Why is Everyone Naked

Our next port is Cap d’ Agde, as we make our way to the border of Spain. We planned to just stay the night but the next day it was poring rain so we stayed a little longer. Nearby is the famous town of Anbone, a naturalist city of over 20,000 people. Fortunately this time of year, the weather is cold enough to make even the most avid nudist from walking around naked. They won’t shed their clothes again until the summer heat returns. The whole area is a community built from scratch. All of the buildings are new, the roads are some of the widest I have seen in Europe, nice sidewalks and landscaped common areas. It is really a wonderful community. The whole town is spotless with no litter and no graffiti. This time of year it is pretty empty. Most of the shops and restaurants are closed and the roadways are almost empty. If you like peace and quiet, this is the place to come during the winter.

Sailing for Sete

We stayed a couple more days in Marseille and then when the weather calmed down a bit headed for Sete. This stretch of the Mediterranean has some of the strongest winds. The French call it the Mistral. When there is a high in the Alps, the only way to equalize the pressure is through the gorge cut by the Rone River. As a result the winds just howl through this part affecting the wind all the way to Toulon. We waited until the winds were as calm as they get and then headed across the water. Even with our cautious waiting, winds gusted to over 35 knots. We made great time sailing at the fastest speeds yet, t one point reaching 10 knots. That is about thirty percent faster than the engines will take us. By the time we reach Sete, the winds had calmed down to about 10 knots. It was a fun and fast day of sailing.

Sete has a huge harbor that runs deep into the town. Beautiful stone buildings with wroth iron balconies line each side of the waterway. The harbor had clear water that you could see deep down. Swimming amongst the rocks were fish about 12” long. They looked like dinner, but I have no skills in catching such things. Fishing is still a major part of the economy here and all the fishing boats were just coming in when we arrived. Along with the fishing boats following their catch were a sky filled with seagulls looking for their evening meal. It looked like something out of the Hitchcock film “The Birds”. We found a nice berth and the capitanerie office could not have been more welcoming. The lady there told us all the restaurants to check out and what nightlife was going on. We wandered around the city for a while, had dinner and skipped the night on the town.

Poking Around the Pope’s Place

The next day we took the train to Avignon. Because of the unrest in Rome, Pope Clement V sought refuge in Avignon. For most of the 14th century, it was here that the popes resided. They build a huge heavily fortified palace. None of the furnishing exists and very few of the walls are preserved with their original decorative frescos. Nonetheless, it is still an imposing structure. 7 official popes governed from these stonewalls. It was during this time that the Catholic Church had two popes serving at one time, one in Rome and one in Avignon. In the end, things got ironed out and the papacy was returned to Rome.

Taking the Train

The seas are a bit rough so we decide to stay in Marseille a little longer, and wait for things to calm down. It is not a bad place to hang out. We take the train to nearby Nimes famous for its textile industry. Their most famous fabric, denim, which got its name from de nimes. This ancient town was an important Roman stronghold. When the Romans included France as part of the Roman Empire, they invested in the town of Nimes. Among the other Roman ruins is the most preserved coliseum in existence. It is not much different than the day it was built. Still in use today for concerts, bullfights and community festivals, spectators still climb the stone stairs and sit on the same stone benches that were in use 2000 years ago. We took the guided tour and learned that Hollywood has greatly distorted what happened in these arenas. Contrary to popular belief, gladiators were not persecuted slaves or prisoners, but were men that choose that profession much like boxers do today. They went to school and learned the art of combat. The contest was to make the opponent submit. The rules were pretty simple; you could do anything but kill the other guy. They had referees that made sure no deadly force was used. When an opponent was conquered, all eyes went to the leading dignitary. He would either tuck his thumb into his fingers indicating that the sword should be sheathed or hold his palm out flat indicating death to the defeated. Rarely was death ruled. A lot of money and time went into training these men. If the dignitary signaled death, he would be responsible to paying the school that trained the gladiator significant sums of money. At mid day most of the spectators left the arena to have lunch. It was during this time that the bloodiest of the spectacle took place. Wild animals such as bears or lions would be put into the arena along with prisoners and enemies of the state chained in place and not allowed to defend themselves. What happened next is a bloodbath with the wild animals feasting on human flesh. Even the Romans considered this pretty barbaric and few watched. It was used as a warning to not cross the might of the Roman Empire. After lunch, the sand on the arena floor was turned, soaking up the blood and the afternoon games would continue.

We also went to the Maison Carree, a temple with typical fluted columns and sculpted frieze. It is the best preserved in the world as well. These two gems made the trip well worth the train ride. They made the Maison Carree into a theater that showed a 3D movie on the history of the area. We got swords poking inches from our face and lances from the Middle Ages hurling towards us. It was all quite fun.

Bouillabasse, Can You Name That Port

If you said Marseille, go to the head of the class. Bouillabasse is the famous Marseille fish soup. Every restaurant has the official recipe. In fact, there is no official recipe that any two cooks can agree on. It is basically any left over fish cooked together. I am sure there will be those that insist certain fish are included, but no one will tell you which ones. Then they take the stock and serve it as soup. The fish is served separately from a platter.

The Vieux Port is a huge rectangle with a fort on each side of the entrance to the harbor. Restaurants and hotels line up on each side of the harbor. This is really a beautiful harbor and we had a berth that had an unbeatable view. Out our back door was the beautiful Notre Dame de la Garde with its gold leafed Madonna and Child watching over the entire city. It is all lit up at night and looks more like an ethereal castle than a church. The inside of the Romanesque building is covered in gold leafed tiles that glimmer down on the congregation below. It is at Marseille that I met up with my friend Jun from San Francisco. He has a nephew, Eugene that lives a couple of miles from the harbor. We all went out to dinner with Eugene’s family. Their little boy PJ charmed us with his big broad smile and gleaming eyes. PJ is only 6 but speaks French, English and Ilocano, a Filipino dialect and loves pizza. The next afternoon, they invited us to their home for a true Filipino dinner. We stuffed ourselves on fresh shrimp, pansit, lumpia, adubo and fried bananas, tron, for dessert. Christy, Eugene’s wife made sure we had a big plate of leftovers to take home with us. We ended up having enough leftovers for three meals. After dinner, we took Bruce to the train station. He is headed for Rome to meet his sister. They are going to spend a couple of weeks touring around Italy together. I of course could not help myself in suggesting enough places to visit that it would take a month to see it all. Bruce and his sister might meet up with me again in Barcelona.

Blown All the Way to Marseille

The winds continued to blow strong so we set our sails for Cassis. One of my favorite towns with its quaint fishing village atmosphere. Space is always tight here, and this time our luck ran out. There was no room for us to spend the night so we continued on to Marseille, which is only a few hours further up the coast. We stayed across from Marseille on the island of Ratonmeau. There are actually two islands right next to each other. The French have connected the islands together and created a resort port. This time of year it is pretty quiet, but a great place to spend the night. It used to be a large prison and then a fort/military instillation. The stonewalls and buildings are still there, but abandoned to time and weather. They are at various stages of decay but very interesting to see the history that once walked along the abandoned corridors. While we walked around the ruins, Bruce found a terracotta tile that had a manufacturers stamp of Marseille imprinted on the backside. There is a lot of rubble outside the walls of the abandoned buildings that had been dumped down a steep embankment. We thought the tile was interesting so decided to dig around and see if we could find some more. They might make fun coasters. Sure enough, with a little digging among the discarded rubble, we found enough whole ones for a set of coasters. But the biggest discovery was when Bruce found a peninsula of the island bearing his family name, LeCheminant. There was even a rock house built on the site. We just didn’t know where to report for clear title to the family estate.

Right across from this island is the famous Ile d’If, which has a beautiful medieval prison, built with high rock walls and rounded turrets. Protestants and other declared heretics were kept there until they served time as galley slaves. In the 19th century Napoleon III kept political prisoners there. But the most famous prisoner there was one that never existed. Alexander Dumas fictional character The Count of Monte Cristo was there for 18 years. The story is actually a fictionalized account of a real prisoner who was kept on an island near Cannes. But of course that little detail does not stop the tour guides showing you an actual cell where the Count could have been quartered.

Pork Rolls

Ok we don’t know how to pronounce Porquerolles so this little picturesque island off the coast of Toulon has become affectionately called Pork Rolls. It is so comfortable coming back to a port that I have been to before. I know where everything is and the spaces available for visiting boats. It is here that Napoleon rested his most honored troops and occupied the fortress at the top of the hill. We rode bikes around the island and up to the fort. It is a massive structure with walls 12’ thick and a commanding view. Many French come over to these islands for a weekend getaway. It was a great place to kick back for a couple of days and enjoy the sun and the sea.

The next morning we head across the waters to Toulon. We had strong winds and good sailing. We plan to spend just the night there. Toulon is a huge city with a large navy presence. In fact it is the largest navy port for the French on the Mediterranean. I like this port because there is a Carrefour store a short distance from the port. Carrefour is a large Wal-Mart type chain in France. There are not many big stores in Europe and it is a treat to go to just one place and find merchandise that I have not seen anywhere else in Europe. The groceries are discounted and with a large selection, it makes a great place to stock up on supplies. We only spend the night in Toulon.

St Raphael

This is a beautiful port with shops and restaurants all built around the large marina. It is a short walk to town along a wide promenade that hugs the seashore. The French love small dogs and it is quite common to see the proud owners of the goofiest dogs walking along the shore. Restaurants and shops selling discounted designer clothes spill out onto the broad stone-laid walkway. Old men are playing bocce ball on hard packed sand covered parks. We sit and watch them for a while trying to figure out the strategy and rules of the game. The only thing we could definitely agree on is you had to be over 65 to play the sport and you usually had to say something disappointing in French after each toss. There is great camaraderie amongst the group that looks like their lives are centered around this social activity. There is a beautiful church that commands the skyline with a large Madonna and Child sheathed in gold leaf that shimmers in the sunlight. The inside of the church is quite simple and doesn’t seem to fit the grandee dios expectations of the outside. I finally found a place to get my haircut and all my bleached out from the summer sun hair fell at the hands of the barber.

Picasso’s Hangout

After the war, art supplies were hard to get. The city of Antibes, just west of Nice offered to Picasso studio space and all the art supplies he needed. Picasso set to work at a furious rate, drawing and painting. He was 65 at this time and living with Francois Gilot who was in her 20’s. The love affair ended badly when she left him in 1953 with the cruel remark that she did not want to be married to a historical monument. When Picasso finally moved to nearby Vallauris, he left most of the work to the museum. 200 other pieces were added to the collection making it one of the major museums of Picasso’s work. At Vallauris Picasso became interested in ceramics and did a number of pieces, some of which were carefully copied by a local factory to be sold as limited edition pieces. You can still pick up a few of these pieces if you open your wallet wide enough.

We tried staying at the port of Antibes, but ended up staying at Golfe Juan which is near Vallaris, about half way between Antibes and Cannes. It turned out to be a great port. The train station was just a couple of blocks from the marina and we made day trips to both Cannes and Antibes. One afternoon we got talking to a couple from Canada. They had a rented car and asked us if we wanted to go to Vallauris with them. So up the hill we went to visit the town that is still very much an artisans center. Picasso’s presents is still influencing the work done by local ceramic artists.

The next day we took the train into Cannes. Known for their film festival and famous celebrities, it is a town of excitement for a couple of weeks of the year. After that, it calms down into a midsize town. Cannes is more modern than most of the towns in Southern France. Where others have tried pretty successfully to maintain the flavor of the historic nature of the architecture, Cannes went the other way and created a modern profile. There are great beaches and palm tree lined broad promenades.

It’s Nice to be Back in Nice

Once again I find myself back in the beautiful city of Nice. There is a big harbor here, but not much room for guest boats. We wiggle between a couple of boats in hopes that we will be able to spend a few days at this port. I love wandering around the old town. There is a big plaza that goes on for blocks. In the morning it is a farmers market with exotic flowers, fresh vegetables, home made jams, candles, and a host of other items the vendors hope you can not live with out. By afternoon all the shops dissolve and the restaurants that line the streets spread out their tables and chairs for an evening of tasty locally caught fish and freshly made pasta. The system seems to work flawlessly and keeps the area busy day and night. There are a sprinkling of great museums scattered throughout the city. Chagall lived here for a while and donated a series of painting he did. The collection was added to and it turns out to be a nice representative exhibit of his work. Attracted by the unique Cote de Azure light, Matisse also lived here for a while. There is a good collection of his work housed in a 17th century villa. Just walking around you will stumble across a section of ruins that remind you the history of this city dates back to the Greeks. It is at Nice that I say good-bye to Mike and Jose. We have had a great couple of weeks together that has gone by so fast. My friend Bruce LeCheminant joins me in the afternoon. Bruce and I have oared down the Grand Canyon together. He just happened to call me up a couple of days ago and wondered what I was up to. The next day he was aboard a Delta jet looking forward to some adventures on the high seas.

Arivaderche, Bon Jour

I have really grown to love Italy. It is a beautiful country that you could spend endless summers exploring and learning from. It has a rich history and beautiful towns from Greek occupation, Roman, medeavil, baroque, reniassance, and every time period to modern day. The people are passionate about life, love of family and friends. I am also anxious to come back to France. Can you tell I love it over here. The Europeans seem to have their pulse on life itself. They live for life and don’t let work get in the way. The American dream of a bigger house, newer car, and all the possessions you can pack in every nook and cranny seems to be uniquely American and has no place in their world. We sail into Nice in the late afternoon.

Portofino and Santa Margherita

We knew it would be tough to find a berth in Portofino, so we head to Santa Margherita which is the next town over in hopes of finding some place to hang out even for just a couple of hours. It would be nice to have lunch in Portofino and it is an easy bus ride between the two towns. So we pull into a space that looks like it might work. No one is around so we post a notice on the window of the boat and plan to take another note to the capitainerie letting them know that we will be back in a couple of hours. Just when we are about to leave, thus gruff guy comes up to us and tells us it is not possible to stay where we are for even a few minutes. We must leave. We are all very disappointed and are still hoping we can figure out some way to stay even for a few hours. So I go down to the capitainerie and pled my case. I tell the same guy we would really like to spend the night there, but if that is not possible could we please stay for a couple of hours. Like so many times in Italy, after the initial outburst of no possibility, he decides we can work something out. He tells us he is going out to lunch and to see him in an hour. So we order a nice seafood lunch at a nearby restaurant. After lunch I go back to the capitainerie and the guy tells me I can just stay where I am for the night. No problem. I don’t even have to move. So what went from it is impossible to stay for just a few minutes turns to an ok to stay the night there, no worries. Everything works out. We catch the bus and stroll around Portofino with its upscale shops dripping with jewelery and designer clothes. In the late afternoon we catch the bus back to Santa Margherita. We are standing at a square looking at a beautiful church, when this little girl with a mop of curly hair who I would guess to be about 7 years old is stomping her foot and crying out in Italian to her father that she is not too pleased with. Temper tamtrums are somehow much more charming in Italian, and I can tell another drama queen is developing her Italian passion for life. The next morning Victoria has to leave us to go back to Paris. We wish her a fond farewell in the early hours of morning and head for France.

The Five Jewels in Italy’s Crown

I love the Chinque Terra. And what is there not to love. Five quaint villages perched on the top of sheer cliffs painted with a patine of time that makes them look like they were aged to perfection just for us. We walked between the first three villages along the trail that clings to the side of the cliffs like a barnacle to the side of a boat. The weather is still warm during the day, and the light breeze washing over us from the sea keeps us from overheating during our walk. For lunch we stop at a restaurant that has taken over most of a small plaza in the third little village. It appears that if you want to open a restaurant in Europe, all you need is a kitchen. You can then start taking real estate for the tables wherever they fit. Eventually you have enough tables strewned out onto sidewalks and plazas to run a profitable restaurant. In the afternoon we headed to the beach for a swim in the ocean before going on to the fourth village. By then it is time for gelatio and sitting under a colorful umbrella table watching the sun cast a golden warmth to the sides of the buildings. The sky turns ablaze of oranges yellows and purples and the ocean shimmers in response. Kids are drawing their last pictures in the sand and a little kitten looks up to our table hoping for one last scrap. Guess it is time to catch the train back to La Spezia where we berthed our boat.

Where is That Little Bonaparte.

Elba is about a 4-hour sail and we get there a little before 1pm. There is a sign on the gas station that tells us it does not open until 3:30. Not a surprise, Italy is known for not working much between 1 and 4. So we decide to break out lunch and kick back on the cockpit of the boat. We dine on a nice tossed salad, bar-b-qued chicken and calamari marinated in a sauce made from their ink that Victoria brought from Spain. Cheese and pears for desert complete the meal. If it sounds delicious, well it was. As we are eating, someone notices the sign says they do not reopen on Saturday during the off-season, so we are stuck there without being able to get any fuel. Well I guess we will worry about that tomorrow.

The town is like a lot of the small ports we have been in. Three story pastel buildings with shops and restaurants on the bottom floor surround the marina. Stone streets and marble curbs wander in some unplanned course. A brightly painted yellow church with its bell tower dominant the skyline and its ringing bells bind the community together. Teenage boys maraud around on their bikes. Shop keepers picking out your fruit for you so that you will not take their favorite peaches. And then of course the gellatoteria tempting us with my favorite “fruita de bosco” sorbets. It is a mixture of blackberries, raspberries and gooseberries and literally means fruit of the forest. So as I savor its taste, I envision children skipping through the forest harvesting wild berries all for my indulgence.

In the afternoon, Peter, Mike’s son and Afton, his girlfriend joins us. They have been traveling around Europe on Eurorail passes for the past two months. The boat is a welcome change from jostling trains and toting backpacks. We are glad to have them along. That evening, Mike treats us all do dinner at a local restaurant where we dine on local swordfish, octopus salad, pasta, grilled vegetables and steak. Early the next morning, we head to La Spezia and the Chinque Terra.

Spectacular Scenery of Siena

The next day we head to Siena, which was about 2 hours away from the port. Once the capital rival to Florence, Siena is Italy’s most spectacular medieval town. It was at its peak power between 1260 and 1380 before Florence subdued it through military force and the black plague wiped out a third of its population. The combination of those events froze the town’s population and acted like a brine to pickle it as it sat for centuries uninfluenced by the progress of time. The population of 60,000 is about the same as it was during its peak power. The heart of the city is the public piazza. Shaped like a fan that culminates at a spectacular town hall complete with imposing tower. And if the Piazza del Campo is the heart of the city, the Duomo is the soul. This church rivals St. Peters in Rome both in its scope and beauty. If they had finished the final planned naïve, it would have been the biggest Christian church in the world. But somehow loosing a third of the population from the plague and ruling authority to Florence managed to kill that idea. I actually found it more beautiful and more impressive than St. Peters. Its sculpted outside is done in the same black and white striped marble that Florence is famous for. Inside, the marble floors are intricately inlaid with multiple colors to depict various scenes. I have never seen such beautiful floors anywhere. The floors alone are well worth the visit. But the grandeur of the cathedral continues up the walls that include sculptures by Michelangelo and paintings by Donatello and culminate in a spectacularly painted ceiling. The library displays illuminated manuscripts done in gold leaf and brilliant colors painted by monks who dedicated their lives to this art. And the frescos on the walls are just as dazzling. The colors are brilliant colors. We are told that the room was closed to everyone for centuries and the unrestored frescos are as they were painted, I have seen a lot of cathedrals since I have been over here, and this one is at the top of the list of magnificence and beauty.

The next morning, we once again peek our bow out of the harbor in hopes of calmer seas. Sure enough, the waves are just a shadow of their former selves. So on to Elba we go.

Mike, Jose and Victoria

My good friends Mike and Jose join me on Monday. They bring along with them Victoria, a good friend of theirs. I had met Victoria at a dinner party at Mike and Jose’s last year. They told her of the adventure they were embarking on, and talked her into coming along as well. Victoria is originally from Spain, but her family fled the Spanish revolution and moved to France. She was actually born on the way to France during their escape. So now she splits her time between the Bay Area, Spain and France. It is fun having her along, and the fact that she speaks Spanish, French and English helps us muddle our way through the Italian language. Tuesday morning, we set sail to Elba, the island off the coast of Italy where Napoleon was sent when he lost power. He was there for nine months before staging the last short comeback. The sea is a bit rough with high waves. After rolling around for about 6 hours, we decide to take a detour to Port Ercole. The port proves to be a thoroughly likable fishing port that has managed to retain much of its old fishing village charm. There is no room at the guest docks, but we manage to dock at the pier. And though there is no electricity or water, it is still a great place to moor. That afternoon we wander through the streets of this sleepy village. Not much is opened, but the people of the town are friendly. We end up cooking dinner on the boat that night. The next day, we head out to Elba again. But as we peek our bow out of the protective bay, the waves prove to be just as wild as the day before. So we decide to just relax and spend another day in port. This time we dock at Marina Cala di Galera. It is right next to Port Ercole, and has more space at their guest docks. We are able to connect with power and water. We decide to rent a car and go inland and explore some of the nearby cities. It takes us most of the day to arrange for a car rental, but in the afternoon we find ourselves on the road to Pitigliano.

Pitigliano is a medieval town spectacularly situated high above a deep raven. As we approached the city, there was rain coming down and a whiff of mist created a magical kingdom feel to the whole place. The rock buildings of the town were sculpted from the same rock as the cliff. Without the windows in the buildings, it would have been difficult to tell where the cliff ended and the buildings started. It starts to rain for the first time since I started this trip. I guess it is getting that time of year. We dodge the rain through the maze of narrow streets that lead us to a small Jewish ghetto settled in the 17th century by Jews fleeing catholic persecution. Most of the ghetto consisted of a network of caves dug into the rock to form the center of their village. Bakery, synagogue, wine cellar, a place they dyed cloth and other rooms are all carved out of the solid rock. The little area thrived until WWII and Hitler’s madness decimated the population. Above the Jewish quarters, the medieval town still stands like a time capsule from a different era. The aqueduct built in 1545 still is used to bring water to the residents. It is quite amazing how little the town has changed since its original founding. If you took away the cars and changed the clothing, there would be little difference from a couple of centuries ago. Despite the rain, we love it there, and are more than glad for the rough seas that set us on this exploratory course.

Roaming Around Rome

It feels like de javue all over again. We decide to head back to the port I stayed at last time I was in Rome, port Fumicino. Luigi welcomes us and squeezes us in a port that looks way too full. It is one of the few ports that there always seems room for just one more. He remembers my daughters and me from this summer. Of course, I remember all of his kindness to us.

Since I saw all of the star attractions just a couple of months ago, and Kip have recently been to Rome, we decide to skip the tourist destinations this time around. We head to the beach for the day and have a delightful time kicking back and doing what Romans do. As always it is quite the adventure getting around town. This time it involved catching a bus, then a train and then a taxi to the beach. Coming back we found the bus back to the train station. Italy has nice sandy beaches and the sea is still quite warm. The weather has cooled a bit from the blistering days of summer, but they are still quite delightful. The next day we spent a day wandering around the city trying to solve my Internet problems. It proved to still be elusive for us to be able to connect to the Internet on the boat easily. I could get a connection in Italy, but not in France or Spain without paying roaming charges. So I have to wait a little longer. On Sunday, Kip says his last goodbyes and heads back home.