My Slant on Pisa

When visiting a foreign country, it is thrilling to see the monuments of past glory days. Architectural feats executed so many hundreds of years ago are a marvel to behold. But what tugs at your heart is the people themselves. And so it will always be when I remember Pisa. We chose to stay at the closest port to the town of Pisa. Pisa is slightly inland, but there is a river from the ocean that goes a couple of miles from the town. It is a bit of a challenge. Very shallow, in some places just a couple of meters deep. The other challenge is the fishing nets. The Italians strung high cables across the river. They then have huge fishing nets on a frame that look a little like upside down umbrella’s. The nets slide along the cable and drop in the river to catch the fish. The trouble is, the cables almost caught my mast as well. When we passed under the first set of cables, it was inches away from my VHF antenna. There is not really any organized harbor on the river. It is more like rambling docks owned by a dozen different people. All of them looked completely full. But luck would have it, we found just one space and pulled in. It was lunchtime and we decided to make a quick meal of baguettes, cheese and chicken. While we were eating, a local guy came up to us. He didn’t speak much English, but he did better with Spanish. So we had Rebecca talk to him. It turns out he spent a couple of years in Brazil and spoke Portuguese. Close enough. He told us, that the spot was not vacant. The owner was just out sailing and would be back in an hour or so. Seems like our luck was a bit short. But then this guy started making calls to all of these marinas up and down the river. Then he told Rebecca and me to get in his car and we could go talk to a few of the owners. He drove us to several marinas, but no luck. We thought we might have to just anchor out in the river and were resigned to do just that. Then his friend called and told us we could stay up the river a bit further. So the guy tells us he will go with us on our boat and help us negotiate the deepest part of the river. As it turned out, the water lever, while very shallow was not the problem. There were two more sets of cables across the river. Going up further, they just got lower. We nudged up next to them hoping it would not hit my wind gauges. The mast cleared them by literally inches. The VHF antenna bent back as we tenderly passed beneath. He showed us the marina and the empty spot. It looked like we were home free. Then the trouble began. As I passed by one of the docked sailboats, my propeller caught his slime line and wrapped up tight enough to cut the engine. Because the river was so shallow, the lines were just below the water surface even at quite a distance from the boats. Not only was I caught, but also I didn’t have much control as we slowly slid toward the docked boats, their anchors at the bow of the boats looking like angry teeth ready to rip the side of my hull. The Italians sprang into action, going to the bows of the boats and making sure my boat was pushed off, avoiding any damage to the boat. We managed to get a line on the left side of my boat, but the other side was still tangled. I ended up getting a mask and flippers on and going down to try and release it from the prop. It was very tightly wrapped around. So the owner of the marina gave me his knife and I cut the rope free. Once it was cut, with a little effort, I managed to free it. The four guys that were on the dock all helped to secure the boat. I was relieved that everything worked out ok, but also overwhelmed with the kindness of these strangers. I think there is nothing more charitable then helping a complete stranger. It shows a side of humanity that we sometimes are not sure is still there. The guy that drove us all over just to help us find a spot, and these other guys that were willing to do what ever they could to save us from a very difficult situation. When we were ready to leave, I gave the owner of the marina a pie that we picked up in Pisa, and in simple English and broken Italian, thanked him and his friends for helping us. Just as we were shoving off, he came out with a bottle of wine to wish us well on our journey. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we don’t drink wine, but thanked him graciously and was again overcome with a grateful heart. It was worth more than all the monuments and cathedrals we saw during our stay there. No matter how grand a cathedral is, the outreach of love is always more grand. Grazie.

Oh yeah, Pisa and Florence.
For the most part Pisa is just a big city where people make a living and enjoy life. But hidden amongst all the hustle and bustle of the city is this little oasis that is so beautifully designed it takes your breath away. The infamous leaning tower, the grand baptistery and an even more monumental church anchor a grand plaza making it one of the most beautiful spots we have visited. And wow is that tower leaning. It looks like it is defying the laws of gravity. It started to lean even before it was completed in 1372. The architects tried to balance out the lean but with no avail. Not only does the tower lean, but the baptistery and church also lean. I guess this was just not the best place to build. Different attempts have been tried to stop the leaning. For a while big cables attached to 600 tons of lead weights buried in the ground were used, but it continued to get progressively worse. A couple of years ago, they ended up taking out some of the dirt from the high side and have managed to stabilize the structure for the time being.

Pisa is mostly a university town, and has been since the time of Galileo. Lots of marauding scooters and bikes barreling down the busy narrow streets. Great shopping and great people watching.

The next morning, we caught an early train and headed to Florence, which is about an hour and a half away. Florence can only be described in terms of magnificent, astounding, monumental, and impressive. Buildings with intricate designs adorned with grand sculpture are everywhere. And at the center of it all is Michelangelo’s masterpiece, David. We went to the Uffizi gallery, which houses the greatest collection of Italian paintings anywhere in the world. Giotto, DaVinci, Raphael, Rubens, Titian and Michelangelo are all there. In fact it holds the only surviving easel painting Michelangelo ever did. The wait to get in is long, and the collection massive, but all well worth making your way to this art Mecca. I felt like I was walking through the pages of my art history books. We all loved it.

The other not to be missed museum is Accademia, which houses the infamous David. Besides this masterpiece are a room full of works Michelangelo did in his later years. They are a series of sculptures that are still immerging from the stone. The part that is immerged is very finished and very beautiful, while the rest of the form is still waiting to be released. I find these very exciting pieces. I personally think by not completely finishing the piece you get a sense that Michelangelo was not so much sculpting as he was releasing the figure that was trapped in the block of marble. If you love art, Florence is its birthplace.

Cinque Terra – How Cute Can You Get

The sea is quite rough today. We are skirting the end of a small storm. The rain is just past us, but the winds and rough sea is left behind. Along the sheer cliffs hang the five hamlets known collectively as the Cinque Terra tenaciously gripping the rugged coast. We head for the small port of Vernazza, but as we approach the sea is pushing us into a very small and very shallow port. So following the error on the side of safety rule, at the last minute, we thrust the two Yanmar engines into reverse and hightail it to La Spezia. It proved to be a very prudent idea. When we looked over the harbor the next day, it was little more than a shelter for small fishing boats. We could have eaten up 3 or 4 of them just tying to a berth.

La Spezia turns out to be an ideal home base to view the chain of villages from. We set up camp in the old harbor and find ourselves surrounded with great shopping and a short walk to the train station.

The Cinque Terra is a national park. You can jump on the train and get a day pass to hike between all five villages for about 7.50 euro. The next morning, after church, we get our most comfortable walking shoes on and start our pilgrimage. The trail between the towns is really spectacular. We are walking right on the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. The hike is not for the faint of heart however. Lots of stairs and steep climbs make it so most people bail after the first couple of towns. We continue all the way to the fourth in the chain before running out of time and steam. Somehow just taking a break, eating the local cusine seems like a delightful way to finish off the daylight. Not wanting to end this experience, we go back the next day and spend most of it lying on the beach and swimming in the warm waters of the sea. It is our most kickback relaxing day of our trip and we vow to wedge a few more down days into our full itinerary.

A Little Surprise Tucked Away

It is kind of like finding the creamy filling in a Twinky for the very first time, unexpected, and delightful. We decided to have lunch at Portafino on the way to the Cinque Terra. What a beautiful town tucked away in a small harbor port. This quaint fishing village has little to do with fishing these days. It is more like a town that has been designed by a post card company. Very expensive and very exclusive. The harbor was crowded, but with a little luck we slip into a vacated spot by a just leaving sailboat. We are so pleased with our Dorris Day parking space. (A term referring to how in the movies, Dorris Day never had to look for a parking space. There was always one that just appeared right in front of where she wanted to go.)

Strolling around the marina, we decide on a small restaurant that gives us fresh air seating with a beautiful view of the bay. While we are ordering, a very authoritative man comes up to our table and asks if the Etesian is our boat. Turns out that this is a very private port and you can’t just tie up when a place opens up. He tells us to enjoy our lunch but to come see him at his office when we are done. Our waiter looks at us like we may be ordering our last meal. We try to enjoy the good cuisine, but kind of feel like a schoolboy about to meet some unknown fate at the principal’s office. After lunch we sheepishly walk over to the port office. In the end, all they wanted is money, so we throw 50 euro at them and they allow us to stay for a couple of hours amongst the “beautiful people”.

The shops are colorful and inviting. We stroll around recording the experience with clicks of our cameras. Rumors float around that Rod Stewart is there, but we see no site of him. There is a jewel box church perched on the hill. We follow the brick and cobblestone path partly for a closer view of the church and partly for a more commanding view of the village. There is a marble walled cemetery in the churchyard that records lives of those that once lived in this small port long before it became a tourist destination. Most marbled headstones have small black and white portraits to mark their lives. Maybe it is the same need to connect that I felt in Genoa that draws me to those that went before us.

The World Looks Pretty Flat From Here

There is something connecting about looking out on the same horizon that Christopher Columbus gazed upon over 500 years ago, dreaming of treasures and adventure. We too are seeking treasures and adventure. The kind we will remember for the rest of our lives. Perhaps man has not changed much over the centuries. Genoa is a town of trade and commerce. Tucked away amid the modern town is a not too dissimilar city of long ago. There still stands the original gate and part of the city wall. Columbus’s humble home is a few paces away. Great cathedrals scatter like diamonds among the old part of town. One church claims to house the plate that John the Baptist’s head was presented to Salome on. That same church also claims to have one of the plates used in the last supper. I guess they were particularly good at negotiating at those relic yard sales a couple of thousand years ago. Whether it is true or not, it all adds to the mystique of the city. There is great contrast to the expansive plaza’s big enough for a rock concert, and narrow winding streets that you can almost touch from side to side. Italian architecture has a grandeur befitting this once great empire. Balconies, magnificent entrances, and faux painting of more detailed stonework that really isn’t there adorn a lot of the villas. Laundry is commonly hung out to dry in the Tuscany sun. There is a passion that pulsates through the crowded streets. You cannot just have a conversation with your friends. Hand gestures and faces inches apart are a part of the fabric that all weaves together to be a part of this Italian tapestry. We stayed for two days. Rebecca, my oldest daughter joined us and Malorie, my youngest daughter caught the plane to go back home. It was hard to see Malorie go. I wanted to share so much more of this European adventure with her. But work and commitments call.

Off to Genoa, Home of Christopher Columbus

We sailed out of Monaco harbor and headed to Italy. I just have to say as we leave France that I will always have a part it carried in my heart. The people were so kind, the southern French light so magical and the towns and cities so elegant and charming. I know I will be back.

We stayed the night in a very small port about an hour into Italy. It proved to be a lucky choice. While the harbor did not have much appeal, it did have a Lagoon dealer. He arranged for us to have our 50-hour checkup and oil change on my engines and helped me with some electronic equipment problems I was having. We ended getting a late start to Genoa, but I was glad to get these things taken care of. Today did bring a first on our navigation skills. Because we crossed the Gulf of Genoa, we lost sight of all land for a couple of hours before making it into port. The magic of GPS. It tells you where you are going even

Monarchs and Monaco.

Early the next morning we set off for the third gem in the triple crown, Monaco. From the sea we could see the commanding palace of the Grimaldi family. Ruling the principality of Monaco since the 13th century, their presence and influence was apparent in virtually every part of the city. Just a little bigger than New York’s central park, Monaco rises up from the sea into a beautiful port of modern skyscrapers mixed with traditional French chateaus. The palace itself was just how you would want your castle. Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, it is furnished with damask walls inlayed marble floors and gilded gold furniture housed by vaulted ceilings painted like the Sistine ceiling. The walls are covered with famous paintings of past rulers who still claim some of the splendor of the palace in their richly dressed portraits. Princess Grace is still honored with various artifacts from her life. The Casino that was built in the 30’s which saved the family from bankruptcy and made this unique city a tax-free haven for the rich and powerful still commands a respectable presence in the skyline. It’s beautiful architecture designed by French Charles Garnier who also designed the Paris opera house has bigger than life statues holding up the green copper roof. The story goes that so many patrons committed suicide after loosing their family fortunes, that they would stuff their bodies into the cracks of the limestone foundation of the casino until the stench became so strong that they resorted to shoving them off the cliffs to the ocean below instead. Fortunes are still won and lost on a regular basis at this oasis for people that have more money than they know what to do with. I managed to keep all of mine securely in my back pocket.

Back to Nice.

Nice is one of the largest French ports on the Mediterranean. And on the way there, we were treated to another circus of diving dolphins. This time about 6 came and played between our bows. The girls were sure it was our returning pod. They danced in the waves keeping up with our boat as it cut through the water. The port in Nice is right in the old part of town. It is certainly the most charming part of the city. Historic churches and grand homes grace the hillside. We docked right next to one of these huge commanding yachts. It was a tight fit but was the only spot available. We spent the next couple of days exploring the city. The muse of modern art was just a short walk from the marina and contained a very interesting mixture of American and European pop art. Andy Warhol, Jasper Johns, Alexander Cader and Lichtenstein were all represented along with some very interesting European artists I was not familiar with. After, we had lunch at a charming café right across the street from the museum. Beef ravioli and gnocchi that melt in your mouth hit the spot perfectly. Ah you gotta love the food in France. In the afternoon, we caught the number 14 bus for a ride up Mont Boron that rises on the eastern side of the marina. We followed some steep stairs down the side that lead us right to the marina. At the foot of the mountain, there were fearless young boys jumping off of death-defying heights to the sea below. There was an obvious pecking order of bravado as each one tried to outdo the other one in how high up they were willing to dive from. One young kid in turquoise flowered trunks won the respect of all by getting to the absolutely highest place before taking the plunge. None of the other boys tried it from that height.

The next day we explored more of the city and stocked up on supplies at our favorite Carrefour store that was about a kilometer away.

Hugegantuan

Yup, it is a made up word. Because the yachts in this harbor are so huge, that a common word like huge or gargantuan is just not a big enough word to describe them. The whole marina is filled with yacht after yacht, each one bigger than the last. We arrived in St. Tropez close to 10pm, just when the daylight was fading. We wander around the marina looking for a spot for our humble little sailboat, but no room at the inn. We were directed to Port Grimaud, which is at the end of the bay. I stayed there before when I was sailing with Kip on my first trip. Grimaud used to be a mosquito-infested swampland. They asked a well-known French architect to do something with it. He recreated a provincial French town with canals meandering through the development. It is charming in a “we have way too much money to know what to do with it” kinda way. Expensive cars and that new money attitude permeates the development. Our docking fees for the night was over 100 euros, one of the most expensive places we have stayed. The next morning, we took a 15-minute water taxi to St. Tropez.

St. Tropez is really a beautiful town that has aged well with a patina only centuries of use can give. At the top of the hill is the old citadel that protected the town in earlier times of constant attacks and sieges. The narrow streets go in no particular direction, making the town more like a life-size maze with designer stores as the reward for finding you way through. The weather was slightly humid, but didn’t seem to diminish the money flowing in a tidal storm all around the port area. There is a whole industry built around servicing the very wealthy. Vans of the very best fresh vegetables and fruits the region has to offer backs up to these floating castles. Cleaning services scour the carpets and steam the normal wear and tear back to mint condition. The pastime of the masses on the quay is to glimpse into the glass doors of the rich and famous. Two young blonde girls about 12 years old play cards innocently on the ebony boardroom-size dining table on the back deck unaffected by the gawking. The crews are constantly shining brass and polishing decks. But despite all of the influence that comes from the very wealthy, the town has retained a very charming French village feel.

Before I leave St. Tropez, I have to report on what happened in the afternoon while we were making our way to the harbor. The girls were relaxing at the bow of the boat on the netting that makes a wide hammock between the two pontoons. It is a perfect spot for relaxing in the Mediterranean sun. 4 dolphins that seem to come out of nowhere entertained us for about 15 minutes. They played right between the two pontoons of the boat darting back and forth, flirting with the boat as if it was a long lost companion they were escorting to its next destination. You could almost reach down and touch them as they breached the water right under us. I got the feeling that these intelligent animals knew exactly what they were doing in giving us a thrill. One stayed longer than the rest, making sure we got enough photos and video before diving right to the bottom of the sea out of site. I loved St. Tropez.

The next day we headed to Canne. It’s one of the other jewels in the triple crown of wealthy playgrounds of the rich and famous along the Cotz d Azure. This gem of a city also has these huge yachts dominating the marinas. We have been lucky in always finding a berth. We went to the Muse de Castre, an old castle now used to house an interesting collection of pre-Columbian American art mixed with relics from New Guinea. Obviously a donation to the city by an earlier world traveler bringing back the strange and unique items of exotic cultures a half a world away. And just to round out the collection they had some paintings by various semi-famous artists. We climbed up the tower and got a commanding view of the entire city sprawled out beneath us. In the evening we were treated to a beautiful fireworks display lighting up the sky with bouquets of light.

Welcome to France, Open Your Wallet.

It’s great to be back in Toulon. And it was nice to see that the Mistral winds had not taken away my boat. It was as I left it 2 and a half months ago except for my three daughters that have been staying on it. They have been marooned for about 5 days waiting for me to catch up with them. The batteries had been drained for a couple of days and they thought they were out of water. I showed them how to pump the water when the batteries are gone. We stayed for a couple of more days trying to find my bike and dingy that I had shipped over here. Turns out they were being held hostage by the customs. Just pay them 500 euro and we could get them out of hock. We ended up leaving the money with the capitanaria and heading to Porquerolles some islands right off of Toulon. It was a welcome break. Very beautiful islands. It is where Napoleon sent his best soldiers that had done heroric deeds as a reward and to recover. Seemed like a fitting place after our ordeal in getting to France. There is an old fort up at the top of the hill still giving a commanding presents to the area. We met a British couple and spent a couple of hours swapping political views, customs and ethnocentric habits. It was fun getting a British take on Americans and the cultural differences between us. The next day we went back to Toulon to pick up my FedEx deliveries which fortunately had finally arrived. We made one last trip to the Carrefour (Frances version of Wal-Mart) to stock up on as much as we could carry and set our sails east. We got out of Toulon so late, we ended up going to Porquerolles one more night before heading off to St. Tropez.

Toulon At Last

The next day, I caught the train to Toulon from Paris. It is a beautiful way to travel through France. I am amazed at how open everything is. Most of the trip was traveling through verdant landscapes of va0p[o’rrying shades of green with rolling hills and crazy-quilt farmlands. The small villages that punctuated the journey were quaint stone houses and stores. What forests you do see seem to be new growth and managed. It looks like they are used more for the wood production than growing unmaintained. One interesting thing I noticed is that almost all the cows were an off white color and loved lying on the ground. I saw very few standing in the fields. They would group together in the corner of the field with obviously nothing to do but gossip all day about the farmer and his wife. I guess it is just part of the kick-back French attitude.

And So The Adventure Continues

And So The Adventure Continues
I am sitting in my hotel room in Paris, at 3 in the morning staring at the ceiling just a little too long. I have tossed and turned enough to pull all the blankets loose from the bed, read Time magazine from cover to cover and looked out my window for hints of daylight Ah jet lag, you gotta love it. So I decided to put in my first entry into the sequel of “Where in the world is Alan”. I still have the kidney stone with me, but the stint was taken out and the doctor gave me a hesitant pass on leaving the country. With a medicine cabinet full of Vicadin and antibiotics, I look forward to joining my kids that have been marooned on my boat waiting for me to catch up with them.

Getting ready to spend the next year abroad is a formable task. What to bring and what to leave behind becomes a sort your life into a 4-bin proposition. I am allowed to check two bags on British Airways that cannot weigh more than 32 kilos each. Since I can’t find my kilo scale at home, I am forced to guess about how much to put into the bags. I can also bring one carry on and my laptop. So I pack my life up into 3 neatly packaged suitcases, putting the heaviest things in the carryon, (fortunately they don’t weigh that) and hope for the best. The rest of my life is stowed away in storage, waiting for a return trip. At the ticket counter, with fingers crossed, I place the two big suitcases on the scale. Amazingly one of them weighs EXACTLY 32 kilos. And the other one weighs 32.7 kilos. The agent squints his eyes and tells me to toss the last .7 kilos. My plea for .7-kilo leniency falls on deaf ears. Even offering to pay a little extra doesn’t work. It is about the health of the workers. They can’t lift more than 32 kilos without straining something. So I pull out my empty gym bag and everyone seems to be happy. I am just grateful they did not weigh my carryon, which is close to the same weight.

I flew into London’s Heathrow airport and head for the baggage claim. As I am pulling my carryon off the plane, the extended handle tubes bend into submission from all the extra weight. I am sure no one has ever tried to get so much into such a little bag. Waiting at the luggage carousel I have those fleeting thought of “what if they are lost, where will I ever catch up with them, how am I going to deal with missing luggage syndrome”. But out of the jaws of baggage hell, they appear on the carrousel. Man they are heavy. As I lift the second suitcase, the handle comes off in my hand. I forgot about my health. Three bags weighing a total of about 216 lbs of luggage is a lot of weight to be lugging around all by myself. I talk to the ticket agent and am told to get to Toulon by train, I have to take the Paddington express to Waterloo station, and then transfer to the chunnel. When I reach Paris, take the underground to Guar Lyon, and transfer to the Toulon train. The tricky part is I only have 25 minutes to get from the Paris station to Guar Lyon. He doubts I will make it. So do I. But if I miss that train, I have to wait until 11 am the next day to catch the Toulon train. It is worth the try. But gathering all 3 suitcases and my laptop, going down 3 flights of stairs, wandering around a huge train terminal with no real idea where I am going, asking for directions, and getting on the wrong train, jumping off running across the platform to the just departing train, traveling across town and lugging my gaggle of luggage back up 2 flights of stairs, getting through the turn styles all proves too much. I wasn’t even close to catching the train. So I find myself staying in Paris for the night.