Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Alas, I’ve only just restarted the blog and I am already behind again. I’ve had a very busy summer, what can I say!

Song of the trip: Harvest Moon – Neil Young, to memorialize some of the craziest moons I have ever seen

Sapore di Sale — Gino Paoli. You can’t go to the sea in Italy without listening to this song, come on!

Uh-oh. Receiving a text from Charlotte that started: “Hey, change of plans. But I know you’re always down for an adventure!” was not what I had expected a few days before my flight was meant to leave from Geneva. I had returned from Zermatt a few days ago, and would be Sicily-bound shortly for a much-needed few days of sun, relaxing, island hopping, granita-eating…in other words, no stress. I read Charlotte’s text with a mixture of dread and intrigue: “Nacho and I need to get the boat to Sardinia, so what do you think about a 48 hour open ocean crossing and then sailing around there, instead?”

I correctly assumed that, while phrased like a question, this was a statement — we are going to Sardinia. I took a few minutes to let go of my mental images of endless cannoli and arancini, replacing them with…well, what to expect? I pictured salty Mediterranean spray coming over the sides of the boat in massive swells, pitching me back and forth across deck. Type 2 fun for sure, but it did sound like an adventure. At the very least, it would be interesting, if not relaxing. “Ok,” I texted Charlotte. “I’ll pack my raincoat and headlamp — what else do I need?”

So, a few days later, I found myself standing on a dock in Trapani, holding pizza boxes and a duffle bag and watching Charlotte putter over in the tender. I thought of the Mamma Mia dock scene (“well, would you look what the tide dragged in!”) and gave a wave — as if she would miss me, since I stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the typical heavily suntanned Sicilian fishermen. It was great to see Charlotte in her element, I thought as I hopped on board and we made our way out to where Rondinino, home for the next five days, was anchored.

Okay, a bit of context first. This is the same Charlotte and Nacho who graciously hosted me in Chile back in January — I swear I will at some point return the favor! When Charlotte started the MBA, Nacho decided to also take a career break. He found Rondi in Greece and spent most of the year painstakingly repairing, updating, and otherwise getting her fully seaworthy. Last summer the two of them sailed her around Greece, and this summer they were sailing her across the Med from Greece to Spain. By the way, have I mentioned that these are two of the coolest people I know??

So, I got a quick tour of the boat, and as the sun began to burn bright orange and sink below the waves, we pulled up the anchor and set off, Trapani receding behind us as the wind whipped the sails. Destination: Sardinia. Estimated travel time: 40 hours. I asked a lot of questions about the boat, and Nacho seemed happy to have an eager student — he showed me a multitude of knots, how to use a compass to see if we were on a collision course with other boats, and all sorts of other bits of sailing knowledge. Soon, the glimmering lights of Trapani had faded away completely, as had the hulking silhouette of Sicily. We were in the open ocean.

I desperately wanted to be helpful the first night, but found my half-dose of Dramamine was betraying me. Fighting to stay awake, I ended up passing out cold on deck. Around 2 or 3am the moisture on board, the wind, and the bright glare of the moon woke me up, and Charlotte shooed me down to one of the beds — sorry, berths — below. I re-emerged shortly before 6 for the sunrise as Charlotte was heading to bed after a three hour night watch. We sat in silence as a light purple band stretched across the horizon, eventually revealing a brilliant pink sunrise. As Charlotte slept, I dutifully kept watch, checking, double checking, and triple checking we weren’t going to collide into any other ships. There was nothing in sight on the horizon, but better to check again, right?

In the end we got lucky with the weather, and my imagined worst-case monsoon scenarios did not come to pass. On a multi-day open-ocean crossing, there isn’t much to do besides adjust the sails and check for other boats (of which there usually are none). I occupied myself by taking long naps (contorting periodically to follow the shifting shade) and reading my book. Charlotte and I sat near the bow and watched the water fly by below, spotting sea turtles as they flipped past. The water was a deep, bottomless blue. It was heaven. I took another nap.

Dinner the first night was fried rice. The three of us sat on the bow, enjoying the late evening sun. As dusk started to fall we retreated back to make preparations for the evening — I would be subbing in on night shifts tonight, which I was excited and nervous for. After yet another brilliant, blazing sunset, we were treated to one of the most insane moonrises I have seen. The moon was bright orange, so much that it looked almost like the setting sun. It hung, massive, just over the horizon, its reflection leaving a shimmering trail behind us. Ahead of us, we sailed into the deep red of the still-glowing horizon. A smattering of the brightest stars started to emerge in the night sky above us, now the same deep blue that the water had been midday.

My first watch was from 9pm to 11, so Nacho was still up and puttering around the boat, noting down our course on the map — sorry, chart — and checking on our progress. Just before 11, the wind died out entirely. Our progress slowed for over 5 knots during the day to only 2 knots, mostly just from inertia. We would need to motor. Nacho came up to turn on the motor. With a start and a cough it roared to life, but quickly a problem became clear — no water was spitting out the back, meaning the engine wasn’t being cooled. “This happened to a sailing YouTuber we watched,” Charlotte explained as she prepped for her watch. “Usually it means a plastic bag has been sucked into the intake or something.” Okay, simple enough solution to clear the blockage — but where is the water intake?

“So, Nacho is going to have to dive under the boat to check it out,” she continued. So we floated, bobbing back and forth in the waves, not really making any progress. We were hours from land — Sardinia was by this point the closest point. Lit only by the light of the moon, we watched nervously as Nacho put on flippers and a headlamp and prepared for his midnight maintenance dive. I had already been impressed by how Nacho and Charlotte had taken on the upkeep of this boat themselves — it requires a whole new set of skills and expertise that I struggle to even comprehend. (What do you mean you fixed an engine yourself, with your own two hands?). Holding my breath as Nacho dove into the dark depths, I was even more amazed and inspired by what they are doing by living on this boat full-time. All that to say that when Nacho returned on board unscathed and the motor began running smoothly, I was relieved and immediately allowed myself to be rocked to sleep until my 3am watch.

When I reemerged on deck, the motor was humming softly as we glid over a glassy sea. The moon shone brightly, and I could just pick out the Big Dipper amongst the stars above. The air was humid and salty, yet cool in the breeze. I read by the light of my headlamp and listened to music, checking every few minutes for any signs of life on the horizon. But there was nothing besides the twinkling lights of some Sardinian village, far in the distance. Other than the sound of the motor and the water lapping against the boat, the night was silent. It was peaceful — and a bit creepy. When Charlotte came up to relieve me at 5am I was happy to collapse back in bed, not even waking up for sunrise.

So, it was a pleasant surprise to wake up to a sunny day and an already-anchored boat just outside of the beach of Porto Giunco. We spent the morning chilling by the boat, going for my first swim of the trip(!) and lounging on the paddle board. The water was unbelievable — a deep turquoise color, and so salty (I was shocked by how easy it was to float after a summer of lake swimming). While Charlotte and Nacho went to scope out a tower on a cliff above the beach, I spent an hour attempting to do a backflip off the paddleboard. It went about as well as expected. We paddle boarded to the beach to scope out land — our first encounter in two days, and headed back to the boat for lunch. For dinner we headed back to shore, met two Italians from the next boat over who had left behind consulting jobs in Milan to work freelance in Cagliari and sail on weekends. What a life. They recommended a seafood place for dinner and after fighting our way through a throng, we managed to pick up a mixed plate of fried calarmi and grilled swordfish, supplied by the classic semi-flirtatious middle aged Italian men running the restaurant. Walking back to the beach, we spotted yet another insane moonrise. Once again it glowed orange and massive above the dunes, surreally large and beautiful enough to stop us in our tracks.

The next day we had breakfast and then set sail towards Capo Boi, a beach recommended by the Italians the night before. We anchored on the way there near a cliff and spent the afternoon snorkeling, paddle boarding, and napping. It was heaven. Our anchorage for the night was tough, and I watched, impressed, and Charlotte and Nacho navigated it smoothly. We celebrated with another snorkel — this time we saw lots of electric blue fish and even a manta ray. We also were anchored next to an underwater statue of Jesus, which Charlotte dove all the way down to. I investigated from a few meters above, as I never was great at diving deep — my ears hurt! After a quick sailor’s shower (i.e., lathering up and diving back in the water), Charlotte and I sat on deck and watched as a very attractive spear fisherman in the boat over pulled up anchor and set sail. Even Nacho had to admit that the guy’s washboard abs were impressive, and his boat was very nice. After a lovely aperitivo on board we motored to the beach for dinner (lobster pasta!) and sunset. I opted to sleep on deck, which is always my preference. I fell asleep listening to Cat Stevens, watching the stars, and being gently rocked back and forth by the boat.

I woke up to a salty breeze at sunrise with Charlotte and Nacho still asleep, and decided to go for a quick swim to the rocky beach nearby, where I scrambled through a small tunnel in the rocks that ultimately led nowhere. After almost an hour I was joined by the others, and as the beach started to fill up we prepared for a trip to shore. We loaded up the dinghy with the previous days’ trash and recycling and headed in to the one bar in town for coffee, pastries, and grocery shopping. I surprised even myself with how happy I was to be back in an Italian supermarket (and with Italian prices, too). We picked up goodies for the evening and headed back to Rondi to pick up anchor and head to our next beach.

We’d been lucky with multiple days of crystal-clear skies, warm weather, and that same Gatorade blue water. Today was no different — we set up anchor and spent the rest of the afternoon napping, swimming, and paddle boarding. I practice my dives off the side of the boat, to no avail, and finished a book written by a friend of theirs explaining how to buy a boat and start liveaboard life. I have to admit that I was very inspired by the life they had created for themselves — how lovely to be able to move from anchorage to anchorage each day, learning to navigate problems and fend for yourselves, periodically dropping in to port towns for a proper shower and laundry. I would probably miss the mountains eventually, but I could definitely see myself enjoying that sort of life, at least for a bit.

In the afternoon they let me drive the tender to bring us in to the beach, where we had drinks at a beach bar. The DJ was blasting music, leaning into his headphones with a bored expression, playing for a crowd of maybe 10 seated people. I almost felt bad, except that the decibel level made it impossible to think or feel much at all. Still, we enjoyed our Ichnusas and the best Italian potato chips (San Carlo, of course) before heading back to Rondi for the evening. Charlotte and I dove together off the bow as the sun set, striping the sky pink and transforming the water from teal to orange. I cooked a farewell meal of carbonara — made with real guanciale! It was the best carbonara cooked on a tiny boat stove I have ever made. Glasses of Cannonau in hand, we headed to the bow as the moon rose to watch the stars. Nacho has an industrial-strength laser pointer he used to help us find the North Star and various constellations. As we lay quietly, admiring the sky, a shooting star tore across our vision — the beginning of the Perseid meteor shower. It was one of the most magnificent things I’ve seen. Finally it got late and was time to retire, and for the last time I curled up under a sheet on deck to let myself be rocked to sleep.

The next morning, we began our preparations for my departure and set our sights on Cagliari. I have to say, there is something crazy about being dropped off at a port from a sailboat to catch your flight — talk about service! We had an hour or two of sailing, during which I watched Charlotte steer the boat with one foot while she sipped coffee and wondered if I would ever be half as cool as her. Maybe one day. I repacked my things and waved a sad goodbye to Rondi as we tendered past massive sailing yachts on the way to the Cagliari port. A short bus ride brought us into Cagliari center, where I thanked Charlotte and Nacho and wished them well for the next month of exploring Sardinia and crossing to the Balearics. The last 5 days had felt like a week — in a good way — and I was very disappointed to be leaving already. But even so I was grateful to be a crew member for a few days and get a taste of their sea life — and see some sunsets, moonrises, and pristine beaches that I will never forget. Until the next time, back to the mountains for me!