In Marseille, I met Marcin Chodakiewicz who came to help me preparing the old BetterThan… for Capri Rolex Race Week.
Marcin is an internet catch. I remembered the good deeds we got from the Nauticus crew in Szczecin and their passionate spirit, so when we decided to go back to Europe, I searched for Nauticus on the internet and made contact with Irek Florek and Marcin. After our accidents, fresh blood become essential and they filled in handsomely.
Port Napoleon was like home away from home. Inhabited by some fellow 45′ers from the UK and Italy, we did not leave the marina for over a week, except for one visit to my dear friends in Aix en Provence, and a trip to the airport to pick up Kuba.
BetterThan… was almost on schedule except for the shipment of new sails and a gear which got stuck in Milan. We had to drive there in our unregistered American-tagged van to retrieve it and clear customs in time to make the delivery to Capri. It was a very hairy and all together lucky mission, lesson learned: never ship anything to an Italian destination! But that topic is enough material for a separate novel, one day.
We set sail under a full moon around chateau D’lf outside, Marseilles harbor, and sail/motored most of the way through a calm Golf of Lion and Straits of Bonifacio into the Therenian Sea, close to 500NM, without any adventures to report.
On arrival in Marina Grande, under the monumental hanging cliffs of Capri, we met Irek who helped us dock next to Nemo of Cowes, who had left Port Napoleon 2 hours ahead of us.
The smartest tactical decision I made that whole season was to leave our van in France. Since Capri was not tailored for modern transportation, our dock cart is wider than most vehicles on the island. Even the taxis and buses that operate only outside the boundaries of the old town are organically stream shaped by ancient corners and alleys that carry centuries worth of scars, which are colored by the scraped finishes of modern vehicles, blended with those of roman sedans and chariots squeezing through.
On our way to villa Margarita, walking the steep Via Sopramonte, we witnessed two mothers with baby strollers meet. The downhill madre lifted her bambino car above her shoulders to avoid a head on collision. There are courtesy limos for multi-star hotels made of 2’ wide electric carts which are used for welding inside pipelines. Their privileged passengers stand on them doggie-style, holding each other behind the driver, yelling at the common people.
The busy waterfront containing the porto turistico, fishing harbor, ferry landing and our hosting CYC, connects with the town of Capri by a funicolare, a cable train making the vertical 400m trip in about 7 minutes with spectacular views through olive orchards in bloom, and via a San Francesco pedestrian stretch of steps, zigzagging about 3 times that distance (not recommended for acrophobiacs or cripples like I).
For two days we emptied, cleaned and tuned the boat while the harbor filled up with Swans 45s, Comets and Maxis, including the truly impressive 31m Reichel Pugh, Alfa Romeo.
On Sunday evening we observed another ferry from Naples entering the harbor full forward, blasting horns, dropping an anchor in the middle of the basin and skidding 180 degrees, around stretched hook chain to meet the dock with its transom (na jajeczko*). Our crew had arrived safely, only missing Patrick Malloy’s luggage.
* Lwow maritime academy docking standard, measured by a chicken egg.
Gosia went to work distributing the new arrivals to their rooms: Sernickis, Chris Quaglio, Patrick and Bob Masini, who altruistically, on short notice, filled in for Mike Reardon who was having a family emergency. Then, she organized our first dinner at a near by family restaurant run by seniora Maria and her chef extraordinaire husband, Marco, who fed us royally for the rest of the week. On the way back to villa Margarita, we got a text message announcing a “Twins” victory at the J24 National Championships, sent from the cab taking them to Newark airport.
The next morning, after a delightful collazione served by lovely Katharina, our Romanian coffee maid who made 346 smiley-faced cappuccinos for us, we went to a tuning clinic run by Andreas Josenhans of North Sails.
Peter Sernicki was in command but he could not do much about the incredibly fluky and shifty wind coming from the NE over the steaming Vesuvius and Sorrento peninsula. It wasn’t much of a practice or tuning session, but we learned a few things, I suppose, for $700.
In the evening, another bravura, anchor-skid ferry landing delivered the exhausted, jet-lagged champions, Waldek and Chris Zaleski.
The regatta officially started on Tuesday with registration, last minute changes of rules, measurements and the first technical protests from the Italians, while paparazzi and film crew chased sailing and non-sailing celebrities around the narrow shelf of docks that were overflowing with trash blown in by the gregale from Naples, which was suffering a month long garbage strike.
In Italy, you can bet on Media headquarters and espresso machines working and flags flying. Everything else is kind of incidental.
No Practice, sorry!
Blistery Wednesday, racing started with a 30plus libeccio and monumental waves. The committee decided to send us for a coastal 35nm reach drag to the Procida straits and back, with a 1/2 mile upwind offset after the start. Each leg counted as separate race! It was bad. After considering withdrawing, we started very conservatively behind everybody and that was it. We scored DFL twice for hello.
The race was relatively fast, wet and spectacular to watch. We were sitting on the rail chilled to the bone with nothing to do but admire the other boats disappearing between the waves and the massive front, creating low black clouds racing over the mountainous Ischia and Procida isles, topped with Aragonese castle and other ancient structures. Some boats provided amusement by trying to set their code zeros with disastrous results, but we could not find a passing lane. In the end, we missed our opportunity by not being ready for the hoist on the short run to the finish.
AC skipper Karol Jablonski, on Early Bird from Germany, almost lost his leg during their code zero drop. Gosia and I had the pleasure of meeting the owners of that boat Henrik and Cristian at the owner’s dinner. We shared a table with them, No Limits and the Charisma principals. The food was as good as the company.
The next day brought blue skies, sunshine and a 10 to 13kt warm breeze dying in the afternoon. Gosia demanded more aggressive starts and we performed relatively well despite a few missed shifts. Crew work was flawless and we had good speed. After 3 races, the standings were shaping up with Early Bird winning a day, Wisk and Vertigo consistently ahead and five boats black flagged, including Ulika who seamed to be the strongest contender.
During the usually dramatic squeeze, stern-in docking, our mooring lead line snapped on a submerged rock and we were drifting dangerously into oblivion. Kuba saved the day, diving with no hesitation, into the trash-filled water to retrieve our lost mooring line. Another example of crew excellence.
The third day was even flukier and lighter with 2 races. Gosia pinched off Early Bird at the crowded start, causing some gruesome language (in Polish) by their world-class tactician, who couldn’t hold his cool and in effect lost his chances for the tallest trophy. In the second race we executed a brilliant peel that saved the day and changed our downwind sail selection chart forever.
In the evening after a seafood dinner at Maria and Marco’s place, nicely accented with complementary grappa, we went for ice cream and accidentally walked into an outdoor opera concert at Piazetta Umberto, overlooking festive lights and flags of Marina Grande and the shores of Naples in the background. Cherry trees, dahlias and peonies were in full bloom competing for enchantment against Rossini’s La Cenrentola, sung passionately by a Chinese tenor and Russian soprano, backed by a chamber orchestra of carabinieri in gala uniforms. There were no tourists in the piazetta, just us and a few locals sipping midnight lemoncellos on their quiet vespas.
On Friday, another 2 races in light breeze and full drama, Italian style, after a technical protest filed against the entire fleet by 2 Italian boats which were forced to cut their rigs, by Mike Urwin and the class measurer Marco Barbieri, to the mistaken dimensions of the class rule book, never enforced before in 7 years of class history. Go figure!
Rolex party!
We took a ride on a miniature bus to Calzone del Mare on the southern shore, no charge! The buses are custom built 3cm narrower than the winding canyons they go through and their operators are in constant radio contact with all other busses, taxis, scooters, donkeys and intoxicated fisherman to avoid collision and synchronize passing in special bays designed by Caligula, lined with olive trees for a brushing effect. They really are in a hurry. Slowing down is not acceptable and is to be avoided at any cost. The sound coming from the radio alone causes some passengers to panic and in a few instances, heart failure after you forget to breathe. Legend has it that in early 1965 Evel Knievel fainted during one of these deliveries.
Rolex makes good watches but their parties are equally impressive. This one was one of my favorite, on the varicolored densely lit terraces, under the crestless cliff overlooking I Faraglione, the famous ice pick-shaped rocks emerging from the waves on the southeast corner of the island. There were gypsies swallowing flames, tam-tams, belly dancers with chandeliers on their heads, Jazz, rock and classical music, food, fine wine and hard liquor in 15 different bars and a midnight disco bouncing up and down to Freddie Mercury around a bonfire floating in the swimming pool, right after the Gucci fireworks show.
The only thing that did not work (Italian specialty), was the casting. Organizers prepared special treatment for owners (male) with their spouses on a separate loggia, a little more ornate with “better” china, silverware and crystal served by a tuxedoed staff, like business class. Not too many attended, but we sent a few volunteers to collect goodies for our table. It was delicious.
Last day; one race, award ceremony, ovation for Wisc, Vertigo and Early Bird, quick packing action and a last supper at which we all agreed it was a great experience. We learned a few things, improved starts and speed and above all Gosia made a huge leap in her driving. An early hungovered ferry for all but Marcin, Irek, Kuba and I who still had a 200nm delivery to Scarlino.
The trip was slow and uneventful along the picturesque Italian coast. On arrival in Scarlino, we were expecting to meet our container with the van and cradle, delivered from Port Napoleon and Palma, some quick packing and washing and off, to drive to Poland, but no such luck.
The cradle was still lost somewhere by Peters & May and the container got stock in the San Remo depot due to a strike. We unloaded the boat, covered everything with a tarp and the boys left via a bus/train/plain/train/bus combination arranged by wives and girlfriends by cell phone.
It started raining. I stayed for another week surrounded by an enchanting Tuscan spring, overgrown with blooming poppies and all the pretty stuff, cleaning, splicing, calling trackers and sharing meals with Rosario, the captain of Fever and formerly Cordelione, who is a local favorite. His introduction opened the door to business class for me in a local pizzeria.
Finally, the container arrived. I packed everything and left the same rainy evening for the 1200 mile trip to Poland, stopping in Begunje, Slovenia for a short nap and breakfast with my brother Andrzej and Mike Reardon. After a quick tour of the Shipman factory, I hit the road into even worse weather through the Austrian Alps and Germany; god they have good roads.
I garaged the van at my parents, spent a lovely night talking and drinking with papa, who was getting ready for his 80th birthday family reunion in Tuscany. My sister in law, Jola, drove me to Berlin in the morning to catch my flight home.