Hoist up the Sails

We arrived back to Marina di Ragusa where our boat resided for the winter. We spent a couple of weeks of cleaning, waxing, polishing, buying supplies, fixing minor repairs, more waxing and polishing, blowing up the tender and all the other myriad of things required to get the boat ready for the summer. The pictures are of one of the winches. We have to strip every gear apart and relube them every couple of years. We set sail on May 15 to officially begin the summer season. It is so amazing to be back on the boat. It feels like home the minute we hoist the sails and punch in our destination for the day into the navigation system. We hop along the southern coast and then turn northwest up through the Straits of Messina. The towns along the shores are ones we are familiar with and have spent the last summer exploring. Porto Paulo, Syracuse, Catania, Taromina and Messina all bring back memories of past trips. Finally at Messina, we say our goodbyes to Sicily and head to the Italian mainland. Sicily may be a part of Italy, but it is not Italy. The culture and people are remarkable different. Our first stop on the mainland is Tropea, one of my favorite towns in the south. Built on a flat plateau that plunges hundreds of feet into the sea below, this town has charm and character that has aged well through the centuries. The shops and stores rise straight up from the sheer cliffs, bleeding directly into the cliffs to the point that it becomes difficult to distinguish where the cliff ends and the town begins. It is like a water color painting that the color of the houses on top have run down into the cliffs below. After climbing 200 steps to get to the top of the bluff, you are rewarded with stone-block streets, small shops, wonderful food and yes, beautiful Italians. Italians seem to have this Jackal/Hyde nature about them. I have pulled into ports and the local fishermen have jumped up and down telling me I have no right to dock my boat in there harbor and they will call the authorities if I even think about staying there for the night. But when asked where I should go, they will smile and say “Oh just stay where you are, no one will care.” You see men on the street passionately arguing with each other nose to nose with only inches separating them and then a moment later, the argument is forgotten and full embracing hugs are wrapped around each other. They glory in the noble history of the ruins of a once great civilization, but have no problem defacing those same historical treasures with adolescent graffiti. The men are flashy and pay fastidious attention to their clothes, with just the right shoes, just the fitted shirt and the perfect pants, yet leave their cars unwashed and trashed for weeks. The women are also dressed to the nines even when they have no particular place to go. Short skirts worthy of a prom flashing shapely legs, 6 inch stilettos and lots of glam are typical outfits to go get pizza in the early evening. They can’t go anywhere without sparkling. The children are spoiled rotten, challenging their parents with foot stomping statements and defiant looks and the next minute wrapping arms around whoever is walking next to them. I love Italy with all it’s Janus-like contradictions. It is good to be back on the mainland.