September 8, 2019
So here we are - stuck for the next several days in a marina on the southern tip of Corsica waiting out the mistral wreaking havoc on the island's coastline. Stephen and I were exhausted from multiple days of weather-dodging and a few rough nights on anchor, so - although not in our plans - a handful of days away from the wind and waves knowing Florence would be safe was not the worst fate we could imagine. And if you can't explore by sea, why not by foot? After weeks out on the water, the ability to hop on and off the boat at our leisure and to stretch the old legs felt like a luxury.
Bonifacio made a good first impression. The marina itself was a bit chaotic but had a lovely quai stretching along its perimeter, lined with bars, shops, and restaurants. Both a bit rattled from the past several days of outrunning storms, Stephen and I found refuge in a little bar along the quai and wasted no time downing a round of drinks. Sweet relief.
The citadel of Bonifacio had been high on our list of places to see on our Med tour, as we'd heard amazing things about the fortified town perched high up on the cliffs and its fascinating history. Eager to explore, we began the trek to the end of the quai where the steep incline up to the town's outer walls began. Never have my legs (and entire body for that matter) felt so useless as they did on that climb. It seems several nights of interrupted sleep are not great for the stamina... Stephen, meanwhile, practically bounded to the top, and I cursed him for not being lethargic and overweight like any self-respecting 40-year old married man should be. We eventually made it to the top and in front of the thick walls encasing the town, with two enormous wooden doors that swung open to usher us inside.
It was impossible to tell what the town had in store from outside and below, and we were both awed when we stepped inside. Tucked away behind the massive stone walls was a large and vibrant town - a maze of narrow winding streets filled with lively shops and restaurants. This place was seriously cool. There was live music playing at almost every corner, and each restaurant looked more cozy and appealing than the last. We wound our way through the streets before walking to the town's edge where the views out over the sea took our breath away. The edge of the town literally falls off the cliff, and my stomach dropped as I leant over and looked down at the waves crashing against the rocks several hundred feet below. Not a good place to lose your footing! The striated limestone cliffs of Bonifacio have been eaten away over the centuries since the town was initially built so that today the outermost houses are perched on a huge natural balcony the reaches over the sea. Many sections of the cliff have already fallen into the sea, and from my vantage point it looked as if these outermost houses could go at any minute. Time to back away from the edge slowly...
We decided to explore the citadel's museum and spent a very interesting hour weaving our way through the town's elaborate fortress walls learning more about its history. Given Bonifacio's strategic position at the tip of the island and its deep calanque that is one of the most remarkable natural harbours in the Med, Bonifacio has a long history of having to defend itself from attacks from the sea. One of the most memorable attacks on the citadel we learned was mounted in 1420 when the King of Aragon attempted to conquer the town. It's a wild story. At the time, Corsica was controlled in its entirety by the Arogonese, except for the citadels of Calvi and Bonifacio which belonged to Genoa. The King of Aragon decided to subdue these pesky two holdouts and sailed his fleet to Calvi. The city succumbed almost immediately, and Aragon wasted no time sailing his fleet south to begin his bombardment of Bonifacio. The Arogonese and their 80 ships were armed with mortars, cannons, and muskets - a formidable foe for the townspeople of Bonifacio who were without soldiers and largely without weapons. They didn't have a single Genoese troop at their aid, so it was up to the civilians alone to defend their homes. And defend they did. The town's citizens apparently banded together and fought back fiercely with whatever they could find - bricks, stones, even throwing pots of boiling water and molten lead on their attackers. There were apparently more women and children fighting than men, and they would dress up in the armour of the dead Arogonese to infiltrate their troops. Miraculously, the townspeople were able to withstand the siege, leaving the king and his army bewildered at the ferocity with which these largely unarmed locals defended their beloved town. We learned not to fuck with the Bonifacians - these people are tough as nails!
We found a spot for an early dinner at this little restaurant right at the cliff's edge. We saw patrons indulging in massive pots of the apparently famous Corsican fish stew, which, like the mainland French version, is rich, dark, and served with the requisite croutons, creamy rouille, and massive amounts of shredded cheese. Yes please! The host sat us on the only table perched on a tiny balcony that hung right out over the sea, with nothing beneath it but a several hundred-foot drop to the water. I prayed the ledge wouldn't erode before we had a chance to order appetisers. We had barely sat down when a gust of wind took my hat off and out to sea. Perhaps the outdoor balcony was not the best place to sit in a mistral... While the soup was delicious, we made quick work of it as the wind was really picking up and we were starting to get nervous about Flo hanging in there on her lines. Time to go back down to the marina and make sure she was OK.
The wind was seriously howling as we made our way down the hill. When we got back to Florence, we saw she had shifted on her lines, with her bow swinging around in the wind and her stern threatening to bump against the concrete harbour wall. Her one mooring line attached from the quai to her bow was not enough to keep her secure in these winds. We asked in the marina office if we could use a second mooring line, as a boat our size should really have 2 to keep her secure. But the woman at the desk, who had to be the least interested person on the planet, just shook her head no and went back to reading her magazine. Thank you, you've been helpful. A German boat moored next to us noticed our struggle and offered to help. They were a crew of 4 men, and all of them quickly sprang to work to help secure Florence. We explained that the marina would not give us another mooring line, to which one of them replied, ”Ya, do not pay attention to zem, zey are za worst. Just take za line.” So we did. While I was at the helm driving Florence very slowly forward, the Germans helped us simultaneously tighten our bow lines while easing out the stern lines. After about 20 minutes of grunt work in high winds and lots of shouting in multiple languages, we managed to get Florence’s bow much more secure and her stern a comfortable distance from the harbour wall. We thanked our new German friends profusely. I’ve been struck several times on this trip by the generosity of other sailors and their eagerness to help. "We are fellow boat owners," Peter, the German skipper, explained. "We have seen and been through it all, so we know when a helping hand makes all za difference." We bought the Germans a case of local Corsican beer to say thanks, and they kindly invited us over for cocktails that night. Around sunset, we hopped over our guard rail and onto their boat - talk about an easy commute to a party. There is something about the boating life that makes building friendships with fellow sailors seem effortless. The sense of shared experience makes you feel as though you know each other already, and stories flow thick and fast, usually aided by some G&Ts. Our new German buds made a particularly potent variety, and what was meant to be a 45-minute pre-dinner cocktail session became an all-night affair. We didn't want to leave! There was always another story being told and another cocktail being stirred. They had just come from sailing around Sardinia, which is meant to be our next destination should this mistral ever blow through, so were full of helpful tips on where to sail around the island, where to avoid, ports of refuge in rough weather, etc. We eventually left our new friends, a bit tipsy and thankful for the mere 10-foot commute home to Florence. We fell asleep happy and with a resolve to always pay it forward and offer assistance to fellow sailors in need - you never know the friends you might meet!
The next 4 days brought more of the same - howling winds and absolutely no chance of getting out of the harbour. We enjoyed our forced timeout, going on some absolutely stunning walks along the cliffs of Bonifacio. One particularly windy morning, we set out early, hoping to make it to this beach we had read about almost at the southern tip of the island. Up on the cliffs, it was so blowy it was a bit scary - I actually thought I might get blown over the edge. Looking out at the sea and the whitecaps below, there was not a boat in sight. No one was crazy enough to go out in these conditions. The wind in our ears was so loud we could barely hear each other speak.
We hiked about 10 kilometres along the cliffs, eventually making it down to the beach. It was cold, windy, deserted, and absolutely magical. Southern Corsica is definitely the wildest place we have discovered in the Med so far. When trekking to the beach, we didn’t really take into account the fact we’d have to cover the same distance on the way back. By the time we crawled back into town, I was on my last legs, my hair looking like I’d been plugged into a light socket. I had no luck trying to work a comb through it, so I broke out the scissors and began hacking away at the wind-strewn knots. If I ever go back to a proper hairdresser, I’m fairly confident the first question they will ask me is if I’ve been cutting my hair with a lawnmower of late.
Each morning as we drank coffee on deck, we would check the forecast to see the progress of the mistral and when we might be able to escape. We also doggedly checked the weather forecast for the following week in Sardinia, as Florence was meant to welcome her first overnight guests that week. My friend Melissa and my little sister Belle were meant to fly from London and New York, respectfully, to Olbia in a few days’ time to sail around around northern Sardinia with us. I was starting to get really nervous, as the weather since we’d arrived in Corsica had been brutal and it looked as if more of the same was heading for Sardinia next week. I was not sure what to do. I was definitely not going to subject them to a week of dodging storms and rocking around on anchor. We researched the two marinas in northern Sardinia - Olbia and Porto Cervo, who informed us they might have availability the following week for the bargain price of EUR300/night. What?? For a berth? We'd heard that northern Sardinia was expensive, but this seemed extortionate. And having the girls fly all the way to Sardinia so we could rot in a marina for a week is I'm sure not at all what anyone had in mind. We felt trapped. I thought seriously about telling them to cancel, as I would not do anything to jeopardise their comfort or safety. Stephen told me to hold off however, as the weather picture was changing quite a bit each day and we didn’t know for sure that it would be untenable. All we could do was continue to check Windy each day and pray for Mother Nature to give us a break. Thankfully, on the 5th day of the mistral, the forecast seemed to be taking a turn for the better. The mistral looked as if it would blow through over the next 32 hours and the tramontane that was threatening Sardinia appeared to be blowing off to the west and might miss the island. We might just be able to pull this off!
The following day, the wind was still blowing but not as severely, and we thought we should be able to make it out OK. We only had 2 days before our friend Melissa arrived in Olbia, so we needed to make tracks. We were not familiar with Sardinia and had heard the archipelagos scattered along her north coast could be tricky, with multiple hazards and reefs, so we didn’t want to be too rushed. As we were setting Florence’s lines to slip, the Germans, who were also planning to leave that day, came back from the harbourmaster’s office shaking their heads. Apparently when they told the harbourmaster their plan to depart, he just laughed and said, “I don’t think so.” Though the wind had calmed down a bit, apparently the swell in the wake of the mistral was too high to allow safe passage through the harbour’s narrow exit. He said you'd be crazy to attempt that passage today. OK then! I guess we will crack open another beer and wait until tomorrow. Now our timing was getting scarily tight to get out of this marina and all the way to Olbia in time to meet our friend.
The next day we had no choice but to leave. Thankfully, the mistral had blown through and the swell at the harbour entrance was not as severe. Thought the wind was still strong, it had calmed to a Force 6 and was thankfully blowing in the direction we wanted to travel. So we slipped the lines and headed back out to sea. We could only hope that once we rounded the bend and got spit out the other end, the sea would look nothing like it had the past several days. We waved goodbye to the beautiful harbour of Bonifacio that had been our port in the storm for the past week, keeping Florence and her crew safe. We now have 24 hours to make it back through the Strait of Bonifacio, through the archipelagos along the north coast of Sardinia, down the east coast of the island and into Olbia port before Melissa’s flight lands. Here’s hoping the weather cooperates!
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