Hurtling down the coast of Italy…. At 5 knots!

As the old Army saying goes, ‘I left you in this position’, that is, just outside Rome having waved a fond farewell to the Lynch family after Polly’s wedding.  The Lynchs left on 12^th August and we set off south on 15^th, after waiting for a bit of a southerly blow to go through.  Since then, we’ve been out of internet contact, as the area we’ve been going through, apart from Pompei, isn’t exactly on the tourist trail and lacks such things as internet cafes and bars offering wifi access.  If you’re reading this, it’s because we’ve finally managed to find somewhere to get hooked into the http://www. 

Well, what have we been up to?  I’m writing this exciting instalment at anchor off the coast of the island of Stromboli, just north of Sicily.   Stromboli was not part of the plan initially but we’ll get to that a bit later on.  The reason we’ve been heading south with such determination is to meet up with Jonno and Lucy in Corfu whilst they’re there on holiday.  We’ve been trying to hook up with them since we left UK and the chance of getting together in Corfu was too good to miss, hence the ‘dash’ southwards.  If you care to look at your maps (what, you mean you haven’t got a map of the Med up on the wall so you can see where we are?), you’ll see that it’s about 550 nautical miles from Rome to Corfu via the Straits of Messina.  At 5 knots, that’s about 11 days worth of sailing, so we’ve got more than enough time for the trip.

Having studied the pilot book (a What’s Where of the nautical world), we had come to the conclusion that we’d be staying in marinas most of the time, as there didn’t appear to be many, if any, anchorages on the Italian south coast.  Oh, how wrong I was.  J, with her unerring instinct for a bargain, has managed to find us quite a few.  Our first stop was at Anzio, where I had anticipated going into a modern marina in Nettuno and being able to reacquaint myself with an excellent fish restaurant that I had found on one of my battlefield tours to Monte Cassino and Anzio.  Oh no.  We got there just as night was falling and J spotted a couple of yachts anchored just outside the port of Anzio.  So in we goes, Skipper heart in mouth as the depth vanishes to less than ½ a metre below the keel and down goes the anchor for a quiet night free of charge!

We were up early the next day, heading further south away from the low lying coast of the Pontine Marshes, scene of the bloody battles of the Anzio beachhead in 1944, to the spectacular mountains and sea cliffs of the Italian Riviera and the Amalfi Coast.  That night we did spend in a marina in Geata; a vibrant little town tucked in behind a headland that was once a favoured anchorage for the Italian navy.  After a leisurely start the following morning, we departed across the bay towards Ischia and the Bay of Naples.  We had a great day’s sailing, putting the sails up as we cleared the headland at Geata and running south on a single tack to our destination.

Once again, J had ferreted out a possible anchorage and we tucked in behind a little islet crowned with a wonderful castle in what has to be the most crowded anchorage we’ve ever been in.  There must have been over 100 boats of all shapes and sizes there, full of excitable Italians who have never heard to the idea of minimizing their wash in a crowded area!  We arrived there about 5pm and it was amazing to watch the place clear as the light went; by 8.30pm 90% of the other boats had gone home, leaving us in a lovely peaceful little bay.

The castle where we anchored off Ischia

The next day, we were up bright and early as we had a long trip to make to Salerno, where we had decided to stay for a couple of days to let us visit Pompei.  We had to motor for the morning, as the wind had failed to put in an appearance but as we rounded the headland by Sorrento and entered Salerno bay, we picked a nice wind which took us into the harbour at Salerno.  The pilot book had recommended us to go into the commercial port and find ourselves a berth in the marina there.  This we did, and as we approached we were hailed by a couple of bods on the pontoons who directed us into a berth.  Now, normally berthing is a fairly fraught business, with me trying to avoid putting dents into the neighbouring vessels whilst J connects lines to the shore and so on.  In this marina, by the time, I’d got Rampage lined up and was reversing into the berth, the ormeggiatoris had leapt on board from the neighbouring boats, fended Rampage off from them and did all the work normally done by J and I.  Magic!  Oh, but the cost of such service was exorbitant.  We’ll draw a veil over the price – just let’s say it was as well we’d had a few free nights beforehand.

The next day was Pompei!  I think that as J was the main motivator for this particular expedition, that she should write the account of our adventure.  Over to you, Madam.

Visiting Pompei

Mural on a villa wall.

That first evening in Salerno we set out on a recce to find the railway station as the pilot book recommended travelling to Pompei by train.  Nearly two hours later we returned to Rampage having totally failed in our mission although we did eventually discover that we could get a bus to the station from just outside the port.  Next day we were up and out for 9am and shortly thereafter we boarded a bus only to learn that we should have purchased tickets first.  However since the driver merely shrugged his shoulders and drove off, we made the first bit of the journey free of charge – an entertaining trip all through the tiny backstreets, barely wide enough for the bus to squeeze through and forcing pedestrians to leap for cover in shop doorways.

J takes a breather in the Forum at Pompei

Once at the station, I was taken aback to be sold bus rather than rail tickets when I asked for two tickets to Pompei.  I was told there was more than an hour to wait for the next train and as the tickets were only €3 apiece I didn’t argue too hard.  When we looked at the bus times, the wait seemed almost as long but then we saw a bus for Pompei preparing to leave so we climbed aboard…  The journey went on and on, stopping every few minutes and going through all the back streets of a number of shabby little towns neither of us ever wish to see again.  Duncan was patient for a long time but after an hour and fifty minutes (!) he suddenly could stand no more and said we should abandon the bus.  He’d spotted signs for the Circumvesuvio, the line that encircles Vesuvius and, according to the pilot book, (our bible, you may have noticed,) should take us to the ruins of Pompei. We found the station and bought tickets but the next train was not for a while so we went in search of a cold drink; it was by now 12.30 and we were both feeling fairly despondent.

A decorated fountain in one of the major houses.

The only clue about where to get off the train was a couple of diagrams of ancient temples on the railway plan.  One was at the junction with another line and the other was one stop up on the 2^nd line.  We got off at the first and found ourselves in more shabby backstreets with no signs or anyone to ask about how to find the ruins of Pompei.  We hit rock bottom at this point.  It was ferociously hot; we had no clue which way to go and were seriously starting to think about abandoning the whole expedition.  Eventually, D suggested returning to the station and taking the other line to the second of the possible stations denoted as near to ancient ruins of some sort.  Thankfully this turned out to be the right place with the entrance just a few yards from the station.  It was now 2pm and had taken us five hours to get there.

The Forum - once paved with marble but this as largely robbed out by later inhabitants.

However for me, Pompei itself more than made up for all our trials and tribulations.  I don’t know enough superlatives to convey my impressions.  It was absolutely amazing and the sheer scale of it, not to mention the level of preservation, blew me away!  I loved it and dragged a long-suffering Duncan round for three hours, stopping only briefly for a snack and a drink.  I loved the paved streets with their stepping stones for the pedestrians to avoid the sewage and muck, while allowing chariots, (axels were of a standard width,) to pass either side.  We saw the forum, the temples and the amphitheatres, grand villas and higgledy-piggledy little houses and shops, mosaics and murals, bath houses and the brothel.  It was just unbelievable and I am so thrilled to have been there and seen it all.  I’d thought Ephesus and the Coliseum in Rome were impressive but for me they paled beside Pompei.  I could hardly bear to drag myself away but eventually reason prevailed and we made our way to the exit. 

The main road leading north from the Forum

Duncan then said we needed to get to the main line station where we could catch a train straight back to Salerno.  Neither of us wanted to face the bus again.  It was a fair walk to the station and we were both starting to feel a little weary by then.  En route we passed a Carrefour and decided to buy supper for the next couple of days as, unbelievably, we had failed to find anywhere in Salerno to buy food.  The journey home was much quicker and we were back at Salerno station by 6.30pm.  There was 20 minutes to wait for a bus back to the port so we decided to walk and finally got back to Rampage at 7pm, (passing a supermarket en route,) once more utterly worn out after a day ashore sight-seeing.

The small theatre and a boiled husband

Now back to Duncan:

If it hadn’t been so expensive we might have stayed in Salerno an extra day to recover, but instead we pressed on south.  We sailed on, ever southwards, and did about 45 miles before tucking ourselves away into a little bay behind one of the few headlands on the coast.  Again, the anchorage was crowded with boats small and large but emptied as the light went, leaving only a small handful of boats, mostly sailing yachts, behind.  We were up with the lark again, heading towards a marina this time, about 45 miles south.

Mosic floor

The marina was at a place called Cetraro, a pimple in the middle of nowhere with a bit a dubious write up in the pilot book.  In the event, we found it to be a nice enough and properly finished off now, with floating pontoons, electric points and water.  However, there was nobody there to tell us where to moor, so we came alongside (most unusual in this part of the world, as you nearly always park bow or stern to) and made fast to a jetty just inside the harbour entrance.  Still no one appeared – the normal practice is that some member of staff will appear within seconds of your arrival, either to tell you to go to the office and book in or to get you to move to another berth – but here there was studied indifference.

Southern side of Pompei.

So we strolled down the quay past a couple of boats to ask another English couple what the score was.  They were similarly clueless but had found out that there was a Lidl not too far away.  We stayed and chatted and then made our way together up to a wooden chalet where we thought the office might be.  The notice on the door said it would be open at 5 pm – it was now 5.30 pm, so we decided to wait for someone to turn up.  Eventually, at a few minutes past 6, a chap strolled up and opened the place.  It turned out that the reason that there had been no interest in our arrival was because we’d moored on the ‘town quay’ and it was free for visitors!  If we wanted electricity and water, that would be 10€ for a card loaded with credit for the combined water and electricity meter.  Result!  The chap also phoned for a taxi for us – don’t think it was really a taxi but one of his mates with a big old Merc – who took us all to Lidl, waited for us and then brought us back to the boat.

'Bear Neccessities' en route to Stromboli

Lidl was great, after a dearth of places to shop for food, water and the basics over the past few stops.  We got loads of heavy shopping, enough to keep us going for about a week and both crews made their way back to their boats feeling very happy with life.

We invited James and Tina (their boat is Bear Necessities) round for a drink after we’d eaten and fell to discussing routes and where we were going.  They were on their way to Palermo on Sicily and their next stop was to be the island of Stromboli.  We’d planned to head straight on the next marina along the mainland coast at Vibo Valentia, about 50 miles south (starting to see a pattern here yet? 50 miles is a comfortable day sail).   It turns out that Stromboli was also about 50 miles away and the same again to the Straits of Messina, so we decided to join Bear Necessities on the trip to the island.  Now, Stromboli is a volcanic island, rising up from the sea in a cone.  The volcano is still active, releasing a continuous stream of vapour from the top of the cone and occasional bursts of lava, which is what attracts people to visit the place.

The black sands on the beach at Stromboli

We left early and had quiet crossing, only managing to sail for a couple of hours in the middle of the day.  The anchorage is pretty open but with the settled weather we’ve been having, it wasn’t a huge problem.  We had a swim, something to eat and then all went ashore for a few drinks.  J and Tina were much amazed by the black sand on the beaches and didn’t find it at all attractive.  After the first couple, we set off to look around the place and passed a poster about trips to look at the lava flows by night from the sea.  So on the spur of the moment, we decided to go back to Rampage and head round the island to join in the fun.  It was only a couple of miles round the corner (Stromboli is only about 10 miles round and is roughly square in shape) and we saw what we think was red hot lava on the upper part of the cone and the occasional burst of fire and sparks from the top of the crater lip.  Great trip although there were lots of other boats there, none of them paying much attention to anyone else, so it was a bit nerve wracking for the Skipper keeping one eye on the traffic and the other on the volcano.  It really was one of those nights that will stay with us for a long time.

J and I looked at the charts and where we planned to go next and came to the conclusion that we have a couple of days in hand and still get to Corfu by 31 August, so we decided to take a day off and stay at Stromboli.  Bear Necessities had to meet up with some other friends on the next island along, so they left today, leaving us to go ashore and explore the island a bit more.  The town is small, with very narrow streets so the only vehicles here are little 3 wheeled trucks, golf trolleys and scooters.  There are a few shops, including the usual tourist stuff but also some great bakeries and the like.  Tomorrow, we set sail early for Messina, where we will encounter the only tidal gate in the Med; have to make sure we get there when the tide is in our favour or, like Odysseus, we will never make it through.

Stromboli, seen as we left for Sicily.

That’s all for now.  If we can get this up on the site tomorrow, I don’t think we’ll bother to update it but if it’s any later, we’ll add a bit to it!

Quick update.  We’re now dodging the Sicilian Mafia in Messina on the Straits of the same name between mainland Italy and Sicily.  Having heaved ourselves out of our pits at 6am, the run down here on the motor went well and we caught the southbound current to sweep us in here.  After lunch we had a nap (to compensate for the early start) and have now done some laundry and are about to set out in search of internet facilities.  Here hoping.

Polly And Tommy’s Wedding

Well, here we are, stuck in Civitavecchia (or something like that), once again waiting for the wind to swing round in our favour.  After getting back here on Tuesday afternoon, we had planned to depart south today but the winds are all dead on the nose and, when the forecast thunderstorms are added into the picture, we’ve decided to stay put for another day.  A bit frustrating but it can’t be helped; we learned the hard way last year that the business of trying to make ground into high(ish) winds just isn’t worth the hassle of trying.  Equally, motoring into them isn’t much fun either, so we’ll stay put today and leave bright eyed and bushy tailed first thing tomorrow.

What a time we’ve had since we last found time to post something on the blog!  We didn’t stop much for most of the time, wrapped up either in preparations for Tommy and Polly’s wedding, actually at the wedding or clearing up after the event.

The trip back to UK went well and I won’t bore you with the detail but we spent a happy (if late) evening with Jonno and Lucy in London before making our way down to Penryn in Cornwall the next day.  A rowing buddy of Polly’s, who is making her way round UK in a catamaran, lent us her house (so grateful to you Ali.)  We shared the house with Naomi and Ken and the grandchildren; it was a lovely place to stay, looking out over Falmouth Harbour, where we had set out from almost exactly a year ago!

An 'organised' bride and her Dad

Despite Polly being perhaps the most organised bride I’ve ever met, there was still a fair amount of stuff to be done before the big day.  I seemed to spend most of my time in the hire car, driving from one supermarket to another buying things for the reception whilst my wife and daughters floated round in a haze of pre-wedding bliss having their nails done and the like.  I do clearly remember being sent off to Falmouth with Tommy to get our hair cut and beards trimmed.  We parked up near to the main street and there was a barber.  Ah, thought I, no walk, just a pleasant wait reading the paper and back to get given another task.  Oh no.  Apparently, the barber we had been instructed to use was half way down the main street, so off we trudged and then waited for an age whilst a nice young man gave a weird hair do to a pimply youth; I nearly ran away in terror at the thought of what he might do to my hair – I mean, I might wind up with a hairstyle for Gods sake.  In the event, he did a competent job but charged me 3 times what I normally fork out.  However, the ladies were delighted with the results, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain too loudly.

The pace picked up the closer we got the day, with Saturday morning being a mad round of buying most of the ice in Asda, delivering it to the hall and then making sure I got back to Polly’s house, washed and attired in my suit in time to take her to the church.  I made the schoolboy error of arriving a little earlier than I needed to and entered a world for which the male of the species is not designed.  There was 1 Bride, 2 Bridesmaids, 1 Flower Girl and 1 Page Boy (poor Charlie) all rushing round in various stages of dress being chivvied by the mother of the bride.  I found a quiet corner, printed off a copy of my speech and waited for the dust to settle a little.  Eventually order started to emerge from the chaos and by the time the taxi for Polly and I had appeared it seemed that all of the distaff side of the event was ready to do battle.

The trip to the church didn’t take long and somehow Polly and I beat the bridesmaids to the church so we had time to kill.  My brother Mike was the photographer, so he managed to get in the pictures he wanted before the bridesmaids finally put in an appearance and I could escort my daughter down the aisle of the little church.  The service was lovely, conducted by a friendly vicar who made it very special and got everyone involved.

Gig Crews provide an arch for Mr and Mrs Tonkins!

After the service was over, Mike made good use of the time by doing all the group photos, as Polly and Tommy were to leave the church by boat and had to wait for the tide.  The churchyard is lovely, very old and full of wonderful trees.  The church itself is right down by the waterside at Mylor Harbour, with the harbour itself just across the road.  Once the tide had arrived, Polly and Tommy walked out of the church through an arch made of oars held by their mates from the rowing club before embarking in a small launch which took them, escorted by 2 pilot gigs, up the coast to the reception at Mylor Bridge, about 2 miles away.

Mr and Mrs Tonkins

Once we’d waved them off, the church car park resembled the start at Le Mans, with everyone dashing off to the village hall to be there before Polly and Tommy.  The reception which followed was great, with some lovely food, lots to drink and good company.  As we had to be out of the hall by midnight, the festivities drew to a comparatively early close, although some of the younger element carried on the motion in Falmouth.

The following day was a bit slow starting but I walked back to the hall to pick up the car to find the caterers already hard at work tiding up.  As time went on, more folks appeared to help and we had got the hall cleaned and tidy by midday, when Mr and Mrs Tonkins departed on their honeymoon.  A good number of us then decamped to the house where we were staying and had a leisurely lunch from the leftovers from the reception.

Monday saw us cleaning Ali’s house and moving Naomi’s family into the Tonkins house, where they were going to stay for a few days before going back to Ireland.  J & I left that afternoon to stay with friends near Bristol before making a fairly early start on the journey to Stansted.  

Holly, Pete, Toby and Pam in Rome

The flight was on time and we were met this end by Pete.  He and his family seemed to have had a good time and I am enormously grateful to them for having looked after Rampage in our absence.  Tuesday evening was spent updating one another on our respective activities during the preceding week but on Wednesday we disconnected the shore power, stowed the breakables and set off for a day’s sailing.

We managed to sail most of the time we were out, only resorting to the motor to for the last ½ mile or so back into the marina, but the day can’t be held to be a complete success.  Holly was afflicted by sea sickness and spent much of the day asleep below, whilst Pam and Pete, having avoided sun burn whilst they were on their own, succeeded in getting well burnt during our trip.  We rounded the day off with a meal at one of the marina restaurants before sitting round in the cockpit putting the world to rights.

A first for us - Rampage under sail. We did go back and pick up Pete and Toby eventually.

The following day saw us making use of Pete’s hire car to do a big shop before we saw the Lynch’s off just after lunch.  They had a good trip back to UK whilst we took a deep breath and started to turn ‘Rampage’ back into a cruising yacht.  We continued the process on Friday, aiming to leave on Saturday heading for Netunno, about 50 miles down the coast. 

That brings us back to the beginning of this piece, so I’ll leave you with the message that our cameras failed during the wedding, so pictures of that event will have to wait until Mike has finished sorting through the several hundred pictures that he took and puts them up on the internet.  Watch this space!

We came, we saw but we definitely didn’t conquer…

Regular readers of our blog will know that we are now in a marina near Civitavecchia north of Rome, having arrived here on Wednesday and successfully negotiated to leave Rampage here until our return from the UK.

Thursday was largely spent on admin of various sorts, not least the completing and publishing of the last exciting blog installment.  In between times we noticed the wind and that evening we cycled to the far end of the marina, to admire the breakers and give thanks that we had not, after all, delayed our arrival by 24 hours.  We had been sorely tempted to prolong our stay on Elba but wisdom had prevailed and obviously Neptune had rewarded us but seeing us safely (if rather boringly) down the coast of mainland Italy in a flat calm. 

The Colosium - ancient Rome at it's most impressive.

There are two dive operations here at Riva di Traiano marina and the prices they are asking are reasonable (ie less than in Spain.) Competition is a wonderful thing!   On Wednesday evening when we discovered this we toyed with the idea of going for a dive on one of the days before we fly back to UK.  However when we looked at the sea on Thursday we reckoned no-one in their right mind, not even an Italian, would be taking a dive boat out in those seas, and besides, even if they were mad enough and managed to retrieve all their divers out of the water safely afterwards, the dive would not be up to much as the visibility would be fairly lousy. 

“If it’s windy again tomorrow,” said my lord and master, “we could go and visit Rome.” 

“But we made a solemn vow not to visit any more cities in the height of summer,” I challenged.  

“True,” he acknowledged, “but it shouldn’t be too bad if it’s like this, and you have never been to Rome and it really is worth visiting and there is a good train connection from Civitavecchia.”

J looks out over the arena, clutching her audioguide (which worked this time, unlike GIbraltar)

And so it was that by just after 9am on Friday morning, showered and breakfasted, we made our way to the bus stop just outside the marina.  We were encouraged to see three other people waiting for the bus and joined them.  Twenty five minutes later nothing had appeared although there had been two in the opposite direction.  In fact we were a bit slow on the uptake as the second was going all the way to Rome but was very full.  The other people who had been waiting with us, rushed across the road and piled on but there was no room for us too.  We consoled ourselves that it would take 2 hours or so by bus and it would have been a nightmare to have to stand all the way, even if we’d been permitted to do so. 

“We might as well walk to the station,” I said.

Duncan agreed but did just point out that it was a fair walk.  I thought he meant a mile or so but no, after 6 bus stops & having been passed, inevitably, by two buses as we walked between them, we eventually reached the station.  En route however, D was nearly run over.  We were trying to cross the road at a zebra crossing.  This is a scary undertaking in Italy as the drivers only stop when there is absolutely no alternative, so you just have to step out and hope for the best.  It is, as D had pointed out earlier, a bit like playing Chicken with the cars.  However, the cars did stop and we started to cross, D a couple of yards in front of me, when a lunatic came roaring up the outside of the queue of traffic, obviously impatient with the delay.  He just managed to come to a stop with a tremendous squealing of brakes and smell of burning rubber, just inches from my beloved.  We were both quite shaken and even the other drivers quite obviously felt badly about it – one guy rolled down his window to apologise on behalf of his countryman.  It made me distinctly nervous every time we had to cross a road in Rome, later in the day.

The triumphal arch of Severin - or some such Roman chap.

It was now about 10.45am and the station was very busy.  We split up and Duncan queued for the ticket office while I stood in line at the self-service ticket machine.  I won by a short head and we duly pressed all the buttons and fed it lots of money.  It was only after it had spat out the tickets that we realised we had bought ones, not for the next train to Rome, but for the high speed one later, which was already announced as running 25 minutes late!  High speed?  Not only that but Duncan had an allocated seat in coach 8 whereas mine was in coach 4.

As we had nearly an hour to kill, we decided to find the café and buy a drink.  I queued for some considerable time at the wrong counter to try and pay for our drinks.  Clearly this was not our day and I wondered if perhaps the gods were trying to tell us something.  Maybe we should just retreat quietly back to the boat?  But we’d bought the tickets now so it seemed a pity to waste them and besides I have never visited Rome…

Looking down on to the remains of the Forum area

The train, when it arrived, was fine and deposited us at the terminal in about 40 minutes.  I found myself sitting next to an English guy who was holidaying with his family on one of the cruise ships currently berthed in Civitavecchia.  He was extremely chatty, came from the Wirral and we passed a pleasant journey comparing notes on our chosen forms of sea travel.

Once we arrived in Rome, Duncan’s forethought in bringing the tom-tom was proved to be worthwhile and with its assistance we made our way towards the Coliseum.  As the day was getting on by now, and breakfast just a faint memory, we decided to fortify ourselves before launching into an overdose of culture.  I decided to have pizza Gladiatore – it seemed only appropriate – and turned out to be very tasty.  Perhaps things were starting to look up?

An amazing half a bascilica not sure if it's ancient or just old Roman. Looks good though.

There were the inevitable queues at the Coliseum, (D remembered afterwards that it is better to go to the Forum first and buy tickets there because for some reason the queues are never as bad.)  Anyway we dodged the touts outside trying to sell us guided tours and managed to resist having our photograph taken with the gentlemen dressed as Roman Centurions and went to stand in line for tickets.  After a time, Duncan said we could move across to an almost empty aisle if we paid a bit more and bought a guided or audio tour.  Thinking this was a good idea, I ducked under the barrier but was almost immediately hailed and humiliated by an official demanding to know if I had tickets. 

“No,” I replied, “I want to buy some.”  I was immediately ordered back into the line we’d just come from which meant going back to the back of the queue with our tails between our legs.  D nearly abandoned the whole thing at this point but I persuaded him that we had come all that way.  Five minutes later another official came along and announced that anyone wanting to buy a guided or audio tour should move into the aisle out of which I had just been unceremoniously turfed.  I do so love the Italian approach to things – he who shouts loudest and last wins!

Yet another triumphal arch, comemorating yet another bit of barbarian trampling.

After a moment’s debate we decided to try again but by the time we got to the ticket office we had just missed the 3pm guided tour.  Not wanting to wait ½ hour for the next, we opted instead for audio guides.  Thankfully they actually worked, unlike the ones we’d had when we visited the Rock of Gibraltar.  I very much enjoyed my visit to the Coliseum and afterwards our tickets took us into the Forum.  Unfortunately we did not have audio guides there, and frankly we could have done with something, either a good guide book or a guide or some sort of explanation of the various artifacts.  It was quite difficult to actually make out what was what a lot of the time but I was enormously impressed by the whole scale of it all; I’d had no idea there was quite so much of Ancient Rome still in evidence.  We took lots of photos of which those included are but a small selection.  We then walked up round the ‘Altar of the Fatherland,’ or Victor Emmanuel as it is better known and decided we had earned an ice-cream.  They were, predictably, delicious.  They were also outrageously expensive – two cokes and two ice-creams cost us €22!!

Eat your heart out Nelson, this is a MEMORIAL! Victor Emanuel united Italy in the 19th Century and this is his memorial.

We then set off to walk to St Peter’s Square.  By the time we reached there it was nearly 7pm and too late to get in anywhere but it was good to have a small glimpse of the Vatican City.  We debated stopping for supper but dark clouds and flashes of lightening encouraged us to head back for the train and Civitavecchia.  We’d not long set off when the heavens opened and water ran in sheets down the windows before the train came to a halt and all the lights went out.  D reckons a lightning strike had taken out all the electronics for a while.  In due course we set off again but this was not the high speed train so it was a little while before we alighted at our destination, thankful that the worst of the rain was over, but grateful for our rain jackets nonetheless.

St Peter's Square, the heart of the Vatican

We’d promised ourselves a taxi but there was none in evidence and we could not ring for one as my mobile had no signal so instead we walked to the bus stop, only to find that the last bus of the day had been and gone.  D, I think, was all for walking but I was not keen.  I was tired, (we’d already done a lot of walking,) and my flip-flops were slippery on the wet pavements making walking more difficult and more tiring.  OK – I know I was silly to wear flip-flops but they had been fine while we were walking around Rome, albeit that I probably had the filthiest feet in the city!

Doesn't matter where you go these days, there's always some bloke standing round like a statue dressed in weird kit. Swiss guards at the Vatican - no problems getting a sharp crease in that kit then.

Anyway I persuaded him that we should return to the station and try once again to get a taxi.  Thankfully one appeared about ten minutes later, while I was gloomily resigning myself to the prospect of walking for a further hour.  6 minutes later we were back at the marina; I could have hugged that taxi driver. 

We were too tired to face cooking or even going for a meal at one of the restaurants in the marina but D suddenly remembered some packets of instant pasta in a cup that I’d bought for our very first trip in Rampage when we brought her round from the Hamble to the Menai Straits at Easter 2009.  They were not nearly as awful as I feared though the Italians would have been horrified.  Maybe they just tasted ok because we were both so shattered.  We had two each and then fell into bed, – though not, you will be relieved to hear, before I had washed my feet.

NB. He was right about the weather, it wasn’t too unbearably hot!

Rampage to the Eternal City…..

Apologies once again for the delay in publishing another blog.  The only time we’ve had internet access in the last two and a half weeks was whilst in Calvi and we had quite a lot going on while we were there and never got around to the blog. 

We left you last time in Stintino, and for the following week, we were making ground north up the coast of firstly, Sardinia and then Corsica.  Having had only a Spanish courtesy flag up for nearly a year, we’ve now changed it 3 times in the past two weeks – feels a bit strange. 

Our track since leaving Menorca - click on picture to enlarge.

We saw little of Sardinia apart from the, admittedly very attractive, coastline as we were somewhat behind schedule and felt we must press on north.  We had a deadline to meet as we’d arranged to be in Calvi by 19^th and our friends there, Nicky and Paul had very kindly pulled various strings to get us a berth for our visit, (thereby hangs a tale but more of that later!)

After leaving Stintino we headed for Isola Rossa almost directly across the vast bay of Golfo di Stintino in northern Sardinia.  Leaving there next day, we planned to anchor by the narrowest point on the Bonnifacio Straits (the gap between Sardinia and Corsica).  In the end, we anchored about 5 mile short of our aiming point, as we’d spent the whole day tacking towards the straits, covering nearly 40 miles to make 20 on the ground.  Never mind, it was really great sailing.

Isola Rossa

The following morning, (J’s birthday) we left the anchorage with no wind and headed across the straits to our next stop in the Golfe di Murtoli near Roccapina in Corsica.  By the time we’d cleared the land, the wind started to pick up and we were charging along at 6 – 7 knots.  We put all three reefs in the mainsail and then took it down altogether and furled the foresail until we only had about ½ of it out and we were still doing over 6 knots most of the time.  Exciting stuff – what we’d thought of as a day’s sail took us ‘til just after midday and we tucked ourselves into a little cove along with a stack of other yachts, including some superyachts to add a little tone to the event.  Then the wind changed and we moved down to the other end of the bay looking for protection before the wind died away completely as night arrived.

The next morning we moved on again to Propriano, (not on our little map – oops!  Too difficult to change now!) which was supposedly a reasonable little town where we might expect to get food and such like (we’d be eating out of tins again if there wasn’t any food to be had).  In the event, J went ashore by herself as the wind was once more being a little exciting and I didn’t want to leave the boat unattended in case the anchor dragged.  She found some small shops but paid an arm and a leg for some simple provisions before returning to the boat.  We then beat a hasty retreat from the wind and found a nice, if crowded, anchorage at the entrance of the bay.

Ajaccio

Next stop was Ajaccio, the first sizeable town we’d been near since leaving Menorca.  It’s built round its harbour, a nicely protected bit of a deep, west-facing bay.  We arrived in Ajaccio Bay on 16th but had been put off coming anywhere near the town by the fact that there were a number of “exclusion areas” marked on our (admittedly rather old,) chart, so we anchored in a small bay to the south.  However next This morning, as we were getting our act together to go swimming, we were accosted by a neighbour who was swimming round the area, who then proceeded to gossip with J about life, the universe and living aboard yachts generally.  She told us that the ‘exclusion zones’ had been removed and you could anchor at the head of the bay, just by a large Carrefour supermarket.  And there was a laundrette behind the port office and so on and so forth……

Accordingly the next day, we moved Rampage closer into the town and had an admin day, doing the laundry, shopping, getting new oars for the tender etc.  (Did we ever tell you we lost one of the oars whilst in Porto Conte?  Most irritating!)

Girolata Bay

J here now – finishing off where he left off!  Sunday 18^th saw us heading north once more.  Girolata is a small bay that had been particularly recommended to us by Paul & Nicky.  It is very attractive, with a ruin on the headland and a scattering of buildings on the hill above the bay with a few wooden shacks on the beach.  These included the Capitanerie, a fresh bread stall and various bars and restaurants.  The bay is not actually an anchorage but laid out with mooring buoys and you tie up to these, fore and aft, assisted by a couple of guys in RIBs, (rigid inflatable boats.)  Having seen you safely to your particular mooring, they then present you with a rubbish bag and a leaflet about the recycling.  Although it isn’t an island, there is no road into Girolata and it was explained that all refuse is removed by helicopter.  Anything else usually comes in or out by sea.  (N&P told us later that the postman became bolshie a few years ago and is now only prepared to walk over the mountains to collect and deliver mail once a week!)

The shacks on the beach at Girolata

That evening we sent a text to Nicky & Paul to let them know we were on schedule and at about 5pm on Monday 19^th we radioed through to Calvi marina to announce our arrival and explain that we had a mooring booked.  We were told to go to D29 so we headed over to where a number of boats were attached to mooring buoys just outside the marina.  We couldn’t spot any numbers on the buoys but the form seemed to be the same as in Girolata and we explained to the guys in the RIB that’s we’d been booked in and had to go to D29.  They seemed a bit surprised but duly took us to a mooring buoy and helped us tie up. We’d barely got ourselves settled and reached for the mandatory beer when we received a somewhat irate text from Paul asking what the bleep, bleep we thought we were up to?  It seemed they had just about sold their souls in order to secure us a berth in the marina and if we did not deign to take it Nicky (or possibly me, or even both of us) would be sold into white slavery or similar and their amicable rapport with the marina, built up over the last ten years, would be lost overnight. 

Sant Antoninu

We therefore made haste to move into the marina, much to the bewilderment of other boats using the buoys who wondered if perhaps we knew something that they didn’t about the weather forecast for that evening!  After this rather inauspicious beginning, thereafter all went well.  Before long we were all installed on N&P’s boat, catching up with news over a few drinks before heading into town for some supper.  We were left to our own devises for most of the next day and having been on the move pretty well non-stop since leaving Menorca, it was nice to relax, go for a swim etc before joining Nicky and Paul for supper aboard their boat.  On Wednesday however, we were taken out for the day; we went on a circuit up into the mountains on the far side of Calvi Bay finishing up at the delightful hilltop village of Sant Antoninu.  We parked the car and walked up through the cobbled streets admiring the spectacular views of the mountains and down across Calvi Bay and along the coast.  We then continued our trip through more beautiful hilltop villages, finishing up at a fantastic restaurant right on the beach where I had what I reckon was probably the most beautifully cooked piece of tuna I’d ever eaten.  It was a brilliant day and we are hugely grateful to our kind and generous friends for showing us places we would never have discovered if left to our own devises.

That evening the two of us strolled up round the marina and through the town to the citadel, perched high on the headland.  There is not a huge amount to see up there apart from the enormous stone walls and one or two bars and restaurants.  However, once again the views along the coast were tremendous and as sun was just going down across the water, it was all very pretty.

Looking across the marina to the citadel above Calvi

Thursday had been designated Shopping Day, as Nicky as Paul had offered to drive us to a supermarket where we could stock up on water, wine, beer and other heavy items which could be brought right to the boat by car.  Having done all our shopping on foot or by bicycle for more than a year now, this was an offer we couldn’t refuse.  Calvi marina had other ideas however, and decided that we must move that morning as the berth we’d been allocated belonged to a charter boat which was due back in that day.  As a result we found ourselves on the far side of the marina, berthed bow-to, next to all the bars and restaurants.  As we were only there for one more night this really wasn’t a problem except that Paul was no longer able to bring the car right up to the boat and also, getting things on board over the bow of the boat is more tricky and resulted in two broken bottles of beer.  Apart from that minor (minor – minor what does she mean it?  It was terrible I tell you – lovely beer running away down the drain and she dismisses it as MINOR…… Oh all right, it was only 2 small bottles D) tragedy, however, all went well and it was a great help to be able to replenish the store cupboards.  Paul and Nicky joined us aboard Rampage that evening for a final meal together.  They were brilliant hosts and we cannot thank them enough for all their wonderful hospitality.

Part of the coastline of Corsica, seen on our day out with Nicky & Paul

By 9am last Friday (23^rd) we were on our way once more.  We stopped that night in St Florent.  Paul had warned us that force 8 winds were forecast  and not having access to the internet, we were unable to get an update on this so decided  to stay put for the next day too, as Cap Corse is notorious and we had no wish to try rounding it in a gale.  It was therefore Sunday evening before we reached Macinaggio on the east coast of Corsica, anchoring once again, just outside the marina.  This was our last night in Corsica as the next day we headed off towards Elba.  We woke to cloudy skies and fairly strong winds so we set off with some trepidation (and in a hurry before the onshore wind got up too much D).  As we tried to make our way east, the wind was coming straight on the nose and we found ourselves tacking a long way south and making little progress eastwards.  In addition, dark and threatening rain clouds were approaching from the north which gave us some concern and it was sufficiently chilly for us both to dig out sweaters for the first time for ages – not what we’d signed up for!!  Once again we were sailing with all three reefs in the mainsail and the headsail partly furled.  Lunch was a few breadsticks and some cold sausage as we couldn’t face trying to sort out anything more complex.  And then, all of a sudden, the sun came out and the wind disappeared; we made the rest of the journey on the motor in a flat calm. 

One of the highly decorated ferries heading into Portoferraio

Elba is beautiful – or at least, what we saw of the coastline.  We spent just one night there at anchor outside Portoferraio on the north coast.  Hopefully one day we can go back and see a bit more of the island.  (NB. The ferries entering and leaving the port there are notorious for small boats as they are very frequent and create a spectacular wash which can upset life – quite literally if you happen to have a glass of wine on the go!  Thankfully we were anchored sufficiently far away from their route not to be too disturbed.)  We needed to press on though, and find ourselves a marina near Rome where we could safely leave Rampage whilst we return to UK for Polly & Tommy’s wedding. 

By Tuesday night we had reached the Italian mainland and were tucked up in our last anchorage for a while, at Cala Grande (near San Stephano,) where we watched a splendid sunset, anchored next to a boat called Julia, which has just arrived in the marina here and is moored 2 down from us!  Yesterday morning we were off again, heading down the coast to Civitavecchia where Duncan had identified a possible marina not too far from Rome.  To our delight there was plenty of room and the facilities are good so we are now booked in to Riva di Traiano, until 12^th August. 

Well that’s it!  A bit of a marathon but we’ve finally managed to bring you up to date with our activities.  The next blog will doubtless include a pic of a girl in a long white dress … 

Sunset in our most recent anchorage in Cala Grande on Tuesday evening

A Quickie – well that’s how it started……..

Well, this is just a fairly brief note to keep things up to date, as we’re now in Sardinian waters, having made the 200 mile crossing from Menorca.  We left there on 8 July and arrived, tired but happy yesterday morning at about 8am.

We left from Addaya, having had a very eventful week or so beforehand. 

The wonderful protected anchorage at Addaya

On 1 July we made a brief and somewhat abortive visit to Mahon.  We anchored in a very pleasant anchorage on the north side of Mahon bay and were delighted to see a Dutch couple who had been on the same dock as us in Barcelona through the winter.  We had a very pleasant drink and chat with them on board their boat, ‘Modesty’ & then did a brief recce of the bay in the tender that first evening.  However a view of the fortifications on the headlands was all we were destined to see of Mahon because the next day we were told by the Port Authority that the anchorage had just been deemed a safe refuge only and that everyone needed to move.  As the only other options were moorings or marina berths for which we would have to pay we decided to push off and make our way back round the north coast to Fornells where we were due to meeting Stunning Ruin, Terri, and her family within a couple of days.

Look - no lifejackets. Terri, Iain and Helen put their trust in the Skipper....

On 4 July, Terri, her husband Iain and daughter Helen came to visit us on board whilst we were at anchor in Fornells.  We were stuck there because we’d had to organize the replacement of the alternator on the engine.  This bit of kit supplies all our electricity when we’re at anchor and it had decided to go wibble and try and cook the batteries.  We ordered a replacement which was obtained at exorbitant cost for us within a couple of days but couldn’t move the boat in the meantime, as the old alternator had been removed to ensure a matching part was obtained.

We had a great day out with Terri and her family on 5 July whilst waiting for the alternator, including a trip to El Toro, the highest point on Menorca with great views of the island and an evening meal at a restaurant in Fornells.  The new alternator arrived the following evening and I fitted it and generally sorted things out for our departure on the evening of 6 July.  We couldn’t leave earlier, as that would have had us arriving in the dark, which we wanted to avoid if possible as we were going into a strange anchorage.

On top of El Toro, the highest point in Menorca. Fornells in the background - Rampage is there somewhere!

All went well, with much shopping and general route planning taking place until we started to pack things away ready for departure.  It was then discovered that the autopilot and depth finder weren’t working.  This led to me stripping out the switch board again and chasing what I hoped would be the lose connection; after a good deal of cursing and jiggling things round, the instruments finally decided to play again.  We set off to refuel and top up with water but when we got to the fuel berth we were told that we couldn’t have any water!  Seeing as we were down to the dregs in the bottom of the tank, this was a bit of a blow.

Britain's lasting contribution to Menorcan culture - Martello Towers to keep the French out. J visited this one whilst I fixed the motor.

We decided to go to back to Addaya, where we knew we could get water easily but by this time it was getting a bit late, so we decided to postpone our departure for Sardinia by 24 hours, dropped anchor there and went to visit Terri in her villa, inviting them all out for a day sail the next day before we set off for Sardinia.  And that’s what happened!  Gentle sail along the coast with the cruising chute, lunch and swimming in a lovely bay before returning to Addaya to drop them off and setting off for Sardinia by about 5pm.

The honourable retirement of our venerable Spanish courtesy flag as we entered Italian waters.

The crossing was completely uneventful, we only saw a couple of ships in the whole 200 miles and, frankly, the only problem was staying awake whilst on watch!  We arrived in Porto Conte near Alghero at 8.30am yesterday morning where we failed to find anywhere to shop or have a meal so we were reduced to having a tin of M&S chicken in white wine sauce for supper.  We set off again just after 6am this morning and we’re now in Stintino Marina, before we launch ourselves on an invasion of Corsica. 

The Skipper catches a well deserved 40 winks whilst the mate has nothing better to do than take photos.

Leaving Porto Conte anchorage at 0640 (I'd forgotten that this early existed) this morning.