alone, saying "be careful we don't want any accidents you're cooking the Sunday lunch."

A measure of true love and happiness seldom seen in a couple cooped up on a boat together for several months.

Mrs K contemplates a suitable replacement for a husband?

We had returned for a wedding, a visit to Granny M and an 80th birthday holiday with Granddad to Majorca. We needed some more sun.

The trouble with Granddad is he is so serious.

So shopping was called for and Mrs K took me in to Primark 'because I'm worth it.

'

All went well despite the penknife at the airport saga, we hit Majorca with the family. Food, beer and wine prevailed and weight increased. Despite my children's intellectual prowess and their ability to show self restraint I still think there is a genetic link.

Note Mrs K busying herself poolside!

Not just debauchery but some serious activities took place. Walking across mountains, exhausting table tennis tournaments and the canoeing windsurfing missing link activity, paddle boarding. We also had some surprising success in the fishing department.

It was at the final meal that we witnesses something remarkable.

We were at the Coral Restaurant, not as pictured here, but at our other favourite Pollenca restaurant when suddenly there was a screech and a thump, the distinctive sound of a collision. I turned round to see a cyclist spread-eagled on the road and a young man emerging from his now stopped car. He had turned right in to the path of the cyclist who had hit the stern, starboard quarter of the vehicle. I thought 'bugger, we will have to go to the aid of the, surely dying, cyclist before the first course.' But no, said cyclist got up and stood there looking at the driver. My thoughts now changed to 'should we try to prevent the cyclist from beating the driver to death with his bicycle pump?' But no, the driver apologised, the cyclist accepted it, they chatted for a while and hugged before they parted company. Well raise my rent! Could that have happened in Maidstone?

Lovely holiday from all that sailing. We returned to Blighty without a hitch and before we knew it we were back at Stansted and boarding a Ryanair flight back to Lamezia and the good ship Hermy. Although we had a bit of a shock as Hermy was not there. Frantic looking around we spotted her a few places up. Mario explained that Hermy was a small boat in a big space and that he had towed her to her new position. I explained that I could relate to his scenario and we found Hermy in good shape.

 I had learnt a few things on this return trip to England, particularly around how we are all aging, Granddad and Granny M now oxygenairians and both my brothers now in their sixties. Using my great mathematical skills I worked out that, if lucky, I would be 80 in 23 years time which suddenly felt rather near, particularly since Daughter was 24 years old and only a short time ago she was two. 

I decided I needed a plan, a health plan. Life was simply assessed, too much wine and beer, not enough exercise therefore two stone overweight. If I wanted to drink I would have to exercise so I decided that allotted drink days would have to be preceded by exercise. We had arrived back at Vibo Valentia Marina on such an allotted day so I declared that I would run to the supermarket in order to do the replenishing shop and therefore deserve my beer.

I duly set off leaving Mrs K looking up emergency numbers and after a half hearted stretch I jogged off. The supermarket was about a mile away and all seemed surprisingly well. In order to exercise you need a beer incentive. Simple. After dodging a few Italian kamikaze drivers I made it on to a pavement and got in to my stride, or rather lumber. At half a mile I hit 'the wall' or at least I thought so as I smashed head first in to the ground. Someone had put a step in the pavement and moving faster than my brain could take I had tripped, landed and bounced in to a complete heap on the ground. A bit like a felled Rhino. After a loud and very English expletive I dragged myself up and came face to face with an elderly Italian lady. Her expressionless face said nothing but her eyes said "Aren't you too old and fat to be running?" Of course she was right but spurred on by beer I carried on and made it all the way to Conad, breathless and triumphant.

Luckily, if you spend enough, Conad deliver your shopping back to the marina and the nice chap gave me a lift too.

Mrs K inspecting the scene of her husband's crash landing. Notice how she hides her smile.

We decided that since we were at Vibo Valencia Marina we should get the bus to Vibo Valentia town 11 KM away on a hill. We caught a large bus and negotiated the tiniest roads and corners along with the other two passengers and arrived at a somewhat spread out kind of town but with a great castle.

Mrs K made no mention of 'Rubble' and I think her storminess may have passed.

The castle and its archaeological museum was the best part of the town and made the trip worthwhile. The bus journey back only being hampered by the lack of bus stops and when we did find one a bus driver going the opposite way told us we were on the wrong side as it was a circular route. He didn't explain why there was a bus stop on the other side though.

So back to it and to await the arrival of the Bennetts.