Tag Archives: exploring

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!

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…

Land of Prosecco

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I tiptoed past the end of the wooden bed. It was almost pitch black in the room and outside rain was drumming against the windows, while the wind rattled the shutters against the wall. As I stepped towards the door the wooden floorboards creaked like a screeching cat – there was nothing I could do…

Last week we said goodbye to our catamaran home in Venice and headed north to ‘Prosecco land’ for a few nights. It was a chance to sleep in normal beds and stretch our legs on land at last.

We spent the first two nights basking in the luxury of Borghetto San Biagio where we enjoyed the warmest welcome from Lucia, who told us she could, “make magic happen” by upgrading us to the top suite of rooms. It was a little bit of heaven in Italy and we spent a day relaxing in some welcome sunshine by the pool. It was just what we needed before we headed west into the foothills of the Dolomites to the ancient town of Asolo.

Wandering through the castle grounds, with its panoramic views across the region, we could see vines growing on every available bit of land. Surely it was time to taste some Prosecco?

Passing through the famed Prosecco town of Valdobbiadene, we avoided Lidl, and drove on up into the hills and valleys lined with vineyards in search of our next BnB. We would be staying on a family vineyard, we didn’t know quite what to expect.

The Italian style stone house was awash with creepers and geraniums and each window was framed with shutters. Outside on the terrace there were a range of rustic tables and chairs and Pierre, the owner soon emerged with a bottle of Prosecco in his hand and a big smile.

For the next hour or two we asked all the questions you’d ever want to know about the production of Prosecco and growing grapes. It was also fascinating hearing how Pierre had met his wife Victoria, how they had been at school together and eventually married and then taken on part of the family vineyard. 

Once the bottle was empty, Victoria showed us up to our room on the second floor of the house, via a winding wooden stair case that became more ancient and uneven as it went up. The room was quaint with a painted wooden bed and an old chest of drawers, however, the ‘private’ bathroom was outside on the landing, up a set of slatted steps to a sliding door that opened into a very small bathroom. There was a step down from the bedroom also. It looked a little like an obstacle course… negotiating this at night might be a challenge, I thought.

And it was! Much later, after we’d feasted on meat cooked over a spit in a very local restaurant in the nearby village, where Victoria had booked us a table, we headed to bed.

When I woke in the middle of the night, I’d felt my way around the bedroom furniture and creaking boards, and opened the door onto the pitch black landing. I managed to misjusdge where the steps to the bathroom were and fell up them, making more noise, and trying to stifle a yell. I reached up to slide the bathroom door open, with yet more creaks. At least there was a light in the bathroom. Now the whole house must be awake.

When I got back to the bedroom, feeling my way along the walls, there were sighs and huffs from the other side of the bed. I made a mental note to beware of rooms listed with “private bathrooms” in future, it doesn’t mean ensuite and may even involve an ‘expedition’ to the toilet in the middle of the night!

The next BnB was another surprise, in a good way. We had planned a convenient overnight stay close to the airport before we caught our flight. That afternoon we were met by the owner and chef, Dario, who welcomed us with glasses of Prosecco again. He had booked us a table in the restaurant he had set up less than a year ago, which was below our room. As we chatted outside and sipped the refreshing bubbly, he talked about working in England where he had trained at Claridge’s in London and as a lead chef at Cecconi’s Italian restaurant in Mayfair. We were already impressed.

Our last meal of the trip was a sumptuous treat of asparagus with melted cheese and the most delicately cooked steak with vegetables, we even tried his fried Polenta. Dario informed us, “everything tastes wonderful when you fry it!” It was a delight to soak up the atmosphere of a highly cherished local eatery, Trattoria Boschetti, set up by this young entrepreneur.

Dario told us he had named the restaurant after his grandfather’s Trattoria, which his late father had then taken over after him. Now the Boschetti name lives on through this new restaurant with such heart and only a 10 minute drive from Venice airport. It turned out to be an unexpected yet beautiful end to our Mediterranean adventure and the bathroom was actually ensuite!

Lost in Venice?

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I’d be hopeless in Race Across the World… much as I love the idea of charging from city to city on public transport with only a map and some cash, I don’t think I’d last long without my phone and google maps!

A few nights ago in Venice it was our faithful guide through the network of streets on the north of the city, which would lead us back to our boat.

We’d enjoyed a day of meanderings, jumping on and off boats ferrying us up and around the grand canal. When we tired of browsing or became too hot, we collapsed in cafes and finally ended up at a canal side restaurant enjoying good food topped off with a few glasses of lemoncello.

After leaving the restaurant, the hunt for an ice cream delayed us slightly and we realised there wasn’t that much time to find our way to the “boat stop” for the 5.2 that would take us ‘home’ to where the catamaran was moored on an island across from the city.

If you’re going to get lost, Venice is the place to be. Around each corner there’s a new delight to greet you or yet another ancient bridge to step over. Impossibly narrow streets open up into secret piazzas with buzzing cafes and towering churches bumping up against shuttered windows and balconies hung with washing.

Finding it hard to hold an ice cream and follow the blue dot on the map up the right street (maybe partly related to the extra glass of lemoncello), I handed navigation over to the “first mate” who marched ahead at speed holding my phone.

It’s easy to get distracted in Venice, looking at Murano glass trinkets, strangely painted masks and that hat I was sure would suit me… Stumbling up another bridge, I spotted a gondolier in a striped top and obligatory boater pushing off from the side and almost colliding with another gondola. There were shouts and laughter and bit of splashing. It looked a pleasant way to explore Venice at night – if a bit busy.

I hurried down the other side of the bridge just in time to see the navigator turning the corner into a narrow alleyway…

“Are you sure this this the way?” I shouted after him, but he was hunched over the phone striding forwards and my words sunk into the walls beside us.

Running to catch up, with my ice cream trickling down my hand, I finally got nearer. Up above, I could only just glimpse the night sky between the towering houses hemming us in. As we turned down the tiniest alleyway where I could put out my arms and touch the walls on either side, I hoped google had it hand and there were no Venetian bandits ready to pounce. I clutched my bag a little tighter.

Earlier, before we had resorted to google maps, the phone’s compass was in use to help us head north… but it wasn’t Dartmoor and google maps, although sometimes a bit slow to catch up with our pace, turned out to be the best option. We had to double back a few times as the blue dot jumped suddenly to another location, but finally, after the darkest, narrowest passageway swallowed us up, there was light ahead and the sound of boats chugging and water splashing.

We reached the cafe-lined quay, only to discover our 10pm boat had ‘sailed’, so there would be time for yet another coffee while we waited.

When the boat did arrive an hour later, we asked them to stop at Certosa island (a request stop only!) and hoped the driver remembered, and that we’d pronounced it correctly. Speeding round the edge of Venice at night turned out to be quite exhilarating. We bumped up against the jetty for the A&E of Venice hospital – where speed boat ambulances waited in line!

Little boats raced beside us on the inky black water and sometimes suddenly cut in front only just missing our bows. With the wind rushing past us and waves splashing below in the dark it felt like an appropriate end to our sailing journey. And the next night after visiting some local islands we did it all again. There were a few less delays through the network of passageways, but we still managed to miss the 10pm boat!