The Age of Uncertainty

Le Havre, Thursday, May 1st.

So I am back where I started wo years ago, in the Le Havre Port de Plaisance that bears no resemblance to any of the Port the Plaisance (French for marina) I have seen in the last 12 months. In fact, this is a typical French marina: enormous, impersonal, full of small power boats and shiny sailing boats that make Tara look like an antique. Mind you, Tara IS an antique…

Mark joined me in Soissons, a pretty town north of Paris, and we just bombed it down the rivers, first the Oise, then the Seine. It was a bit of a tour de force, to be honest, but Mark is in a hurry to get back to his boat, which he is getting ready for a trip to the Azores and the Med. I am just feeling that this is a delivery job, getting Tara back to the UK and bringing this trip to an end. I am not yet sure how I feel about that. And about the uncertainty of having a boat back home, in need of very major work that is worth more than her actual value. Engine, sails, rigging, wiring...in short all the expensive things that have just got worn out over the last 5 years and nearly 10,000 miles of travels. Sell her for a few hundred quid to a dreamer who will let her rot in some boatyard? Keep her in a creek on the Tamar and go and enjoy the sunsets? She can’t go anywhere in her current state. I am actually worried about the Channel crossing, which hopefully we’ll do next week, though I am not going anywhere unless the forecast is for any more than a Force 2 from the East and the sea is completely flat. I might be in Normandy for some time.

But to go back to the point of this post, Mark and I carried on down the winding river Seine, stopping at Vernon, where last year I piked up Rachel and Izzy for the trip up the canals. From Vernon we went to Rouen, where we had an interesting time with some live-aboard people and a wall of loud hip hop, a few beers and being welcomed by a drunk English guy offering beer and thinly sliced French sausage. Looked like a friendly little community and, definitely a more exciting place than Le Havre Marina.

We left Rouen at 6:15, as early as we dared, to join the traffic on the busy river for the trip down to what we hoped would be the tidal port of Honfleur. As usual, I overestimated the speed Tara could achieve over a 14 hour period, and we were 45 minutes late to catch the last locking in time of the day. I had a choice whether to stem the tide for 4 hours until 9 pm, when we could get in, or carry on to Le Havre and get the mast back on here. I wish I had stemmed the tide. The 3 hours trip from Honfleur was grim at best, and stressful for the most part. The engine stopping in the middle of the busy shipping lane to the largest French port did nothing for my confidence in the upcoming channel crossing. Fortunately I wasn’t on my own, as Mark was keeping an eye on traffic whilst I was below trying to figure out what was happening to the fuel system. A busy shipping lane and no engine is not the sort of place where I like to clean a blob of dirt from a non-return valve on a fuel pump, but half an hour later we were safe alongside a pontoon.

They can’t put the mast up until next Wednesday, which is not that bad, really, as today is Labour Day, which is a national holiday, and tomorrow ”c’est le pont” and nobody is at work. I would have preferred to wait in Honfleur, but it is what it is, and we will eventually get back to the UK. Mark is coming back to help me with the crossing next week. Thankfully. I doubt it I would want to do it on my own.

I am looking forward to a summer at home. I have been out sailing for so many summers recently, that I have forgotten how beautiful June can be in England. And besides, there are a few things I want to do back home. Things such as festivals, DJing a few gigs, chilling with friends, maybe even seeing Rachel some weekends. And taking the van up to the Beacons for a few good walks.

I am hoping to be back around the 11th. No promises.

The last update came from somewhere in north-east France, when we found a little Halte Fluviale with just enough depth to go alongside a rickety old pontoon in the middle of nowhere, just before Rachel had to get back to the UK by train. A lot of water has gone under the bridges (and under Tara’s keel) since then. I have lost count of how many locks I have done in the last week or so, but 60 or 70 springs to mind. Some 8 loks where uphill, when I changed my mind about the route, and instead of following the winding Marne river down to Paris, I ended up taking a canal that links the river Marne to the Aisne north of Reims.

It was the slowest part of the trip. The canal was well silted up, full of weeds and junk, so much so that I had to clear the engine's water intake of tons of green stuff two or three times a day because the engine was overheating, But I took just two days to get to the River Aisne and to the long quay in Soissons.

I had not planned to come this way, and it came as a bit of a surprise to find myself in a small town near Reims, Sillery, where I found a public quay to tie up to and stock up on fuel and water. Stepping ashore I was presented with the sight of a massive French war cemetery. I had not even thought that this was the site of so many WW1 battles, and seeing a large field filled with the graves of 22,000 dead soldiers is always a sobering thought. I am not a military history geek, but even I can’t avoid being moved by the thought of so much wasted humanity. It didn't get better, as I went through the battlefield of the Aisne and Oise. I avoided the cemeteries and war sites. I am struggling enough with the entire concept that the world is going back to 1936, and that killing is becoming the norm in so many places.

I just stuck to the sailing schedule instead, After all, this a delivery trip, not a cruise, and I am keen to get back. Not as keen as my crew, who joined me in Soissons to help with the hard part of the trip, the tidal Seinem and the Channel Crossing.

We have just been reeling off the miles for the last few days, and I am writing this blog form the very spot where Rachel and Izzy joined me two years ago on our way south to the Med. Since last Thursday, when Mark arrived, we have made excellent progress, and went down the Oise river to the Seine west of Paris, then today we covered another 70 Kilometres on the Seine to arrive at the last stop we are going to make before the sea port of Rouen. So it’s going to be back to the tides of Normandy, and we are planning a very early start tomorrow for a long day that will see us reach Rouen just as the tide turns, about 8:30 tomorrow evening.

This was the easy bit, The next few days is when the really hard work starts. But, so far, Geraldine is still working fine to get me home, and I keep lavishing love and attention to the old thing. I am optimistic shell take me home by the 7th of May.

The change from the Saone to the Marne valley could not have been more dramatic. We published the last post from a place called Villegusien le Lac, where we parked the boat for the night on a dusty commercial quay, in bright sunshine and 22 degrees. A local walk provided us with a glass of wine or two, and the discovery that, once a year, they hold a music festival just up the road from the canal. One of my faves, L’Enterloop, are headlining this summer. We can’t stay here until August though, and besides I think we are playing at Lakefest that weekend, so previous commitments and all that…

Next morning we set off, Rachel on foot this time, as the last 8 locks on the up side of the Saone are so close there is little point in riding. They are deep too, about 5 or 6 metres, and even throwing the lines up to her was hard work. When we got to the summit, we went through the 5 kilometers Balesme tunnel, leaving behind the Saone-Rhone valley, and heading to the Marne-Seine, and all the way down to the Atlantic Ocean. Travelling on a boat underground is crazy, it just feels so wrong… We also went from a warm morning to a freezing nordic afternoon, the temperature dropping about 10 degrees in two hours.

We left Langres this morning, in company with another boat – two Frenchmen who kindly took the ropes from Rachel at each lock making her life very easy, and even sharing a cup of coffee with us along the way. Their engine was even smellier than ours, and she broke down before one of the locks. However, they overtook us as we stopped for lunch with a a cheery wave and an acknowledgment they had forgotten to open the fuel tank. Rooky error, we’ve all been there – repeatedly!

Geraldine the engine is performing pure miracles, especially as we occasionally get a clump of weeds on the propeller, which means throwing the engine into reverse and really opening the throttle. Had to do it in a lock this morning, it filled up with gray smoke, and a number of comments from other lock users. We are burning a pint of oil a day, and leaking gearbox oil by the cupful. But she starts on the button every morning, purrs away all day, and gets us closer to Paris by about 25 k a day. And 15 locks.

The landscape on this side of the watershed is so different from the massive plains of the Bourgogne. Rolling, wooded hills, cute villages, apple blossom and the greenest fields I have ever seen.

Descending towards the Channel at 25 k a day. It’s gonna be a long haul, but the views are beautiful and the wine is good.

So, this is the return journey part two. I sailed from Cardiff to Greece two years ago, see above, and started the return journey last summer when I made it all the way from Greece to St Jean de Losne in France, with the exceptional company of Mark, Anna, Dan, and Isabel at different points along the way. And now, to year two, of the return journey to England. Why come back, when it is so beautiful here, and also, at the same time, why not come back? Decisions, decisions. I set off from St Jean de Losne on 31 March and arrived in Chalon sur Saone on 3 April.

Rachel arrived by train from the UK on 3 April. Delayed Eurostar made for a 30 second turn around for her connection in Paris (another story, but hey, she made it) and there we were, reunited in Chalon. However, I had to greet her with the news that the engine was dodgy and we had in fact got to head straight back to St Jean de Losne, not to the nice marina bit but the dusty industrial boatyard bit. David Blanquart, the head engineer of the boatyard, identified the leaky gearbox as, in fact, serious engine trouble and clearly not wishing another big job upon his boatyard, made the sign of the cross and wished us bon chance!

And so, we head to the UK with a leaky gearbox, symptomatic of major engine trouble, but knowing that a fix/refit in the UK is going to be so much cheaper than a refit in France. So, everything is held together with a wing, a prayer, regular checking of Geraldine (the engine) and shed loads of wine. Interspersed with the most beautiful and magical of French countryside, undulating its glory as we rumble along with no decisions currently greater than where to stop for the next picnic and glass of wine.

France is beautiful, majestic, quirky and offers a tranquillity that is hard to surpass anywhere. The locks at the moment are so deep and so close together that the easiest way to navigate them is me on the boat and Rachel cycling (yes, you read that right) between them so I can just throw the ropes up to her and get through a lock in minutes rather than the stress of having to reach the bollards from the boat. Seen everything now – Rachel on a mountain bike! Keep everything crossed for us. Rachel just has to get to Paris, I need to make the English coastline …….

A few pictures

Saint Jean de Losne, Monday 22dn July 2024

I am never ready for the end of a journey. Strange, really, as a spend half of my travelling time cursing and raving that I will never, EVER do things like this again, that it is a complete waste of my time and money, that I am fighting a bad sea, or a bad engine, or bad custom officer, or just a bad attitude, while everybody else is having the best time of their lives at a festival (or party, or just getting happy).

My problem is that, after two and a half months of sailing, especially sailing with people instead of being on my own all the time, I got rather used to it. Maybe I should not admit it, but I actually enjoyed this trip. I mean, I have just covered over 1,500 miles, from the Ionian Islands to a totally unknown small town somewhere between Dijon and Geneva. Out of ten weeks, I have had crew for 6 weeks, and the last two weeks I have sailed in company with two other boats.

If I have to be honest, the sailing side was actually much better than last year, when I motored most of the time and I can only name one night passage when the I managed not switch the engine on. But this summer started off with light variable, but often sailable, winds in the Ionian going up to Albania with Anna and Mark as crew, That was great fun, with a couple of great sails and a few good laughs. Albania, to be honest, was incredible, like stepping back to the 1970s in a totally amazing landscape. I had never had to share my world with others, and it was so good to be able to enjoy good company and still feel that we were all having a good time. Yes, Tara is a bit too small for three people, but we managed to find our space and still not get on top of each other. Seeing my grumpy old sailing pal Mark all loved up and smiling was pretty priceless too. He should be, It was great sailing with Anna, what an inspiring woman!

Then Dan turned up in Catania, and we sailed all the way to Olbia in Sardegna. The sailing was, for the most part, disappointing, with only the occasional good wind. But Dan steering the boat in a force 7 under mainsail alone was wild, and the look of utter determination in keeping all 7 ton of Tara going more or less in the right direction for half an hour was simply priceless. We did a lot of long passage making on that part of the trip, and without wind, it was just a boring, long and hot delivery trip. Still, I hope Dan enjoyed it, I feel that the sailing should have been more exciting, and that we should have stopped in more places. At least we agreed that he would not be available to crew on a six weeks ocean crossing. But next time I do coastal cruise, Dan, you are welcome! We had some truly hilarious times….

We had the best sailing weather when Izzy turned up the day after Dan left. Such a shame that her back was not at its best after some treatment, and we had to change all our sailing plans. Going to Garibaldi’s island was great, and that week was the best sailing I have had all summer. To be honest, just having the luxury of the company of my grown up daughter for 12 days would have been worth the entire 3,500 miles trip, but also having north Sardinia and Corsica, and good weather, and 3 days in Bastia made it into a memorable time. Thanks Izzy!

The long passage from Macinaggio to the south af France was a game of two halves. The half after a gale, in crazy lumpy seas under engine with no wind was worse than similar conditions in the Bay of Biscay I had three years ago, and best forgotten. Slow, sick making, gear breaking, bone bruising times. The half when I sailed past the bay of Marseille, hard on a strong, hot wind, waves breaking over the bow with Tara doing 7 knots, was incredible, and the best sailing I have ever had. The Med is like that. Either totally awful, or simply utterly awesome. After two seasons, I think that memorable is the word I will use. I will not be coming back, the place is simply too expensive for somebody on a small budget, but also, it is completely geared up to groups chartering large catamarans, so meeting people whilst on my own was difficult. The sights, however, will stay with me forever. From Sardinian emerald anchorages to swimming ashore in Ithaca, Corsican mountains and Roman ruins in Albania, and meeting two Fin Whales off Corsica, this trip was a complete visual and sensory overload. I am glad I did it. In fact, I feel blessed that I was given the opportunity to fulfil so many dreams and hopes.

Now, it’s difficult to star waxing lyrical about French rivers. There is a beauty, yes, and a slow, enticing, reflective way of life to motoring on the Grande Saone. But the drama of a Greek island, the challenge of a night passage or the exhilaration of a good sail is just not there. Mind you, a southerly gale on the Rhone was the closest I had to taking some serious damage to the boat. I took some damage by breaking a finger when a rope snapped back and hit me. It took me a couple of days to realise what had happened, and by now there’s no point worrying about it. It hurts a lot, but at least the boat is OK, apart from a big dent in the woodwork and a broken outboard engine. It could have been a lot worse. I was on a pontoon, with one meter waves bouncing the boat against the fenders and every mooring line getting as taught as a bow string.

The first three days coming up the Rhone were tough. Because of the all the rain they have had in the Alps, the rivers were carrying a huge current a couple of weeks ago. At one point, the best Tara could manage was about half a mile an hour against it. I am so glad I was travelling in company with another boat. I met Anders in Port Saint Louis du Rhone, he was also returning to Denmark after a similar experience to mine in the Med, and we just motored in company on our old boats, up to the next massive river lock. A few days later, Jan joined us, and suddenly we had a three boat convoy slowly chugging up the river. They are now nearly half the way to Strasbourg, and I feel really sorry not to be with them. Travelling in company in definitely much more fun.

I feel sad this is the end of yet another sailing season. Off to Italy in a few days to see family, maybe reconnect with some roots, though I am not holding my breath. Next spring we’ll bring the boat back to the UK, but not sure on what route yet. Just too many choices, and I will be back home in three weeks. Coming back always feels strange, almost like dropping into a different life.

I suppose that’s the price of travelling.

Port Saint Louis Du Rhone, Monday, 1st July

So, I am back in Camargue, being eaten alive by evil mosquitos whilst waiting for another interminable Mistral to blow itself out so I can motor up the river. This isn’t my first Mistral. Last year, as I was coming down in June, I got caught out by a quick blast whilst in a very pretty village called La Roche de Glun. Real Provencal place: a pretty village, with just the absolute basics of an excellent boulangerie, a bar frequented mainly by local anglers, a small supermarket and a very small but interesting local market on Monday morning. I was there for 3 days, being bounced about by 3 foot waves whilst on a pontoon.

Port Saint Louis is a very different place. The fist lock into the river, with a drop of just about 20cm on a good day, this is the only safe way into the Rhone, as the delta is shallow, full of shifting sandbank, uncharted to all but local fishing folk and full of wrecks to remind the unwary of the dangers of sailing in uncharted waters. A little like the river Severn the other side of Sharpness, but 20 degrees warmer and with better cafes. The lock is only there to bypass the mouth of the river and get boats, mainly pleasure crafts, into the charted river. Problem is, the river is a complete no go zone for the next 3 days, as the Mistral is blowing straight down it at about 30 miles an hour. It’s difficult to walk against it on the banks of the river, and a sailing boat with tons of clutter on deck, a small and very temperamental engine and 40 kilometres of fast flowing river before the next stopping place is not a good recipe for a happy ending.

I am basically stuck here, waiting for a weather window to get at least as far as Avignon. The town is, well, about as run down as a former commercial port, now superseded by much larger container facilities at Fos, can be. The old dock is a wasteland of old railway lines and abandoned warehouses. There is an old fishing port facility, long empty of fish and now home to a few squatters. The big marina at Port Navy, the largest dry marina in Europe (6,000 boats!) is a mile out of town. There is a marina on the other side of the old harbour, but the pontoons are full, so visitors are placed on the old dock, I suppose to better enjoy the local night life and the endless dust. Last night I had to explain to a couple of very drunk locals that no, they could not make out on the deck on my boat whilst I was trying to sleep down below. They were very apologetic about the trespass. I was laughing my head off by then. I felt almost guilty about sending them away.

Of course I don’t particularly want to be here for an entire week, but, if I have to be honest, I actually like this place. It’s real, and a long way away from the overcrowded, overpriced, oversized marinas of Sardinia and the Cote d’Azur.

I had a pretty rough time crossing over from Corsica. I left Macinaggio in a force 3, and sailed for nearly 12 hours in a confused and very uncomfortable sea. It got a lot worse when the wind dropped completely and I had to motor for 20 hours to the south of the island or Porquerolles, just outside the port of Toulon. At which pint a great big gray assault helicopter got to hover right on top of Tara, and started shouting at me on the VHF that I was not allowed to enter a naval military exercise area and that I had to change my course to 280 degrees IMMEDIATELY. It seemed like a bad idea to argue the point. I know that, in theory, I have the right to sail through an exercise zone. But the thing above my head was big, menacing and had guns, and I didn't.

Ended up at anchor in a busy south of France bay, the stunning coastline totally spoiled by endless villas, hotels and resorts. Next day I sailed, sans l’helicoptere militaire, to another posh place, La Ciotat. Again, villas, mega yachts, prats on speedboats carving up the anchorage. A lot of swell coming in form the last gale making for a very uncomfortable night. Next morning I set of early for Port Saint Louis, feeling quite ready to get out of what truly feels like a posh party I was not invited to. I was even hoping to have a last swim in warm Med waters, but the anchorage at La Ciotat was so full of jellyfish it did not seem like a good idea to jump in.

The sail next day had a difficult star, with light headwinds and a lot of motoring. But once I got past Ilse Riou and I could bear off a couple of points into the bay of Marseille, I had the best sail of the season, 5 hours hard on the wind, Tara loving a force 4 under full sail, sparkling seas, the occasional spay on deck, stunning landscape and perfect sunshine.

The Med is a perverse place where to go sailing. Either too much wind, or none at all. And mostly from dead ahead. When I finally get a few hour of good wind, I have to admit, this is the most stunning, beautiful, exhilarating place I have ever sailed in. The day I spotted a few fin whales, then some dolphins came to join me for a bit and let me take a video, well, that was, without a doubt, magical. The 75% of the time under engine, in a confused sea without a bird in the sky or fish in sea, was not. I am thinking of changing Tara’s name to Atlantica, and heading back to the Azores. It’s not as warm, 700 miles form Europe, but it’s much more real, both the sailing and the people. And there are very few mega yachts.

So I am here until Friday. I have drawn a list of jobs to do on the boat, and I am looking at at iyt with dread. So, instead ,I spent the morning building up my mountain bike. It has been stored for the last year under the cockpit, but I felt I needed something fun to do today instead of endless boat jobs. I had forgotten how much fun that old full-susser can be after a folding bike! Even found the local pump track. Just to test I had the right set up on the rear shock…

Also managed to find a leak in the exhaust system. That’s worrying. It explains the engine smell inside the boat. But carbon monoxide is not a good idea in a confined space. Looks like I might have a fairly urgent job for tomorrow morning.

P.S. I do have a carbon monoxide alarm on the boat.

Macinaggio, 23 June 2024

It feels like a long time since my last blog. So long, in fact, that I don't even remember writing it. It would be a lie to say that I have not had time to write, but I do struggle to sit down and get on with blogging when I have lots of people around. Could it be that I can only write when things are going wrong, or when I am feeling lonely and disgruntled? Just like an out of date Ernest Hemingway who could only write in the middle of hardship and, if possible, a civil war? I mean, look what happened to him when he ran out of adventures! Maybe I should look at the example of my other great artistic inspiration; Joseph Conrad could still write some great stories many years after slinging his anchor and going ashore for good. Whatever way, I don’t think the troubled artist is really my style.

I never went up Mount Etna. The volcano wasn't active that week, and it turned out to be a fair long way up, so I ended up just wandering around Catania where I stayed for 3 days. It sure was an interesting experience, a mix of beautiful buildings and squalid back streets, piles of rubbish and abandoned cars next to expensive restaurants, African voices everywhere, more beggars than on Gloucester Road and beautifully dressed Italians promenading on Sunday morning. It didn't feel bad, or even sad. It just felt like a lot of people waiting for an opportunity to get out. I will not miss it.

As expected, getting there was just boring: I motored all the way from Crotone, not a breath of wind for 36 hours, until half a gale blew me into the biggest (and possibly smelliest) harbour in southern Italy. The weather, as you probably guessed, has not exactly been perfect. I have sailed the last 600 miles in between gales, because over the last 4 weeks that has been the pattern: 3 days of gales from just about every possible quarter, followed by two days of calm, then a few days of the most unpredictable wind I have ever experienced. The sort of weather that makes me question why I even look at a forecast. When I finally left Catania, on my way to the Aeolian Islands, I had Dan for crew. He arrived on Sunday, and we set off on the Monday in what was meant to be a gentle breeze from the south. We had north winds all day, then as soon as we turned out of the Straight, the wind shifted to South East and blew us out of Messina like a cork out of a bottle. I think Dan enjoyed steering Tara down some pretty steep waves, but maybe I took for exhilaration what might have been a look of sheer terror? A force 7 is not funny, even when you know it will be short lived. Within 30 minutes we were back on the motor, and sailed all night among the islands. Sadly, even the volcano at Stromboli was not active, but we still had a good night passage to Lipari, one of the smaller Aeolian islands.

I am not sure if it’s true that Odysseus was here when he was given a bag holding all the winds by the king of Aeolia, the god Ae**us. We didn’t get a bag of wind, but we got a great lunch on Lipari. It was Dan’s birthday, and we celebrated in style in a very trendy restaurant serving local fish (for a price!) and the best tiramisu I have ever tasted. We set off well fed, Dan went to have a sleep whilst I got us underway, and for once that eveningt even he decided that a light salad was all we could manage.

We actually had a great passage from Lipari to a little cove, Cala Coda Cavallo, somewhere near Olbia in Sardegna for a well deserved uninterrupted sleep. Dan said he really enjoyed it, the 2 hour watches in the night, being out of phone signal for nearly 2 days, being stuck in the middle of nowhere having to put up with my downloaded playlist for entertainment. He did try to make me play cards, but I struggled. I like card games, but on passage my mind can’t focus on anything outside the the passage plan, and I just kept losing every game. I fear he found it, and my one-track mind, rather boring. The attempt at a game of chess was, understandably, a complete failure, and was abandoned when I claimed I had to go and do something nautical just before he could call check mate. He went on to beating the compute later on.

I know it’s not everybody idea of a fun night, being permanently tired, grumpy for lack of sleep, bored with seeing absolutely nothing on the horizon, and knowing you have to wait at least 36 hours to get off. He did very well to hide it. He also managed to read half my library, which is more than I can claim. He was so engrossed in a book -was it the Gustav Sonata?- that he missed on the entire trip into Olbia harbour, after we stayed for a day in a great little anchorage to wait out the latest gale.

Olbia is a port town, very pretty and welcoming, with just enough to do for a day or two, some great bars, amazing views over the high mountains of the Gennargentu range, and one restaurant that served us the local speciality. If you are squeamish about eating small, cute animals, read no further. Su Porceddu is a small, suckling pig, slow roasted on a spit by an open fire, then steeped in myrtle leaves and, traditionally, served with a mountain of bread and bitter salads and herbs. Las t time I had it was for my grandmother 90th birthday, cooked by my uncle Marco, who is almost as good as my dad was at roasting animals on a spit. Neither were as good as my grandmother Epifania, absolute queen of cooking things in a wood fired oven. I remember, as a child, helping her bake the bread that will last a family of 8 all week, in an oven that was built by my grandfather and a specialist oven builder that had to be brought in from a village nearby. The children’s job on baking day was to go and collect firewood for the oven, and in the evening we could stay up to turn the handle of the bread mangle, a triangular structure she used to kneed some 30 kilos of flour. We would then get woken up at 4 am to shape our own little rolls, and wake up in the morning to fresh bread for breakfast. But I am digressing again: what’s baking bread got to do with sailing?

Dan flew back on Tuesday, after a couple of day in Olbia. It was great to have him onboard, and really made me re-think the entire thing about single handed sailing. I still love being on my own on passage, staring a the horizon. But I have to admit that having a friend to share it with makes it a lot more enjoyable, and a lot less stressful. And besides, when did you last have days you can spend with a friend, to just talk and be with, read books and, well, just be?

On Wednesday 12th, I went to pick up Izzy from Olbia airport, which happens to be just 30 minutes walk away from the nearest marina. We went to Olbia for a very nice lunch on Thursday and then spent 10 days cruising some of the most beautiful places in the Med: Olbia to Caprera, with a walk up to Garibaldi’s house, and at anchor overnight in water the colour of liquid emerald. Then across the Bonifacio Straight, normally an evil stretch of water, but a beautiful sailing day in sparkling sunshine. Porto Vecchio in Corsica, such a beautiful old town, quite touristy but, maybe because it’s low season, not too overwhelmed with people. Had the most beautiful octopus salad of all time there! Then on to Bastia in the north of the island, where we have been for the last few days. Our original intention was to sail together to Nice, but the weather (one gale after another!) and Izzy’s back pain made it easier for her to fly home form Bastia.

Corsica is stunningly beautiful. Wooded mountains coming all the way down to the sea, hillside villages perched improbably on the edge of steep valleys, crystal clear waters, excellent food, a mix of Italian and French cuisine, old towns with perfect boulevards that would not be out of place in Avignon. And, of course, everybody speaks Corsican, which is so close to the Italian dialect of Genova that, for once, I had three languages I could chose from.

I had a great time with Izzy. I mean, how lucky can I get, to share my boat with my daughter for 10 days! It was simply amazing, and what a chance to just hang out, chat about things, look at the mountains and even do some proper sailing. Maybe we should have done more sail training, but, to be honest, we were having such a great time just pottering that I didn't feel the need to turn into sail teaching mode. Besides, I am not sure I could teach this stuff. It’s not exactly rocket science, this sailing lark, more like spending a lot of time on various boats and learning that some ropes are best left untended. If she ever has the need to sail a boat, I am sure that Izzy will find it in her genes to just pull on the right ropes.

So tomorrow is the last passage of this long track north, from Greece to the mouth of the river Rhone. I am hoping to do it in one go, about 220 miles, but I might stop in some anchorage near Toulon if I get too tired. Forecast is mixed verging on fictional. I should be getting light winds form the north, but, so far, none of it has ever come even close to what I see out there. I just hope it does not go westerly. It feels weird, to think that in 3 days I will be in Saint Louis d Rhone, taking the mast down and getting Tara ready for another river trip. I will have sailed some 800 sea miles. From next week, distances will be counted in kilometres. Nearly 450 of them all the way to Saint Jean de Losne. I just hope my trusty old engine manages it. It feels almost as tired as I do!