7/22

Hi from Tapestry
Our stay on Corsica is over, as I write we are motoring east to Capraia, an
Italian island just north and east of Corsica.
Corsica has been an interesting experience. If you imagine your left hand
clenched in a fist with the pointer finger extended, that is Corsica. Looking at
the back of your hand, Bonafacio is near your wrist. We spent several nights
in coves on the left side. Calvi is between your little finger and your ring
finger; last night we were in St. Florent, between your pointer finger and your
middle finger. Today we went up the pointer finger, around the top, Cape Corse,
and off to the right (east) about 16 miles to Isol Capria. At this moment, we
are in Porto Capria, a little bay not much larger than the area between Bart's
Cove and D.Y.C. in Dunkirk. There are 37 boats anchored here at the moment. We
are way too close together, but due to the magic of anchors, when we swing, as
we seem to do quite often, we somehow miss hitting each other. Because most of
these folks are charterers who don't bother to set their anchors, our dinghy is
raised and we are ready to depart at the first sign of rising wind.
Our last night in Calvi, Julie and I dined in a little French restaurant next
to a church still poc marked by shells from Lord Nelson's attack on the city
toward the end of the 18th century. Our table was on the street and next to a
couple from Switzerland who spoke only French, Italian and German. We could
converse with them fluently in English, but they didn't think they spoke that
well enough to count. Julie had lamb and I had veal. The food was rich and
good, but the star of the show was a Brittany spaniel who was snoozing on the
street. He would roll over and bump down the hill, catching the attention of
everyone at the outdoor tables of the restaurant. If you made eye contact, he
would walk over to your table and beg, but just with his golden brown eyes. He
never barked, or pawed or drooled, he just looked at you. I scratched him and
petted him, but though he looked at the bones on my plate, I never fed him.
That was fine, he just moved back to his spot on the street. Another couple
near us fed him a piece of bread, which he took to the street and set down. He
made it plain that bread was not what he had in mind. Neat dog! It was 10:30
by the time we left and the streets of Calvi were packed with people. There
were lines at restaurants and shops filled with talking and laughing people.
Wandering minstrels were singing their songs, and bands were tuning up for the
evening. Wow.
Nest morning the weather had tryly settled; we headed over rolly seas for St.
Florent. All along the coast of Corsica (and Sardinia) are towers which were
used as watch towers during the 18th century and before. It is said that if an
invader would approach the shores of Corsica, a message could be sent all around
the island in less than an hour. I don't know how they signaled, perhaps they
used cannon.
Anyway, at St Florent, Lord Nelson attacked and conquered the city quite
easily, except for the tower located at the mouth of the bay. Fire at it as he
would, he could not destroy this round stone structure. He finally had to send
a detatchment of marines to take it. He was so impressed, he took the
dimensions of the structures and they were built and used, ironically, to keep
the Corsican Napoleon from the shores of Scottland in later years.
We had a "bon voyage" French dinner at St Florent; I had roquefort
spaghetti and salad. It was a great evening with Dick and Eileen and Steve and
Jan. The food was delicious,the company the best, but there was no dog.

Hank and Julie on Tapestry, from Capria, a small Italian harbor glittering
with anchor lights in the Central Mediterranean.