Monthly Archives: June 2025

Who believes in sea monsters?

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Of course I don’t believe in sea monsters, but paddling into a dark cave tends to feed your imagination…

After logging more than 1000 nautical miles, sailing from Greece and along the coast of Italy to Corsica, the end of our voyage is almost in sight. Today we are crossing the Straits of Bonifacio between Corsica and Sardinia, pushed along by a welcome cooling breeze.

The weather has been almost entirely hot and sunny, with the exception of Naples, where we got drenched one morning going ashore. Heavy rain and waves had swept across the little dinghy as it bounced through the rollers and we were a very soggy shopping party as we trailed round the local supermarket.

The day before we’d wandered through some of city’s piazza’s and enjoyed the evening buzz of the Spanish quarter. We ate in one of the narrow streets, jumping clear of scooters which wove their way between tables, where diners sipping drinks were forced to shift their chairs to let them through. The streets were full of colourful flags adding an extra dimension to the washing and lights suspended between balconies.

Naples was a pleasant surprise, but I didn’t need more than a night there. Since then we have hopped from one rocky island to another.

On one tiny island, called Procida, we found ourselves exploring an ancient prison on the cliffs. The village was a bit tumble down and that included the steps up from the beach where rusting reinforcement was clearly visible through the crumbling concrete. As we continued up the cliff road towards the towering castle above, it began to feel a little oppressive. We wondered why there were bars on some of the windows, and what were look out towers and barb wire doing on a castle?

A fading poster explained that the castle had once been a notorious prison with a cruel governor. And the story of one of the most unfortunate prisoners had now been made into a film – it was all about a postman who had been unjustly incarcerated there for years. It was a sorry tale and the little town didn’t seem to have ever fully recovered from the shadow of the prison that dominates the cliffs above.

Next stop were the Pontine islands – in particular Ponza island, where we basked in the clear turquoise waters surrounded by volcanic cliffs. We also came across an optical illusion – a giant stone arch, that had looked just like a massive cave from where we were anchored. The next morning as the boat swung round on its anchor we suddenly realised it was an arch as we watched people paddling through it. We read later that the strange arch was likened to a pair of builders pants!

Continuing our island tour we stopped off in yet another delightful bay lined with rocks and a sandy beach. Here there were a number of caves that looked interesting – so after snorkelling to check out a few, we took the paddle board to a more distant one. It was quite huge and I paddled in slowly, because you never know what might be hiding in a cave!

The cave was in two sections and the right hand part was very deep at the far end where the low roof disappeared into a hollow darkness.

“Paddle in there, it looks interesting,” I was encouraged.

“I don’t want to… it looks scary,” I replied.

“No it doesn’t… just paddle in..”

The debate continued. I didn’t want to go in forwards in case there was something unpleasant in there, like Gollum or a sea monster of some sort, but these didn’t seem very solid arguments.

We ended up going in backwards so that I wasn’t the one going in first. The walls were very close and damp and we had to duck our heads because the roof was so low. Just as it was becoming completely dark we both agreed there was nothing of interest and headed quickly out. If there was a sea monster, it must have been having a siesta, along with the rest of Italy!

Before leaving for the crossing to Corsica, the island of Giglio was our final stop. It was here that lives were lost when the Concordia cruise ship hit a rock and sank off the port. The negligent captain, who had been one of the first to leave his sinking ship, was sentenced to 16 years in prison. We realised that the rocks the ship had struck were at the edge of the bay where we were anchored.

This little Island was one of our favourites. After a scramble up cliff steps to the road, we enjoyed coffee at the port and took a local bus up to the ancient hill town above, where we enjoyed views across the island, while sipping cold beer. Later we swam and paddle boarded in a sandy bay until the sun went down.

Now on the final week of our time in Italy, I’m wondering what delights Sardinia will hold and how I’m ever going to get to sleep without the rocking of the boat!

Runaway yacht

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What would it be like to return to where you’d left your boat and realise it had disappeared? A little bit worse than losing your car in a car park, I think. One lucky set of sailors almost lost their boat the other night off the island of Capri. It turned out to be a busy night for us too…

We’ve been meandering up the Italian coast over the past week, discovering peaceful bays, anchoring beneath towering cliffs and swimming or paddling to explore the beaches, caves and coastal communities.

For two nights we anchored off Salerno, a historic town full of narrow streets with cafes and restaurants spilling out across even the narrowest alleyways. Up above were wrought iron balconies strung with colourful washing and festooned with various lights and elaborate decorations. It felt a very joyous city, pulsing with activity, especially at night.

It was from here we took a bus to the ancient ruins of Pompeii – a place of sombre memorials and silent stories. There’s something eerie about walking on the huge cobble stoned streets, where some 2000 years ago people had shopped, traded, done their washing, cooked up meals, entertained guests, drank wine and dangled their fingers in the many pools and fountains of shaded courtyards. Some of the houses were poor and simple, but others gave us a snapshot of life for the wealthy, with vivid murals and deep red or green walls with the smoothest plaster and mosaic lined floors.

The heat was intense and there was so much to see. I had found a list of top 10 sites online, but switching between a photo of the map on my phone and trying to locate the top 10 ‘must sees’ in a shady spot without the sun’s reflection proved quite a task; meanwhile avoiding falling over the uneven pavings and cobbles of each area. If only we had picked up a paper map!

Pompeii feels vast – it involves a lot of walking; through the forum, the various amphitheatres – big and mini – the villas, and just street after street with similar names and Roman numerals that all began to merge. Unlike England’s meandering villages and historic towns, the remains of this ancient city was set out in regular blocks, which reminded me of New York.

We were nearing the end of our visit and our stamina too, but there was one of the top 10 I still hadn’t spotted. The brothel had been ticked off earlier and most of the others, but not the “house of the fugitives” – well that’s what I was calling it. I really rather wanted to see it and as we weren’t planning on coming back anytime soon, it had to be done.

So, even though it was on the opposite end of the site, as the heat of the afternoon faded we set off and eventually found the place.

It is shocking to see the detailed forms of people from so long ago, some in full flight, others hunched over, another covering their eyes.

This was the human face of the destruction of Pompeii. Never mind ruined buildings, here was an actual family running for their lives, small children among them. It made me think of all the innocents caught up in war and tragedy right now. Each life is precious. It was 2000 years ago and it is now.

Capri was our next island stop and we’d heard mixed reviews about staying there from a sailing perspective. We anchored quite securely, we thought, in front of a little beach and after a trip to the beach and the town, we settled in for the evening.

The wind was strengthening and the swell increasing as we watched the arrival and departure of various boats around us. Suddenly, we noticed a yacht that had been beside us start moving backwards, but there was no one onboard and their anchor was still down. It came within an arms length of us, but we couldn’t reach it or do much as it continued to drift. We called out a warning to the next yacht it was heading towards, which it also narrowly missed. The 40 foot boat was still heading out to sea and we wondered where the owners were. Some minutes later a powerful rib boat launched out from a nearby catamaran and managed to secure the wandering yacht to their boat.

In the midst of this we had begun to drop more chain to make ourselves more secure in the increasing wind and waves. But we, along with other yachts, found we were also sliding backwards. It was getting dark by the time we were anchored again in time to see the runaway yacht reunited with its owners and re-anchored safely a few metres away. There were also ‘thank you goodies’ delivered to the rescue crew, who had saved their bacon! All’s well that ends well!

That was quite enough drama for one evening. The runaway yacht was a salutary reminder of what can happen when you leave your boat at anchor and head for the shore.

The sea is our home

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Sailing voyages are completely different to anything else… perhaps with the exception of space travel.

We see the world from a new perspective. Surrounded by blue, I’m enjoying the wide open seas and broad horizons. When land emerges, the coast isn’t a beach or a sea front or even a harbour. It’s a line on the horizon. As we come closer we bob past tiny houses in a variety of colours clustering round a hilltop, the trees and bushes appearing like a miniature railway set.

Then eventually we step ashore and everything comes into perspective again. The houses zoom into focus and begin to assume normal proportions, the roads and streets emerge and we breathe in the smell of land.

Yesterday we braved the heat to call in on some of the family holidaying nearby. Following instructions we trudged up a narrow track from the harbour. I inhaled the scent of pine needles and enjoyed the sweet aroma of jasmine as we passed a garden.

Looking for a padlocked gate, we wound our way up an increasingly steep path, eventually coming to a dead end at a gate into a large house. We must have gone wrong… of course there was no phone signal to call and check. We were sure we were close and started to call out, before retracing our steps. Getting lost has been a favourite pastime of mine, but this time it wasn’t long before I heard a shout from lower down the track.

“You’ve gone too far!”

With a guide to follow we began a steep climb up the hillside, through the “unlocked” gate, plodding up a line of steps reaching as far as we could see.

“There’s a pool at the top,” our son encouraged us, as drops of sweat raced down my cheeks like rain.

“It’s not much further… honestly!”

I paused on one of the many terraces lined with olive trees – it was beautiful. Behind us I glimpsed the shimmering blue of the sea twinkling between the trees.

At the top the view was spectacular and there was iced coffee to enjoy. Through the gaps in the trees we looked down on a lone Pura Vida, bobbing happily in the bay. Perhaps she was enjoying the space from her passengers!

The climb up was worth its weight in gold, as we enjoyed a refreshing swim and great company in the setting of an authentic Italian villa, complete with a long table on the terrace overlooking the sea. It was strange to be on land for so long, but before we had time to get used to it, we were back on board ready for the next leg of the journey.

Departure was slightly delayed by a little engine trouble. A few hours was spent rolling in the bay, while oil was pumped out and then replaced… I’ll spare the technical details!

So, late afternoon we waved goodbye to familiar faces and the hillside villa to move around the next headline in search of a quiet bay, where we hoped for a peaceful night.

For now our world is on the sea again. Land, towns and villages seem like alien places. The sea and the waves are our windows and our garden. The wind is our road taking us on to the next destination and it’s our comfortable place.

The sleeping dragon of Stromboli

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There was a low rumble high above us and moments later plumes of sandy coloured smoke began pumping out from the top of the volcano – we were certainly back in volcano land, although many miles from Mount Etna…

Volcanoes have been dominating our sailing voyage this past week, as we left the smoking shores of Sicily and Mount Etna, to head through the straits of Messina towards the Aeolian Islands, we spotted another sleeping dragon as Stromboli Island emerged on the horizon.

Our minds hadn’t been on volcanoes as we sailed through the straits into the Tyrrhenian Sea. We’d been focused on other dangers like the currents, hidden whirlpools, and more critically swordfish fishing boats! These strange craft were moving about erratically at the entrance to the straits and moving at high speed in pursuit of these enormous fish.

We’d already tasted swordfish bought fresh at the fish market where they chopped up the red flesh from gigantic carcasses proudly on display, dwarfing the trays of clams, prawns and anchovies. The swordfish boats, called Feluccas, are a sight to be seen; with their huge bowsprit extending 50 feet out from the bows, they are steered by a fearless fisherman who sits at the top of the 100 foot mast watching for the swordfish to appear and then taking chase.

It reminded me of ‘Jaws’ as we watched the extraordinary boats turn and swerve and gather speed as the fish swam away. We learned some sad things too. Swordfish mate for life and if the female is caught her mate remains loyal and won’t leave the area, so inevitably ends up being caught. That tale was going to play on my mind if we had swordfish again.

Leaving the Feluccas behind, the Aeolian islands were coming into closer view and soon we spotted the stream of white smoke from the distant island of Stromboli. I wasn’t sure how close we’d feel like going to this very active volcano, which apparently erupts every 20 minutes! There were stories of boats getting covered in ash and sailors struggling with the sulphur smells.

We had a taste of bad smells on the first island we anchored off called Vulcano, where sulphur mud baths beside the port gave off a smell like bad eggs. None of us were tempted to take a dip in the stinky creamy pools, or climb to the rim of the extinct volcano crater in the rising temperatures. Instead we enjoyed swimming in the clear waters below and bought freshly caught fish from a passing fishing boat, who called out “fishy! fishy!” as they wove between the anchored visitors.

Stromboli was our last island stop before the journey towards the Italian coast and we decided to sail on the north of the island to take a closer look at the eruptions. Sure enough every 20 minutes an eruption started. As we drew closer we even spotted red flames spouting up and lava rocks bouncing down the sides and plopping into the sea below. We let the boat drift, not too close, while we watched for another eruption. I hoped there would be no engine trouble if we needed it suddenly. You never really know when it’s going to blow big, as we’d seen a few days earlier on Mt Etna. The rumbles were quite loud and regular, but eventually we sailed on to find an anchorage at a slightly safer distance.

Anchoring took some time, as the beaches shelved very steeply and with black sand it was hard to see the bottom. Eventually we were set, due to some fearless snorkelling to ensure our anchor had dug into the sand. This was even more heroic as jelly fish had been spotted floating by!

I’d been quite happy to stay onboard and sunbathe a safe distance from the volcano, but was persuaded to go ashore on the paddle board – because apparently, “we have to have a walk on the beach!”

Heading towards the shore, I stopped paddling for a moment and glanced back at the yacht anchored a couple of hundred metres away. How long would it take to get back if there was a really big eruption? At that moment we both heard a loud rumble and more smoke frothed out from the chocolate coloured top of Stromboli.

On our approach to the island the streams of lava had made the top of the volcano look like a chocolate cake with ganache icing dripping down the sides, or even a “drippy castle” you make with wet sand at the beach.

The flowers and grass on this side of the island, were in contrast to the ash grey slopes we had just sailed past. The little yellow church and tatty white buildings nestled together in defiance of what might be. A whole community live here at the base of this very active volcano – one of the most active in the world apparently. I wondered why they had made a home here with such danger lurking in their backyard.

As we wandered down the main street, there were many derelict buildings, abandoned properties and overgrown gardens, yet there were signs that they had once been cared for. We spotted a number of signs for Tsunami warnings and evacuation routes. In 2002 a Tsunami destroyed some of the village when a violent eruption caused a major landslide. That wasn’t so long ago. I glanced up at the smoking volcano… please behave, at least while we have a drink!

I wasn’t too sorry to head back along the black sand beach, where I collected a few little lava pebbles as a keepsake from Stromboli.

This morning I spotted a black dragon, caught in silhouette on a rocky lighthouse island facing Stromboli. It seemed to be waiting for the real dragon to appear from inside the volcano. As we watched Stromboli and “volcano-land” disappear into the haze, I was quite happy to leave the rumbles and the smoke behind.

Meanwhile, today we are dodging oil tankers and fish farms as we make the crossing to mainland Italy…

Back to the volcano

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I’m in my favourite place again on the sunny side of the boat. The seas are calmer today and beside the gentle slosh of the waves against the sides, there is a gentle throb from the engine, giving the sails a little help to get us round the headland. We’re on our way back to the volcano.

Last year we had a good helping of boat troubles that delayed and slightly derailed our trip at times. This year we set sail with just one issue – the water maker was broken and in need of a part. Thankfully the new part was on its way to a port in Sicily where we hoped to intercept it. Meanwhile, we had to be careful with our water consumption, it wasn’t a game changer. However, with a boat I’ve come to realise that problems seem to come in pairs!

Mount Etna has been in our sights for a few days and it is the first time I’ve sailed beneath a live volcano. We spotted smoke the other night, but no fire thankfully! Our route to collect the water maker part was taking us ever close to Etna and we soon found ourselves anchored below the hill town of Taormina, with the craters of Etna visible through the clouds. Thankfully distant rumbles turned out to be music from the shore, rather than the volcano stirring to life!

As it was a melting hot day, we’d delayed our shopping sortie in the dinghy (tender) till early evening. In any case the Sicilians close up between 3-6pm for siesta. The dinghy’s outboard was being a little tricky, but eventually it was started, however half way to shore it died. And no amount of coxing would persuade it to start. We tried paddling, but a passing speed boat took pity on us and 10 minutes later we were back on board. Supplies must wait!

So, now we had two broken items. The next day after more failed attempts to get the motor into action, which included filtering fuel, removing parts and other “helpful ideas” gleaned from YouTube, we gave up and headed for the marina along the coast where we would pick up our water maker spare parts and hopefully some helpful outboard fixers.

It turned out there’s nothing simple about collecting spares or fixing an outboard, especially when trying to communicate in Italian. Leaving our shipmates to talk through outboard issues with a couple of Italian geezers in their workshop, we strolled through the deserted parts of the town in search of the delivery address for the spare part. Google maps took us to a pair of steel gates with no door bell. We peered through the slats at a deserted boatyard… could google be wrong? There were no signs of an office or anyone moving about. It’s a strange life we now live, resorting to messaging on our phones, rather than calling someone… it seems WhatsApp is easier to translate! Just when we were about to give up, Lo and behold the gates jolted apart and began to creak open. Down the deserted track was a lady waving and speaking Italian! A tired Labrador-cross ambled over and from what I could understand we were being assured he was friendly! Walking back with our box of spares a few minutes later we decided to celebrate with an ice cream, hoping the rear party had faired well too! One problem was half way to being solved… as long as this was the right part!

There were glum looks when we jumped back on board Pura Vida. The engine had gone and so had the dinghy.

“They took it away, I think it’s going to be very expensive,” said the skipper. I looked up at the volcano towering above the town, it seemed to be casting a shadow on our voyage. It had certainly made its presence felt on the dusty streets of Reposto, where grey ash gathered in the corners of the pavements and huge lava boulders lined the beachfront. What can it be like living below a volcano?

That night we wandered Reposto’s scruffy streets and then ate freshly baked pizza on a pebbly beach. We watched a fishing boat arrive back as the sun set and the sky began to turn pink. It’s owner pushed the boat out into the water letting it glide back to join a line of other boats tethered by long ropes onto the shore. This place felt a little sad and forgotten and that night we caught the mood.

Three days later we were further down the coast in Syracuse, when we had the joyous news that the engine had been fixed and we also realised the water maker seemed to be working, so the sweaty work to fit the new pipe had paid off!

All was almost right with the world. However, we wouldn’t be able to collect the engine till after the weekend, so we still needed to row to shore to visit ancient Syracuse.

This proved to be quite amusing as we were the only small boat paddling across the expanse of bay without an engine. Did we look like we were arriving from a far country seeking refuge? Would the customs lookouts speed out to check our credentials? Evidently not, we spent a peaceful day ashore exploring Syracuse’s hidden gems and tasting Sicilian delights until the sun set and it was time for the long paddle back.

Today we are heading back to the dusty streets of “volcano town” where we hope to be reunited with a working outboard engine. From there we will continue our journey towards the renowned straits of Messina, where Sicily meets Italy. I’m hoping our boat problems will be left behind, along with the smoke from Mount Etna.

Update: This morning Etna woke up for real! It may be time to get going?