Corsica to Sardinia
Sorry it's been a while since I posted. I have been having so much fun (I mean doing so much work y'know) that the blogging has taken a step back.
Just to remind you, the last post documented our gruelling trip back to Corsica from England, the best part of two nights without sleep. When we arrived on 6th September we had a rest then got in the tender to cross the short distance to land so we could buy provisions.
The small supermarket in Porto Pollo was still closed when we got there, so we had to wait a while in the shade until it opened for the afternoon at 4.30.
Eventually a shop assistant arrived, finished their cigarette and opened the shutters. We stocked up with some more fresh food, merguez sausages, wine, bread, simple but tasty. I planned to cook a good meal for our last night in Corsica. The reality was that we were so tired by the evening we just opened a couple of tins of, you guessed, curry, and ate it on deck with French bread. After that it was time for an early night. Rock'n'roll lol.
7th September 2023
It was so good to sleep in a proper bed after the last two night's disruptions. I kept waking up, feeling so comfortable I thought I was back at home, then drifting back to my slumbers. I'd have been pretty fed up if I had actually been at home and imagined the whole horrendous journey.
We had breakfast and set off at 10.15am. There wasn't much wind and the sea was flat calm. Vik and I had taken seasickness medication but there really wasn't any need for it. It was warm and sunny, great conditions.
Igor had put one reef in the mainsail but it wasn't necessary. After a couple of hours he shook it out, attempting to catch the best of what little wind there was.
One of the hazards of sailing pretty much anywhere that people fish near to the shore (i.e. the whole coastline of just about any country) is lobster pots. Lobsters are expensive but if you have the right equipment and are prepared to go a little way offshore it seems to be quite straightforward to catch them. You drop a lobsterpot on a rope until it hits the seabed, and mark the place by attaching something buoyant to the other end of the rope. You go back a while later and retrieve the pot, hoping there's a lobster inside.
The issue is what the fishermen use to mark the pot. In some places, such as the Netherlands, there will be a flag sticking a few feet out of the water. In many others there will just be a five litre plastic canister tied to it. Try spotting them among the waves!
These pots are a hazard as they are very difficult to see. The fishermen scatter them, seemingly at random, two or three pots here and there, a few tens of metres apart. We, as sailors, travel in these same waters. Of course we are keeping a lookout at all times, but if the water is choppy or there are reflections the marker buoys can be difficult to see. They are often white or grey and just bob on the surface of the water. Sometimes, if you're lucky, they'll have a flag atop a stick attached but more often than not it's just an old plastic jerrycan which you have to notice in time to take evasive action. If it's dark or foggy or too bright or general low visibility this is difficult. If you run over a pot when your engine is running the rope will wrap itself around your propeller and you won't be able to move.
I stopped eating lobster when I realised how interesting they are. They can live for over a hundred years, and the prospect of eating something even older than me seems disrespectful. I wish everyone felt the same way and we could get rid of the lobster pots too. Yes I know they are delicious and they were a rare and expensive treat for me but it just doesn't seem right any more.
The morning turned to lunchtime. We had bread, sausage, cheese and salad, washed down with lemon squash, simple French ingredients are hard to beat.
Once we'd eaten Igor opened the genoa. It helped our speed a little but an hour or two later, as we passed through the Straits of Bonifacio, the wind died away completely so he rolled it in. Around 5.30pm my phone pinged to say we were in Italy. Igor and Vik lowered the French courtesy flag which has been flying since April and raised the red, white and green of Italy. 'Au revoir France, Ciao Italia'
There is an internationally followed etiquette surrounding flying national flags on the water.
If you're a British boat there are three 'British' flags which you may display. Most British boats display a red flag with the Union Flag in the top left hand corner, the British Merchant Shipping flag or Red Ensign. Any vessel registered in the UK, a Crown Dependency or an Overseas Territory is defined as a British ship and is allowed to fly it.
Another option is the blue ensign, which looks like the red ensign except that, as the name suggests, it's navy blue instead of red. Members of certain clubs with Royal Warrants and merchant ships with officers that are RN Retired or Royal Research ships may fly this. If you see a blue ensign the boat probably belongs to a bigwig at a local swanky yacht club.
The third option is the white ensign, reserved for Royal Navy ships and shore establishments. It consists of a red St George's Cross on a white field, like the English flag beloved of football fans, except with the Union Flag in the upper left hand side. It is also worn by yachts of members of the Royal Yacht Squadron and by ships of Trinity House escorting the reigning monarch.
Flying your national flag isn't just a British thing. When you walk through a marina or have a day on the water you'll see that each (occupied) boat has the national flag of the country it is registered in by the stern, traditionally the 'senior' position. The national flag should be the largest flag on the boat and be displayed from 8.00am until sunset. It should be taken down at night or when the yacht is not occupied.
When you are abroad flag etiquette requires that you fly a courtesy flag, that is the flag of the nation you are visiting, as near to the starboard (right hand) spreader (the bits that stick out at right angles to the mast from about half to two thirds of the way up) as you can. The convention is that it should be flown higher than the national flag. When we were in the canals in France we didn't have any spreaders as we had no mast so we had a little stick to fly the courtesy flag from. The flag must be in good condition, as it's not very courteous to fly a tatty flag.
We've travelled over 800 nautical miles with the French flag, so raising the Italian one was a moment to remember.
We carried on for an hour after this, then dropped the mainsail which hadn't really had much to do all day.
Our destination was an anchorage by a place called Villagio di Marmoratina. Many of the anchorages we'd seen on the way were crowded but there was only one other boat here.
Vik and I dropped the anchor but when Igor tested whether it was holding it dragged, so we had to raise it and try again. As it rose through the clear blue water we could see the biggest mass of weed caught in it. It must have been a metre round, seagrass type vegetation so thick that the anchor itself was invisible.
Vik cleared the vegetation and we tried again, checking the bottom before we started dropping to ensure that the spot where the anchor would land was clear sand. This is one of the joys of the beautiful clear Mediterranean water, you can see through it. Nothing like the east coast of England. This time we were successful. The anchor dug in deep. The sun was setting over the nearby cliffs.
We ate our dinner on deck and night fell. It was so dark that we could see innumerable stars and the Milky Way. As someone who grew up in central London where the light pollution sends the night sky orange this was a splendid treat.
We went to bed early, with Igor sleeping on deck to keep an eye on the anchor. There were rocks nearby so we needed to be sure that if we moved he could take immediate action. As it was the anchor held firm so we had a quiet night.
Friday 8th September 2023
Igor woke first, waking me when he turned on the engine at 7.00 am. We left ten minutes later. The sound of the anchor being raised didn't disturb Vik at all, though it was only a few feet from his head as he sleeps at the front of the boat. We were kind and didn't get him up. I woke him briefly to give him seasickness tablets but decided that I would rely on acupressure bands as the conditions were so calm.
We were passing through the straits between Corsica and Sardinia, near the Maddalena archipelago. It was stunning. (Warning: the next few entries on this blog can be summarised as 'Wow, that was so stunning...so was that...and that etc.) Rocky islands rose from the blue water. On the Sardinian mainland range upon range of hills or mountains overlapping and retreating into the mist. It's really hard to convey how beautiful it was.
This area seemed to be very popular with tourists. A ferry crossed regularly between Corsica and Sardinia. All the anchorages were full. We saw a lot of activity on the water, leisure cruisers and racing fleets. It's a fantastic place.
Vik got up around 9.00am. I felt a bit guilty I hadn't woken him earlier to see the islands.
From time to time we'd turn the engine off and sail but the winds were very light. We were heading to Olbia and wanted to get there at a reasonable time, during daylight, so had to turn the motor on to keep our speed up.
The waters were very busy.
Every anchorage looked full, with megamillion pound superyachts lined up in every one.
Our Libra is a beautiful boat and we like to think she is one of the prettiest we have seen. Next to some of the boats we saw she looked like a little dinghy. Still, as they say, the smaller the boat the more the fun.
Even the floating gin palaces didn't detract from the beauty of the place.
We ate our lunch on the go and arrived in Olbia at 3.20 pm. On the approach to the marina we passed brightly painted ferries which travel back and forth to mainland Italy.
Marineros directed us to our mooring and took our lines. They helped us to position the boat so that we could step ashore without using a passerelle (like a gangplank from boat to quayside).
I find passerelles quite scary, they give me a slightly irrational fear of falling in the water. Slightly, because the water in the places where you use a passerelle is usually clear and warm. Not totally, because if you fall in the water and you're carrying your phone, passport, driving licence etc you'll have a lot of inconvenience replacing them.
It was a lovely marina, well laid out, pretty, with spotless facilities. On the downside it was expensive, 90 euros per night plus a 20 euro deposit for a key to the facilities.
It is very conveniently placed, a twenty minute walk to an excellent supermarket, Conad. When we went inside I felt as overwhelmed as I had when I first went into a French supermarket - fabulous choice, fabulous products, made Waitrose look like Asda again. The prices seemed lower than in France and the quality was at least as good.
We didn't buy too much as we were conscious that our journey is coming to an end. There is nothing worse than stocking up with lots of lovely food and then having to chuck it all away because you're going home.
After the hot and sweaty walk to the shops we all had showers. The block was very busy, full of beautiful women queuing for the three showers, knocking on the door every minute or so to see if the cubicle was vacant. (I'm assuming this didn't happen in the mens showers).
Afterwards, clean and spruced up for the evening, we caught the bus into town but we couldn't work out how to buy tickets, I did try tapping my bank card on what looked very much like a card reader but nothing seemed to happen. We took our chances and didn't pay.
The bus took us into Olbia. It was a bit run down and seedy looking in places. Igor had looked up a pizzeria on line which had very good reviews. The town started looking a bit nicer, but when we reached the place he'd chosen we discovered it was a takeaway.
From the number of people queuing it was just as good as we'd been led to believe but we wanted to sit down to eat.
We carried on walking. As we walked further from the bus stop things improved.
The streets were now pedestrianised and the restaurants were full of smartly dressed people enjoying food and drink on a warm evening. We spotted a small pizzeria down a side street and were relieved to be shown to a table.
Beer and pizza all round for the intrepid Sarychkins, to celebrate a successful crossing from France to Italy. Cin cin!!
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