Exploring the North coast of Sicily.

We hid from the weather at Capo D'Orlando little did we know that it would become a 'Medicane' whatever the hell that means. Anyway luckily, although things livened up meteorologically speaking, the worst of it headed off to Greece so it wasn't too bad. Nevertheless we had booked a week here so we decided to explore using that far more adventurous method of getting about, the Italian public transport system.

So with Hermy tied up well we booked an apartment in Palermo for two nights which was cheaper than the cost of berthing Hermy in this, very new but half empty, marina.

Palermo is the capital of Sicily this most fought over island. Little did Mrs K know that she was going to see far more rubble than she anticipated.

Indeed most of Palermo is reused rubble from the last three thousand years. We went to see the Norman Palace which was half closed so we didn't end up doing it. We did wander around the Balero market and tried their street food which wasn't too bad but we got charged tourist prices so we didn't eat too much of that. The highlights of the stay were the tour of Conte Federico's Palace having a guided tour by his eldest son who was great.

Of course Mrs K wants an inner courtyard in our next house!

The Cathedral was a must, too, as it was the burial place of Roger II who was a Norman just like William the Conqueror and at roughly the same period they were taking over large parts of Southern Italy. 

As has happened a couple of times now Mrs K has been deemed a tad indecent by the Catholic church who have insisted that we cover her with some kind of tarpaulin so that she doesn't alarm the good Catholics of the parish.

Strangely enough, next on our list was a guided tour of the medieval prison where the university had uncovered extensive graffiti left by the heretics, contained there during the Spanish inquisition. This was where the good Catholics tortured those that didn't quite tow the line. Mrs K would have been a candidate.

Next on the list, for me anyway, was the Archaeological museum . Mrs K went shopping and left me to it. It was good because it explained what you were looking at, when and where it was found and how old it was. We imagine everything we see today is modern yet these 2400 year old fishing hooks look very much as good as todays.

Best of all were the moulded lead sling shots from about the same time that had been moulded with writing on, some saying which king they served, some saying whose army they were in but most interestingly many had insults on.

So you were charging some fortification when you were hit in the head with one of these. You came too and picked up the offending lump of lead and it said 'gotcha you turd'. To add to the insult when it came to your turn to examine your injury with the regimental mirror you saw that the same friendly words were imprinted on your forehead. Fantastic!

All in all Palermo was a good place to visit and we couldn't do it justice in the three days we had. We were quite pleased with ourselves that we had negotiated the train system and their ticket machines and had survived the mad, tiny streets inhabited by pedestrians, cars, scooters and animals without coming to an untimely end.

The other place on the North coast worth a visit is the town of Cefalu. Again inhabited since humans started inhabiting places it was our old mate Roger II who really put it on the map having allegedly sought refuge there during a stormy voyage from Salerno in 11 something. He was so grateful he built a cathedral, as you might expect and a castle right on top of a steep hill overlooking the port.

Now the Cathedral is famous for its mosaic of Christ in the ceiling which is apparently the oldest of its type.

And the views from the 'Rock' where he built the castle were stunning.

Looking East.

And West.

Now Mrs K declared herself a steady and calm completer - finisher whilst eluding to the idea that I was a chaotic starter - stop for a beerer but we completed the whole walk around the Rock of Cefalu and it was very much worth it even taking in the almost 3000 year old temple of Diana.

If you carry rocks this big up a huge hill and build a temple then few are likely to want to nick them and carry them back down.

Anyway after quite a hectic week Mrs K was looking forward to a quiet Sunday relaxing before we set off again when I suggested we went for a short walk and took her to see the Roman thermal baths at Capo D'Orlando. Now I don't think there was any excuse for describing this historic spot as just a pile of more rubble.

Well the breaks over! Back to sailing around.

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.

Slipping down the boot of Italy

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!.

A bit of signage wouldn't go amiss.

I feel I must speak to the Italian nation on behalf of the rest of the world when I say please concentrate on the signs that tourists might find useful particularly in the touristy places like railway stations. We do appreciate the clear English signs that say don't cross the lines in every station but that seems to be it. The central railway station in Naples has a helpful picture of a bus that in fact does lead you to the bus station but there are no pavements and you mingle with the cars, scooters, trams and buses to get to the office. Grateful to be alive you make enquiries only to be told that this is the bus station but the airport bus goes from just outside the train station. Being English you want to explode into a rage of why the hell don't you bloody well say that before I have risked my life and more importantly that of Mrs K to get here only to find this out you complete and utter nincompoop! 

But you don't. You smile sweetly and say 'oh okay thanks.' No wonder I'm on bloody blood pressure tablets. 

That was on the way back to Blighty. Our return journey was filled with hope when leaving the Airport there were numerous signs showing the way to the Alibus that takes you to the train station and the port. Sat comfortably on the bus we noted all signage had disappeared and despite asking we sat on the bus expecting it to call at the station entrance but it didn't. It stopped on the other side of the square. So failing to recognise it and failing to get off we had an impromptu bus tour of Naples we did finally return to the station and felt our way to the Salerno train platform via the 'What the hell was that all about?' Ticket machine.

Strangely it felt good to be back in Salerno and boosted by an 'Easyrider' beer, burger and chips we returned to find Hermy just as we left her. Apart from one stuck bloody seacock.

The reason for the trip home was to see Son graduate with first class honours. Living proof that hard work works. Bit late for me to discover that! Also Mrs K had an hair appointment.

Proud mum and dad.

So back on the boat and I go through my repertoire of how to deal with stuck things. Leverage, Wd40 swearing, hitting with hammer, heating up, more hitting, remember where lump hammer is, seacock freed without sinking, fantastic. I love my lump hammer. Main toilet back in use. Seacocks, you have to exercise them you know! I hate boats!

Right an expensive month so I am informed that cutting back is necessary no more extravagant 2 Euro bottles of wine its now litre boxes for less than 1.80. Also we need to do more anchoring so we slip out of Solerno marina, fuel up and anchor off the beach for the first night. Not too bad a night although had to listen to some dodgy music. Next day a lovely sail to Agropoli saving fuel.

Then we popped in to Agropoli harbour to check out the transit berths we had read somewhere that it was okay to anchor under the cliffs so we chanced our arm and did just that half expecting to be moved on but we are not. Great.

Even the ferries didn't complain.

Our view of the cliff. Nice swim too. Scraped off hermy's prop which was a bit crusty. I don't mind doing this but I do get covered in blue antifoul and come out looking like a cross between Benny Hill and an Avatar.

We had a good night and rowed ashore to explore in the morning. Although the hill was steep the Aragonese castle was lovely and entry only 1 Euro each. Quite a busy town with a nice little beach and a few water sporty things. I am surprised that Salerno and Agropoli aren't at least as touristy as Amalfi and Sorrento. I know which I prefer.

Note Hermy guarding the entrance. 

After our explore and our failure to find any gas bottles we decided to slip over to the transit quay which again was free for the first 24 hours. I think I am pleasing Mrs K but there are no outward indications of it as yet. I think it might be too hot for any pleasing at the moment. 

I continued my search for gas bottles and after some direction from the nice lady at the chandlers I was directed to an info point in town where I asked again and the young girls smiled and pointed across the road to the dirk great sign that said gas bottles in English!

Great. It was a fruit and veg shop but he took my bottle and filled it for only 10 Euros. We like Agropoli. We had a quick visit from our friends Nat and Sal who were holidaying in Naples.

Then it rained.

Mrs K has two umbrellas. She likes umbrellas!

We left Agropoli having spent four free nights there very pleased with ourselves and headed for Acciaroli. We anchored for lunch and decided to stay the night at Oligastro as the weather was settled. Acciaroli gave us fuel but said they were full so we anchored of the beach as instructed by the gasoline man who was also the harbourmaster. Not a bad spot we could dinghy in to the town for supplies and ice cream and were pretty well sheltered. Made friends with Pete and Heather and their friends on their Cat, Absolutely Magic who were travelling our way and grumbled about costs just like us but multiplied by two as Cats are huge. 

Another night anchored beneath the cliffs at Palinuro having not bothered with Camerota took us to eight nights at anchor in a row. But now short of water and food we decided to bite the bullet and go in to Scario for the night. Called Scario because of the costs of 100 Euros for the night but a nice little spot and despite the lack of signs got the shopping and laundry done.

Fully stocked and having listened to an open air concert drinking carton wine we felt that we hadn't been too badly done to by Scario. Back to anchoring!