Elba - Our First Circumnavigation

We enjoyed several of Blub's masterpieces decorating metal service boxes on house walls around the island.

Elba, the largest island of the Tuscan Archipelago, was a beautiful, manageable island (only 223 square km.) with sweet towns and well-marked, rough trails.  With the fickle Med wind which changes direction several times daily, we circumnavigated the island in a successful search for safe anchorage.  After our disappointingly quick scoot up the Corsican coast, we slowed down and spent some languid days exploring Elba.  No matter how much time I spend in a place, however, there is usually more to see.  Can't quite figure out why Napoleon didn't just kick up his heels and stay. 

A lighthouse on the west shore gave us a stunning view in the early morning after an all-night sail from Corsica up the Tyrrhenian Sea and the Corsican Channel.

Reminiscent of the Azores with "beaches" of rock enjoyed by many, Elba's sand is hard to find.  It might be hard and lumpy but much more attractive and appealing than the battalions of beach umbrellas found on any stretch of real sand on the Italian mainland.

Portoferraio, the capital city, with citadel and pastel buildings.  Taken from the huge protected bay and anchorage where we spent a few nights.  Napoleon's house was perched near the top looking north toward the Ligurian Sea.

Blub in his blue period.

Napoleon's town mansion.  He also had a country estate a few miles away.  I'm sure not as opulent as what he was used to, but not bad as a punishment.  The Treaty of Fontainebleau in 1814 dethroned him and exiled him to beautiful Elba where he was essentially sovereign.  During his months on the island, he carried out a number of economic and social reforms.

This "parade bed" used while the an entourage moved from one city to another, was the primary feature in the living room and only sitting area in the house.  Rather strange.

Napoleon's sister, Pauline, came to Elba to live with him.  Her lovely cape was an accessory to a very simple white cotton floor length, climate-sensible dress.

Napoleon added his garden to the estate while exiled.  He was allowed a personal guard of 600 men but the island was closely guarded by the French and British navies.  On February 26, 1815 he managed to sneak past his guards, get by an intercepting British ship and return to France.  His exile was ten months long.

Elba was mined extensively on the east coast Piombino Channel.  The abandoned buildings and scarred slopes did not seem to distract the multitudes of bathers on the beach.

We were being closely monitored on our hike.

Our anchorage at Porto Azzuro on the west coast was lovely.  The town was celebrating a music festival.  In the evening, we watched in disbelief as a singer, a guitarist and a pianist performed together from separate floating rafts in the bay.  The piano legs were submerged as were the angels of the guy playing and the vocalist grooved in inches on water.  Luckily, the piano was white and probably didn't show the salt stains.  The groups sound was occasionally distorted by waves.  

Charming Marciano full of artists' boutiques.  

Blub was everywhere.

Our hike took us to a chapel and monastery Napoleon used to frequent to contemplate and meet a lover.  It's peaceful isolation served both purposes, I guess.  These wonderful carvings were on the raw rock walls surrounding a fountain's pool.

A handwritten sign on the chapel door requested that the door remain ajar so a bird nesting on the chandelier inside could fly in and out without worries.

Leaving Elba from the quaint town of Marciano Marina.  We had hiked up to the hillside town on the right through thick woods of chestnut trees.  

Northeast Sardinia - Cruising Extraordinaire

We had been warned that the VIPs would be in Sardinia...and, indeed, they were.  Milly was in fine company.  I think Yacht A is following us around - this is the fourth time we've sailed by.  The other ship, "Dilbar", was moored beside us.  Note the crew on the little bridge sticking out the starboard side of the bow directing the lines to the dinghy below.  She's the world's biggest yacht at 157 m (512 ft), taking up to 36 lucky? guests.

Leaving from the Tiber for seas north, it made sense to only touch on the northeast corner of Sardinia.  And what a coast it was.  A perfect cruising ground - countless anchorages in beautiful bays with sparkling, clear water.  Being on the east side of the island, it was easy to find protection from the predictable mistral which belted through the strait between Corsica and Sardinia.  No intimidating local boras like Croatia that arrive in twenty minutes or long-lasting, buffeting winds like the Aegean's meltimi.  Anchoring was in sand and not too deep.  No need to tie to shore. The only downside was that the towns, although pleasant, were newer with unimaginative architecture.  Croatia wins for sweet, old, walled villages.  It was August and the height of the crazy Mediterranean season.  Although, the anchorages were busy, especially on weekends when locals come out in droves to party, we always found a place.  Charterers were far fewer then in Greece and Croatia, although it is the perfect chartering location!

The wind honking through the Bonifacio Strait and our own inertia dictated that we spend ten days exploring less than 50 NM of Sardinian coast followed by three nights in Corsica.  We had been looking forward to Corsica based on what other cruisers had told us.  However, we realized that they had come from the north and made their way south with the prevailing wind and along the very indented west coast enjoying a myriad of rugged anchorages.  We were heading north against the wind and, therefore, on the east coast where there were anchorages only at the southern and northern tips.  So when the wind was in our northern bound favour and the anchorages disappeared in the long, flat middle of the east coast we headed on an overnight to Elba.  What we saw of Corsica was rugged and beautiful.  Need I say, we'll have to go back.

We left our humbler location on the Tiber River.  Two months later, Milly still suffers from stubborn tea stains around her hulls.  She's overdue for a polish.  The river, although peaceful, had opaque water if there is such a thing.  At one point, a bloated, very large water rat, floated by - probably overeaten.  Although the swan family seemed to be thriving.  The brown adolescents were turning white when we returned after three weeks away.

Anchorage number 1 on Sardinia in Cala Coda Cavallo with the amazing Isola Di Tavolara looming in the background.  It's a narrow solid chunk of granite.  

The Isola Di Tavolara is a magnet for small boats.  They anchor in it's shadow and then visit from boat to boat all day.  At night the anchorage is empty with only the hardcore who shun marinas as much as possible.  There are not many of us.

Anchorage number 2 at Porto Brandinghi.  This was a undeveloped beach - everyone brought their own umbrellas.  Only one cafe and if driving you had to walk about 500m to get to it - relative isolation.  It was still packed.  We went for a walk and cars were parked in every nook and cranny all along the road.  Milly was heaven.

We holed up in Golfo Aranci for several days while the mistral honked through the strait stalling our progress north.  We were stuck on board for a day or two but hiked up to the top of the highest peak in the background.

Most trails in Europe have been very well marked.  We were off the usual path heading straight up the  rocky slope.  But someone who had been up before us had kindly left cairns to mark the trail.  This special one, strategically piled in a dead but not quite fallen tree.

We saw only a tiny portion of Sardinia, a part that is apparently well-developed, with a lot of tourism.  It was busy, lots of boats to keep us entertained but nothing like Croatia.  Human development was limited to the coast - not particularly attractive - but the interior mountain slopes were completely untouched.  Compared to the mainland of Italy where many of the hills are topped with villages, Sardinia was largely left to nature.

Pellegrino Falcons are very strange in Sardinia!  The semaphore station was our hike destination.

In a very sad state of decrepitude but with a glorious view and a cool history.

Around the station were several mounds of rock with religious figures in nooks - burial mounds?

The Costa Smeralda was developed in 1962 by the Aga Khan and others.  The building of villas was strictly controlled to be tasteful and to blend in with the environment.  Porto Cervo, above, is the yachting hub of the Costa.  Apparently, it attracts the likes of Bruce Willis, Mick Jagger and royalty show off their super yachts.  We joined a parade of super yachts on TomTom but went to the very end of the huge marina to be a little less conspicuous.  The development if a little too artificial and rarified for our taste.  We left without a souvenir.

Corsica, crowded but vacant of development.

Beyond the rocky coastline hills, lay the huge rugged mountains of the interior, each cloaked in blue.

A very sad reminder that the wind and waves, even in a protected anchorage, can drag a boat to an early demise.

Porto-Vecchio, an old walled Genoese town, was an unexpected and sweet surprise with a stunning background.  It's current French sophistication was clear while it's historical influence was Italian - nice combo.

Dates:  August 6 to August 19, 2019.

Home Again, Home Again

The belle of every party, Stevie Nicks.  We gave her many a pat over the three weeks.

We were going home to Toronto and our cottage on Stony Lake for three weeks.  Even though it was July and high season in the Med, we were excited to head home in the summer for the first time in five years.  

After a late night at Gid & Em's birthdays party, the two clans of future in-laws got together for a long afternoon brunch.  Then dinner for eight of us.  It was a celebratory weekend, full of good cheer.

And then another family gathering.  This time the O'Neills.  Plenty of love.

Events were plentiful and filled every second - 30th birthday celebrations for Gid and Em, seeing Tom’s apartment, sailing with him on his co-owned boat and visiting his RCYC hangout, socializing with Gid’s parents, sister and partner on a couple of occasions, getting together with the Ramshaw clan, wedding dress shopping with Em several times, visiting with dear friends in Toronto and at the cottage, spending time at the cottage and taking stock of what needs to be done after our neglect, clearing out the locker and taking remains to a generous friend in London’s basement, and getting together with my big brothers and partners.  This final event only happens every five or so years when Michael returns from India for visa renewal.  Tim specially flew in from Bermuda and me from Rome.  It was extra special and meant so much that we all made the effort along with our partners and our children.  

Me and my big bros!  Loved every minute and so grateful that we pulled it off.  It's no easy feat when we are so far flung around the world.

For the first time in five years, we felt that our three week visit home wasn’t long enough.  There were many friends we hadn’t been able to see.  We had had a wonderful time and were committed to spending a few months at home in 2020.  Too soon we were headed back home to Milly.

A little bit of R&R at the cottage.

Our home abode is Milly wherever she happens to be.  Our home place is Toronto.  Our cottage has never been home - it is “the cottage” and we love it.  After five years, I am comfortable with the meaning of the terminology.  We flew across the ocean home and recrossed home again.

Hopping to the Tiber River via Gaeta

Milly had never been so guarded, as in Gaeta.

We were on a schedule - never our favourite thing, but seems to be our habit this season - to get to a reserved berth on the Tiber River where we were leaving Milly for our trip to Canada.

A stop on the way was Gaeta.  In ancient Roman times, Gaeta was and still is, a resort for the Roman Emperors and rich.  Via Appia, which Peter and I had bicycled 8 years ago, leads to the villas of the wealthy from Rome.  Today the city is thriving with tourism but other industrial trials have been unsuccessful including as a commercial port which makes it a favourite stop for yachts.

A small chapel sat wedged between these two walls of rock.  Legend has it that the rock split at the moment of Christ's death.  

• 
  

A battalion of beach chairs.  Can't imagine trying to find my towel after a dip in the crowded sea.

Gaeta was a lovely anchorage.  We explored the levels of medieval lanes up to the churches on the left and hiked to the top of the promontory to unexpectedly find a 1st century mausoleum of a Roman general - currently a museum in the middle of nowhere.

The tiella is unique to Gaeta.  It is a cross between a pizza and a calzone, baked, not fried. It comes with a variety of stuffings.  We tried the typical - diced calamari with garlic, oil, pepper and a tiny bit of tomato sauce and a baccala (dried codfish).  Interesting but a bit too much dough for me. Gaeta also boasts a distinctive brand of olive.  We have the green in our stores for future consumption.  The black have been consumed. 

Traditional fishing techniques at Ostia, the mouth of the Tiber River.  Called "bilancione or "big scale".  Not sure what they were catching but it was a very murky, opaque river.  We also saw guys fishing with a cast net.  

This guy moved Milly from one berth to another by rafting up and pulling, pushing, nudging her into place very gently, without mishap and lickety split.  Very skilled.

This was a family run marina where boats were rafted up on old, rather decrepit wooden docks.  Our neighbours behind us were collectors items and hadn't moved in eons but were much loved.  We had to climb over our neighbour from Guernsey and another boat that was slowly sinking to get ashore.  The marina, staffed by the charming family, was simple but lovely surrounded by marshland.  We had constant entertainment when we weren't working by the boat traffic on the Tiber.  

One of three swan teens who swam by twice a day and slept at night on a tiny private beach across from us.  Private - only for them and a muskrat.