July 29

Hi from Tapestry,
Tonight we are swinging in fifteen feet over a good white sand bottom in Porto
Giglio, just off the Coast of Italy.
When I last wrote we were in a crowded anchorage in Capria. From there we
motored to Elba, the island made famous because Napoleon was exiled there after
his unhappy defeat at Waterloo.
Elba was a surprise. Our first harbor was Portoferraio. It was a large
harbor with a marina labled "band 1" in the guide book. Band 1 is
free, or nominal charge. Well, it was not free, but nobody was talking price.
We went to the large anchorage area which was indeed, free. Portoferraio is a
ferry stop and it was a bit of a tourist destination. Still, it was a place
where people could live. There was a large grocery, bus terminal and other
things that gave it a "real" feeling.
Soon after we got there, Dick and Eileen on "Triumph", said that
they had met another American boat called "Odyssey" while they were in
their dinghy. Dick said that their names were Joe and Marie, and they were
sailing a Nonsuch 36. It hit me like a brick. There was a boat by that name in
Englewood harbor in 2002. We had the couple over to the house for dinner, their
names were Joe and Marie. They were heading for Europe, but in such an unlikely
boat? Next morning we dinghied over and sure enough, same couple. They had
headed for Bermuda last year, but faced with 18 foot waves in a storm, they had
aborted and headed for New York City. They then returned to Fort Lauderdale
where they raised the $10,000 needed to ship the boat to Europe. From Las
Palmas in Mallorca where they disembarked, they headed for the Rivera. They
found exorbitant prices and tacky harbors, much like Key West. Anchorages were
poor and marinas were "full". They might make room if you paid the
big price, came late and left early the next morning. He said it was the worst
sailing experience of his life. Elba, on the other hand was the very best place
they had found, and, even though they had been there six weeks, they were not
planning to leave anytime soon. The people here, he said, were real. They
worked for a living, they fished, made leather goods, farmed, but they didn't
just cater to tourists. He said there is everything on Elba that there is in
Italy. Joe spoke Italian, and that made him a bit of an expert. He said we had
to go to Marciana, a small mountaintop town on Elba. We were so excited to see
them there, we could hardly believe it. Small world.
So, that very morning, in spite of the fact we had invited four friends for
dinner and had not shopped yet, we took the bus to Marciana. The "half
hour" ride turned into an hour of torturous switchbacks and narrow winding
roads that often caused an oncoming car to stop if the bus was attempting a
hairpin curve. When we arrived at the town, we were amazed. It was a city
built high on the very top of a hill. Streets were stairways sometimes carved
into the granite rock. Narrow and twisting, they wound their way to the top.
Crossroads were level, but just two or three pedestrians wide. No motor
vehilces had graced these "streets." (We did see one powered
"wheelbarrow" with tracks like a bull dozer which could negotiate
steps, but only one!)
The view from the town was spectacular, gorgeous, wonderful. I can't tell you.
People were real. They didn't speak any English, but they wanted to talk with
us. We had lunch there and waited an hour at the bus stop for fear of missing
the next bus. We were learning to love Elba. In spite of our trip, dinner on
the boat was a success.
Back at Portoferraio,the streets also often ended in stairways. We had lunch
at a restaurant with tables built on the stairs. Wow, so different.
One time we climbed the hill to Napoleon's house. He was exiled there after
he was defeated at Waterloo. His house was elegant, with lovely furniture,
immaculate gardens and a spectacular view of the sea and the harbor. Why would
anyone have wanted to leave? He had hundreds of his followers there with him.
He could have entertained them all at one time in his house had he wanted to,
but instead, he "escaped." He had been there ten months and, after
all, if one calls you an emperor you should be off fighting wars, right? Well
he took off and fought again and lost again and within a hundred days of his
"escape" he was dead. Am I missing something?
We hauled anchor and sailed (motored: there has been on wind here for weeks)
to Marina Di Campo. This was definitely not a tourist place. There were no
ferries our tour boats here at all. It was real. There were hardware stores
and drug stores and dress shops as well as cafes, bars and restaurants. Of
course, thee was a huge beach there, too, but mostly for local consumption.
Europeans, be they Spanish, French, or Italian love their beaches.
One night, after dinner, we decided to head in for a beer and a Coke. It was
nine thirty when we arrived, it was dark, and the town was warming up. The
bars, restaurants, and ice cream shops were busy and all the shops were doing
brisk business. But what caught my attention was a lady who was telling a story
to perhaps fifty kids of elementary school age. She would sing and play her
guitar and at one point she got all the kids (and many of their parents) to
follow her as she walked, then ran through the streets. Drummers accelerated
the pace, till, Pied Piper style,
she lead them back to their "theater" which was just plastic chairs in
a roped off corner of the street. Then she sang and read and taught the kids a
chorus which they would sing out in unison from time to time at her command. It
was a wonderful way for these kids to learn to love language and literature and
music.
It was there, that night, when I saw those little kids that I realized how
much I wanted to talk to some of those people. I wanted to tell them that in
America I had spent a career teaching English to people named Palimino and
Gulotti, and Cali. These people were the same, calm and refined, loud and
boisterous, caring and gentle people I had known in Jamestown. But the language
barrier was so profound, I simply could not communicate at all. I could say
"Bon Journo", but that was about it. I realized that although I had
not gotten off a cruise ship or rented a villa by the beach, I was simply a
voyuere, watching, but not participating in the lives of these people. I simply
could not communicate with them at all. I could smile at a friendly face, but
as soon as I spoke a wall came between me and the speaker. Communication ended.
These people drive cars, live in lovely houses, dress in western fashion,
listen to American music, enjoy the food I enjoy, but I cannot speak to them.
How important it is to learn foreign languages! Pretty important, I say! I was
moved.
From Elba we sailed 35 miles to Giglio, right off the Italian coast. Again,
we anchored in a little bay by a beach. This morning, we took a bus to the top
of the hill where an ancient community was built some 400 metres above sea
level. There are apartments and stores and narrow streets and restaurants, all
the things needed to sustain a small community. As we walked through this
fascinating city, built to protect its citizens from pirate attacks before the
time of Columbus, a young lady asked us if we wanted to see a
"canteena". We went inside a small room hung with hams, jugs of wine
and potatoes and onions. There was cheese on the shelves spices, fruits and
anything that could be preserved in its cool temperature. The hams were covered
with a thick layer of mould. There was a guitar in the corner. Neat place.
The girl could speak English and we grilled her about the town. She was Polish
and knew no Italian. How ironic.
We understand that storage places for Tapestry are filling up quickly on the
mainland. That is why we are traveling so quickly now. Tomorrow at 7 a.m. we
will head to Santa Marinella on the mainland. On Sunday, we should be in Rome.
On Monday, August 1st. we hope to firm up storage plans. I had no idea we
would be so enthralled by Italy.

Hank and Julie on Tapestry.

Continue the Voyage