A little last ray of sunshine

From Milazzo the forecast promised a slight abatement in the weather front, but still a following wind, albeit one that still had some teeth. The spinnaker plan was vetoed by key stakeholders in the blustery 30kt +  levanter, but the poled out genoa plan slipped in under the radar. Alas, the following 2m sea conspired with the near gale to defeat the autopilot, and a broach put the wind afore the beam, destroying both the spinnaker pole and the captain's credibility in one fell swoop.

After lashing the broken pole to the mast we continued on and rounded Cape Peloro, sailing into the dreaded Straights of Messina, in the wake of Odysseus 3000 years ago:

"And all this time, in travail, sobbing, gaining on the current, we rowed into the strait - Skylla to port and on our starbord beam Kharibdis, dire gorge of the salt sea tide. By Heaven! when she vomited, all the sea was like a cauldron seething over intense fire, when the mixture suddenly heaves and rises." Homer - The Odyssey.

We also had some crazy currents, gusts, and odd wind effects: it was all a bit exciting , but perhaps a tad tamer from the stable cockpit of Familia than it was for Odysseus. With the sails down, the wind bullets and cross currents had only a limited effect: the donk chugged away reassuringly to take us down the straight.

We opted for an industrial overnighting in Reggio Di Calabria on the eastern shore - famous mainly as a fertile mafia recruitment ground. The morning swim was much more nipply than expected as there must be a solid 2 degree differential between the Tyrrhenian and the Straits proper. A long motor the next day brought us to Acitrezza where we spent two days waiting out a southerly storm on the town quay. The jagged basalt spires outside the port entry once again provided a link to Odysseus; Homer tells us they were hurled after him by the blinded Cyclops, Polyphemus.

Fort Costello, Syracusa

Once the weather eased we headed to charming Syracusa, the last major town on the east coast. What a great entry to a great town: rounding the old fort on the north headland you enter a great natural harbour, with the old town fully resplendent. The marina is right on the edge of the old town and only 3 minutes walk from the markets held every day from 7 to 1.  The produce was even more outrageously fresh and inviting than the rest of Italy: marinated olives for $5/kg, impossibly glossy ripe truss tomatoes for $1.50/kg, crusty Italian bread to die for only $1 per loaf. So when the southerly weather pattern continued to indicate a rough trip to Malta, a few extra (warm) days were welcomed. The Fort and the local Greek and Roman theatres are spectacular and amongst the best preserved in the world. A chilly excursion to the so called Grand Canyon was fun, as was partaking of the local vino rossi, Nero D'Avola.

Daily Markets, Syracusa- marinated olives to die for....

Finally a break in the weather allowed a short motor to Portopalo, an anchor, and an early departure for Malta. At least it would have been if my dodgy bowline hadnt let the stern anchor go just as I was about to grab the chain at 5.30AM. The dark, icy pre-dawn swim with waterproof torch in hand was nothing less than I deserved:  I was improbably lucky to spot the end of the chain in 6 m of murky water on what I had decided was my last futile dive.  Dolphins in the dawn on the way to Malta were subsequently another lucky find.

The taste buds had reservations as we headed for Malta but what a landfall: The ochre walls of Forts St Elmo and St Angelo vie for attention as you approach Valletta. Once between them and into the aptly named Grand Harbour the buildings ooze history from all sides. Is it still possible to take vows in the Order of the Knights of St John?

The Grand Harbour Marina....indeed.

We have taken a full month's berth in the Grand Harbour Marina: possibly the most stunning location we have yet had the good fortune to experience. Even the screams and tantrums of our unbelievably recalcitrant children somehow seem more grand as they echo off the historic sandstone walls of the nearby forts and cathedrals.



Swimmer in the blue lagoon

 The climate here is more African than Mediterranean, so after a couple of days we took advantage of what was probably the last weather window for an anchor out in the so-called Blue Lagoon. After an evening anchored in the 25kt storm the morning dawned sunny and gentle: a great day of swimming and sun was had by all- probably the last one until spring though.

Blue lagoon in winter - all to ourselves

An ageing, grey haired man enjoys a rare post prandial nap
on board whilst cradling his burgeoning paunch

In the meantime we have been trying to get some fitness going. I have located a boxing gym, so last week I took the boys along and strapped on the gloves after a 2 year hiatus. The acute muscular pain is only just receding: not helped by a punchy 11 year old who now sees himself as the new Rocky (or in fact Mundine if his aptitude for verbosity and confrontation is any indication.)



The Maltese claim to be the earliest Christians, the island having been coverted by a shipwrecked St Paul in AD50. Home made fireworks and timber statues of saints were the features of the feast of our Lady of the Immaculate Conception last Wednesday. Christmas in this tiny traditional nation is therefore the plan, before abandoning our ship and heading landward for a few months in greater Europe. Spain following a skiing session is the idea at the moment: plans are always mutable though so we shall see.


Ciao


A gory statue somehow related to our lady of the immaculate conception...
Did that bloke threaten the Madonna's virtue perhaps?.....Hmm.

 

Make me an offer..

Well: when it’s not pouring with rain, when the kids or parents aren’t punishing each other; and when we get enough exercise, winter cruising can be fun. It can be tough to get the planets to line up though, so there’s been plenty of squabbling.



Walking to Christ:
Maratea from above



The shin of Italy featured a series of near deserted, rain swept ports: Agripoli, Camerota, Maratea. Tumbleweeds seemed to be the main inhabitants, although at certain moments the populace would emerge for a spot of shopping or the odd café latte. Mondays and Tuesdays are the most barren as the shopkeepers tend to remain closed on these days. A swathe of zombie movie film sets in the offing, opines Master Finbar. To be fair there have been a few breaks in the clouds and these have been great: bushwalks in the hinterland at Camerota through the olive groves; a hike through the town and (almost) to the massive Christ Statue on the peak above Maratea; and here and there the odd great lunch when we find an open Restaurant (Fridays through to Sundays.)



Dusk on an oily sea



Stromboli... OK you had to be there



The night motor to Lipari was something different: a cloudless and windless day saw us motoring across an oily sea into the sunset. As we passed Stromboli the gouts of lava, whilst distant, were (in my view…) spectacular, blasting up to 100 m in the air, blazing a path through the black night. Lipari itself was something of a disappointment: the weather was good but so much was closed it couldn’t shake the zombie town feeling.



The Chinese Landry: Lipari



Helming in the Levanter

The poor forecast meant that exploring the island by sea wasn’t really an option, so we broad reached in a 25 kt Levanter for Sicily and a few days of respite off the boat.  



Typical Sicilian town



After negotiating the hire of a zippy little Peugeot we headed for Taormina, a resort town. The North Sicilian terrain is volcanic mountains, forested in places but rocky in others, with impossibly scenic little towns perched on ridges, and the ubiquitous castles dotted above or near the towns. A great drive up and over the range, with Mt Etna (3300 m or thereabouts) fuming quitely but ominously just further down the coast.



The Belvedere and the The Homey



Like Amalfi, Taormina was pure James Bond – cliffs, crazy switchbacks, and old world charm. We lucked in to the Hotel Belvedere, a classic old establishment perched on the cliffs, complete with manicured grounds, a pool, an amazing view down to the sea….And they had a suite with a separate room for the kids. The staff effortlessly made the words “Senor” and “Senora” seem friendly, and respectful; but with such style that one felt instantly elevated to the position of minor European Royalty, or perhaps a film star. One night wasn’t nearly enough: walks were left unexplored, wine undrunk, and restaurants unexperienced. Worth another look.



The famous ceramic stairway of Caltigirone



We had a disturbed night in a house built in 1300 AD which, though charming in its architecture and internal antiquities, proved near impossible to find: we got lost in a very depressing nearby grey forboding town that emitted a sinister air.

We then headed for Agrigento. Like Delphi, this is the site of a series of ancient Greek Temples, dating circa 600 BC. The kids enjoyed practicing their “assassin training” amongst the piles of stones, while we slowly walked from one edifice to another. The sunset lent an ochre hue to the site, enhancing the golden sandstone and sense of an ancient presence. Alas, the hotel was expensive and soulless. 



The Temple of Concordia, Agrigento 



Our final stop was the ancient town of Cefalu. The new high rises on the approach were a bit off putting, but once we were into the old town it all made sense. We found a tiny hotel with a small two room suite (hooray) on the cliff looking over the sea. A second night was immediately negotiated. The classic rabbit warren streets were lovely, as was the walk to the ruined castle on the headland followed by perfect Sunday lunch in a humming trattoria: the locals were out in force but waiting for a table was worth it.

Gelato on the steps of the Duomo, Cefalu

Back on the boat and back into the kid’s squabbling. It is disappointing how rapid and how total can be the failure of two intelligent and well educated adults to manage simple tasks like room cleaning and schoolwork. The excitement of some 50 knot gusts (90km/h for the lubbers) howling through the marina gave us a few minutes respite; but ultimately it was back to the reality of life below decks with under-stimulated homesick kids.

We are weathering this storm in Milazzo, which is surprisingly picturesque given that the skyline is dominated by an oil refinery. From here we will head down the east coast to Syracuse before a passage to Malta and (hopefully) some warmer, more clement weather: and a date with some English books and movies.

Cathe's update



Back on the boat



Leaving Sydney to return to Familia was much harder this time. We all knew that the last warmth of a Mediterranean Summer was being shunted along by Autumn’s cooling winds and rumbling Fronts, we knew the kids were reluctantly being pulled away from their easy going grandma ,fine friends, now elevated school and the sheer incomparable wonder of Bondi Beach, and we knew a 36 hour transit of movies and games would see us sick and stressed at the end. Right on all counts.



The Cable Car at Capri



Coming back was a necessity: we had to finish what we had begun. Sailing into Capri reminded me of it. We almost didn’t go as Steve, the boys, Dom + Susie had visited whilst I was back in Sydney. But you can’t sail blithely past one of the worlds famous landmarks and not pop in. We were the only yacht in the marina and the berthing charge had suffered a steep descent in our favour. We walked up to Anacapri, the centro in terms of shops and cafes and fell head first into drifts of bustling tourists aimlessly window prowling for the latest + greatest + tackiest: I’m now sure the 10 /10.30 opening is intentional as it guarantees a feeding frenzy and even I felt disproportionally upset from being thwarted in purchasing a delectable ceramic ensemble of hot red chillis (now observed to be in every tacky tourist shop at half the price) as we HAD TO Go and View the top of the Island.



Axel Munthe's Sphinx, Capri

A singeing cliff face bus ride brought us to the chairlift which we took to the top. Then we meandered down to the Axel Munthe Museum , the former residence of a early 20th century Swiss Doctor who built over the remains of Tiberus’ villas (reusing the stone/ unearthing mosaic floors and mysteriously finding a sphinx revealed to him in a dream and to this day perched high facing outward on the terraced promenade keeping watch, inscrutably over the bay of Capri and all mankind’s endeavours, follies and transgressions. His autobiographical novel “ A life at San Michele” is an interesting read to discover more about the island as well as his unusual and civic minded life.



Capri to Amalfi at Dusk



We left Capri and sailed back to Amalfi where we resumed our berth with Julio and where we found ourselves once more – a sign of things to come – the only yacht / vessel there and about to have the jetty packed away. We felt familiar with Amalfi and really enjoyed the streets to ourselves and the locals. Our two biggest challenges were: staying awake for the pizza ovens to power up at 7pm, a long stretch when darkness falls at 4.30 pm and the kids have begged (and been bribed) for it, only to fall asleep mid mouthful, and The Walk Of The Gods.

Coffee above Positano

The walk normally starts at the village of Bomerano, high above Amalfi and traverses the cliffs to a long descent to Positano. Missing the Bomerano bus sealed our fate: so we caught the bus to glamorous Positano, descended to the beach to gaze upon a famous tourist vista deserted by tourists and then turned around to begin the ascent up to the Walk of the Gods. It’s a walk I’m very proud of because after some determined resistance by Sholto (“ I’m not going on another long boring walk”) everyone kept to pace and the long precarious ascent was accomplished after 4 + half hours with no food, no break and plenty of good humour. It really was a walk from the sea to the clouds, a walk of the Gods.

The Walk of the Gods 1



The Walk of the Gods 2





The last of the good weather? -Goodbye Amalfi



Since sailing further south we have ploughed into a run of bad weather, with days merging into a drizzled gloom of cramped sodden spaces, tetchy tempers and mad shenanigans. We’ve been the freaky foreigners out there trudging along in morose weather with every shop shut, every house shuttered, every street deserted. The one memorable place shining out was Maratea, where we struck sunshine, good food and energising company at the restaurant of sculptor / ceramicist Paulo Tomasino. All good things come to an end and we left to sail to the Aeolian Islands before more atrocious weather rushed out to meet us. These islands are famous from Homers Odyssey and warned about then for their unpredictable and freakish winds. The story goes Odysseus was given a bag not to be untied by the gods but his ship mates thought a peek wouldn’t hurt so upon opening it released powerful diabolic winds that remain to this day. The pilot guide soberly ascertains that over years of experience and other sobering seaman’s tales he has come to the conclusion that there is an Aeolian Triangle, much like the Bermuda Triangle, where all manner of strange things happen, here ‘you be off the map’.





Dominoes under way





Waiting out the Storm in boring Camerota





 An optimist by nature I’m rapidly being disavowed of any notion that a sailing sojourn in the Med over Autumn /Winter is a tantalising opulent adventure. There are sparkling azure days but Homer’s “wine dark sea” is more prevalent to the power of 10. For Fin’s 11th birthday we planned an overnight sail past Stromboli, a true birthday candle in the sky, an active volcano flaring its fierce rage for maritimers for over 1000 years. We timed our passage for 9pm, a high light of a 14 hour sail – actually motor – and in between blinks of an eye or a protracted yawn it did perform wonderfully but the truth is we were all so tired and so cold it was a bit like “yup seen it, now can we get out of here and find somewhere warm to sleep” which the boys promptly did whilst we endured another creeping passage of 4 hours. Singing Nick Cave helps.



Cruising the Med: Part 2

We coughed and wheezed for a few days in Chiaiolella befire finally setting sail again, into the teeth of a blustery Sirrocco gusting 20-30 knots (40 - 55 km/h for the landlubbers.) Well: Sailing in a Sirrocco - another tick vehemently applied to the bucket list - Errol was with us as we bore away to run with the near gale. It was only a short haul over to the Island of Ischia but a long way from the gentle nor westers of late summer. Wet weather gear was the order of the day - we are decidedly in the "low" cruising season now.



Sailing in the Sirrocco



We arrived in Porto D' Ischia and battened the hatches as the forecast was for more to come: the next day saw winds that must have reached 40+kts and an electrical storm and downpour to match. Our agenda was lunch and a bushwalk on the mountain. We got the rabbit cacciatore down in the moutainside restaurant, but the wind was extreme, so heading back to the boat looked like a better option than being blown off a cliff. By then, the gale had forced the seas into the harbour, raising the ocean level and threatening the quayside establishments: the water was ankle deep on the quay heading back to the boat.

The next day was more moderate so we headed for the Castello Aragonese, located on an island that first saw a fortified settlement in 474 BC.





Cathe on the Terazzo Delgi Ulivi, Castello Aragonese, Isola D' Ischia 





The causeway to the castle



The views were breathtaking, but so too were some of the macabre historic details. The Nun's cemetery is a dungeon with what appear to be stone toilets around the walls. If only. In fact they were the repositories for the dead bodies of the Nuns while the flesh rotted and the juices flowed into vases located beneath the chairs.  The best detail? The other Nuns would spend many hours in this room meditating on the transitory nature of the flesh of their sisters, often contacting diseases in doing so. Later the skeletons would be buried in mass graves. The torture museum surpassed this though. Suffice to say we left without taking photos of that particular display.



Dead Nuns in the Cimitero Delle Monache Clarisse



We are enjoying the low season vibe, the locked hotels, the empty streets.We are also looking forward to some of the sleepier fishing villages further south on the way to Sicily.







Soaking up the last of the sun - relaxing after homework, on route to Capri

Familia is now rocking in the deserted marina at Capri. The ferries come and go but there is not another cruising yacht to be seen, despite the fact that the prices have plummeted. It is dark at 5.15pm. Whether we hoof it up the hill or do a BBQ on the boat remains to be seen.





Familia - lonely on the dock at Capri



Ciao.







Back in the slow lane

We arrived back on Familia after 36 hours of travel by car, plane, ferry and van, arriving in 12 degree rain  to discover that the non-return valve in the shower pump out line had done a little wobbly. This meant that there was water all through the normally dry bilge and everything was damp. Not what you need when seriously jetlagged.

Everyone grumpily went to bed early except me, cleverly seeing an opportunity to focus on the mop up and then go to bed at a normal time, thereby beating the jetlag on day 1. My brilliant stratagem fell apart at 4AM when everyone cheerfully woke me up to watch movies on the laptop. Oh ye of little discipline. 4 days later everyone has the flu and we are still operating on a type of hybrid time, better suited to India or thereabouts.



In denial in Procida



Everything is noticably colder than 4 weeks ago, air and water temperature; but I have been desperate to suck the last of the marrow from this summer.  Once the sun did come out I have been firmly in denial, wearing boardshorts and swimming at the beach as the locals wander by in jeans, jackets and boots. The cheerful little beach scene of 4 weeks ago is now non-existent: the beach is empty, the deck chair vendors have packed up and left, and the lonely feeling is augmented by the flotsam strewn over the sand, washed up in the wild storms over the last few weeks.



Sculptures on the beach at Chiaiolella, Procida


The Autumnal weather means that cooking downstairs is now a perfectly acceptable activity. After visiting the markets Cathe made chicken noodle soup to feed the flu riddled crew. Not quite the bench space one would like but it's interesting how quickly we adjust.


Autumn slow cooking


The last of our bags finally arrived today (yes unbelievably we temporarily lost another one in transit) so we are ready to once again resume the wandering life. Tomorrow might be another lay day to shake the flu off better (and watch the Wallabies game) and then we'll be off again where the wind takes us. Some options will be less available, already the waterfronts are shutting down: cafes with the shutters drawn, hotels locked down, etc.  However, it's nice to feel that the pace has slowed down and the tourists have mostly left for jobs or warmer climes.

Southward bound.

Home and away

Sadly for those who are not yet aware Dick Stack passed away on the 27th September, aged 84 years.

After a vigil of 10 days, with his family always in attendance, and despite a few promising signs for a partial recovery along the way, he took a turn for the worse on the 25th and slowly slipped away. The boys and I jumped on a plane but were just a few hours too late to say goodbye.

Feed 'em meat Dick

Rest In Peace

The Funeral was attended by many friends, family and well-wishers;  the eulogies were poignant and formed a fitting send off for Dick.

We have been back in Sydney since then.  Feelings have been mixed as the Stacks dealt with their loss, but also it has been a time for catching up with old friends and family: and of course making up for lost time with some surfing.  The relatively placid Med just cant deliver that dynamic frisson that only a surfer knows. All the boys have enjoyed re-aquainting themselves with the Pacific.

Weeeeeeere back!

An offer from the Mackinnons saw us spending a week in their snazzy Bondi home only just around the corner from our house - it was almost too easy to settle into that easy Bondi Beach spring weekend mode: not to mention movies, TV, and commonwealth games.  

Somehow 4 weeks have slipped away since we arrived. The various arrangements have taken time, and the boys even put in a week at school (they were desperate to go) which was a nice respite for us and for them. I particularly enjoyed the rhythm of the last week: dropping the boys off,  grabbing a coffee at Greens Cafe, and heading down for a leisurely surf each morning.

Not complaining on a school day

On the strength of an auspicious forecast  one morning, I took advantage of being at Northbridge to head over to South Curl Curl, my old stamping ground. In a word: cranking.  After a few earlier forgettable outings it was pleasing that this creaky 43 year old had rediscovered at least a little of the old mojo.

As I paddled around the lineup it slowly dawned on me that I recognised a lot of the faces in the water. They were 10-15 years older but they were still there, balding, ageing, doing the same old thing, only wagging work now instead of school when the swell was on. I wasn't sure whether to be supremely impressed or supremely dismissive. The array of tradies vans in the car park rammed it home though: work life balance is king. Why did I move into town again? Is it too late to resurrect the Able Handyman from the pyrrhic success of a city career?

We have now booked our tickets to fly out Monday morning, so thankfully such questions will remain moot until we return, until the insanity that is life and work in the city is once again causing slumped shoulders and stress knots in the stomach. The weather forecast for Naples is for rain and chilly conditions, although hopefully we will see a few post 20 degree days later in the week before the inevitable descent into icy winter.

We hope to chase the sun down to Sicily and then Tunisia before packing up Familia and putting her up for sale. After that some land time beckons, perhaps settling in somewhere, surfing in Portugal's Algarve region, or perhaps Andalucian Spain, where the worst of the ravages of a European winter might pass us by (but not those North Atlantic swells) 


Impressions of Sydney 


When we first arrived back, the drive from the airport along the eastern beaches only reinforced our jingoistic views about Australia, Sydney and Bondi: now we've seen a large chunk of what Europe has to offer we can confidently say it dont come close. That white crescent of sand we call home and indeed all the others up and down the coast have a particularly antipodean allure that simply cant be matched. 


The feeling was enhanced when I delivered Moya, our Sydney yacht, up to Pittwater for her annual service one afternoon after the mandatory morning romp amongst Bondi's finest. I motorsailed past Neilsen park and out through the heads; the mutton birds surfed the wind off the bow while I marvelled in the view down toward the bridge. By Long Reef the wind angle was good enough to turn off the donk and she headed effortlessly into the 15kt nor-easter under full canvas. I worked the main with the helm locked off and trimmed the sails to steer her in the absence of a functioning autopilot - a particularly sublime pleasure that Joshua Slocum would have approved of. Off Warriewood a couple of whales sounded no more than 50 m off the bow before they realised I was there and headed for the depths. Arriving in Pittwater I was once again taken aback by the sheer beauty of the place: Palm Beach headland,  The National Park, the Basin.

We've entered a lot of harbours in the last 6 months and I can tell you that while some might equal, none can eclipse those that are right here on our doorstep. Maybe coming back in 6 months wont be so tough after all.

Very bad news

Cathe has jumped on a plane and is back in Sydney because her father, Dick Stack, has had a massive stroke and is in critical condition in RNS Hospital. We got the call on Tuesday and had her on the plane ASAP the following day. At the moment we are waiting to see how he goes but so far the news is not great. The family is rallying around but everyone is terribly upset and this is worsened because no-one yet knows just what the outcome will be. For us here on the boat it is difficult because we are powerless to help. The boys are out of sorts and very emotional with their mother being away and grandpa so ill: and so am I.

We have been staying in the sleepy and perfect town of Chiaiolella on the island of Procida. A 50 m walk from the pontoon brings us to a little black sand beach facing out into the Tyrrhenian which the boys love. But despite being in a magical location the sparkle is gone from the trip, although I am very glad Dom and Suzie are here to provide emotional and practical support. We have been doing our best to entertain them and so after a couple of morose days we have continued to see a few sights.

We decided to press on to the famous Isola Di Capri for a look at the Blue Grotto. At 4pm the approach resembled nothing more than an aquatic shopping centre carpark, but at 5.30 pm after a short recce along the coast, all the tripper boats had gone, so we swam in for a totally surreal experience on our own in this most famous of caves.



Underwater and alone in the Blue Grotto at dusk





A crack in the cliffs - Capri

Spurning the offer of a berth in the port for a mere 190 euros, we headed for a tiny crack in the cliffs in the remote west side of the island, making fast with anchor and ropes out of the worst of the surge. In the morning we headed to the south side and threw out the anchor, calling one of the restaurants who picked us up for lunch. The location was complete rich + famous lifestyle and the 4 euro per head coperto ( cover charge) was the most usurious we have yet struck: alas the seafood menu was a bit lost on us.

We are heading back to Chiaolella for some more downtime while we wait for news of Dick. Our thoughts are with him and the Stack family. 



Dick and Cathe - our thoughts are with you both.

Jetsetting

We had our last few days on Familia in Turkey at anchor in Deep Bay. Finally the relentless heat moderated slightly, and the weather and the scenery were both superb: a couple more weeks in Turkey suddenly looked like a nice option, but we were committed to plane tickets and the yacht delivery.


We met Ari, our delivery skipper, in Gocek before jumping on a plane for Istanbul. Everyone was very pleased to be off the boat at last, although when we arrived at our hotel the feeling palled somewhat as the realities of a small quad share room sank in: out of the cramped, emotional hothouse frying pan and into the fire? At least the staff had a relaxed attitude to the kids monopolizing the free internet point in the foyer while they worked down their life-threatening computer game-time deficit.



Sholto in front of an "elephants foot" column, Blue Mosque. 



Cathe covering up for Allah.

The Oceans 7 Hotel (recommended by Baz) was located in the old town tourist hub, a short walk to the main landmarks: the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia, the Topkapi Palace, and the Grand Bazaar. Our three days were well spent walking to these attractions through the maze of back streets where all the interesting hustle + bustle of the trades in leather + carpets happen. Sadly we didn’t purchase anything despite serious looking, oohing + aahhing. Kooks.

The Haga Sophia - the largest structure on Earth from the 6th to the 16th Century

We then jumped on the plane for Rome. A real 2-bedroom apartment gave us relief from the claustrophobia of the quad share hotel room: nasty things those. What a revelation Rome is: extraordinary architecture stretching back 2500 years, food to die for, actual real coffee, and of course the vino: molto bene.

Gladiators at the Collosseum

Our apartment was in the Piazza Navone district which was in the thick of the old town, a walk away from all the main sights. Rome is serviced by a series of major soulless arterial roads reminiscent of William St, and on arrival in the taxi we were a bit nonplussed with the apartment’s location.



Illegal photography in the Sistine Chapel



Supping the waters of the Trevi Fountain

However, stepping over a couple of dead rats and walking down to the other end of the slightly seedy alley, a whole different world unfolded. Narrow pedestrian streets lined with groovy shops, cafes and restaurants, with stylishly dressed Romans hurrying this way on that, and the odd Vespa or Fiat Bambino beeping to get past. Keep walking and within 5 minutes one or other of the famous piazzas opens up: Navone, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps. Walk a bit further to the west and St Peter’s greets you. To the east the Collosseum beckons. All within 30 minutes walk, except it’s an amble punctuated with gelato, pizza, and much consulting of the guide book to garner the fine detail on whatever amazing building you happen to be standing in front of. So we got around to all the sights on foot, but 4 days was barely a taste which left us wanting more; we all made sure to have a drink from the waters of the Trevi Fountain which is said to ensure your return.



Arrividerci Roma, we shall return.



Some nice architecture in the Piazza San Pietro



Next stop was Naples via the fast train, from where we noodle down to Sorrento for a couple of days. From there a hair-raising bus ride along the cliffs took us to Amalfi to meet the boat and also Dom and Suzie who were joining us for a week. After a rejuvenating gap it was good to be back on board.

Amalfi is the centre of the Amalfi Coast, playground of the rich and famous. After the grace of Rome we found it a bit touristy, although the saving feature is the Littari Mountains which rise majestically from the sea. This area is a well known hiking destination and we took good advantage of the opportunity to stretch our legs. On the Sorrento side of the range the walking was more urban, narrow country lanes leading to little villages with rejuvenating cafes and gelaterias at which we refreshed ourselves before striking out again. A hiking holiday in this area has been penciled into to the book for future reference and we encountered a few people doing this.



Dom and Suzie - our first guests

On the Amalfi side the terrain is more rugged and remote (with the exception of the crowded town environs). Our first walk was to follow a watercourse up the mountains dotted with 5 centuries of deserted paper mills, and then cut across to a little village. Here we hid from our first rain for about 3 months with a spot of lunch in a fab restaurant with striking views of the coast, before the rapid 1000-step descent to meet Dom and Suzie. The rain was a welcome change, but also a reminder that our Mediterranean Summer cannot last forever.



Terrace of Infinity, Villa Cimbrone, Ravello



The next day we took a chance on the weather and while Suze settled on a rest day to beat her flu, the rest of us struck out up the next hill to the picture perfect town of Ravello. We made the mandatory visit to the gardens of Villa Cimbrone before settling down to a fine lunch at Villa Marie, boasting an even more striking view than that of the day before. The view, the food, tuxedoed Italian waiters gesticulating artfully with impeccable manners, the vino, the smug feeling that for once we had actually exercised in advance of the feedfest, all contributed to a perfect afternoon.



Braving the torrent from Ravello

A few worrying signs from the heavens culminated in the unleashing of the most torrential downpour imaginable, naturally when we were 1/3 of the way down the hill with no shelter in sight. Finally we made it back to the boat in the dark and after a warm shower and a few Jameisons even this experience seemed to enhance rather than detract from a great day.




2000 year old frescoe, Pompeii



The original caesarstone - Pompeii



After Amalfi we headed around the peninsula to Sorrento and a stab at finding somewhere to watch the rugby and check out Pompeii. After a lot of walking and mucking around we located the former in the ubiquitous Irish pub but after drowning sorrows (and a female shopping frenzy until late) Pompeii was relegated to the next day. Pompeii is much bigger than we imagined, an entire Roman city very well preserved beneath the ash for 1800 years, including mosaics, marble benchtops and even frescoes. We finished the day with dinner in the main square of the new town, watching the locals get out and parade about at dusk, a favourite Italian pastime.



Sadly the next day we got some bad news.