Passing through the Strait of Messina in ancient times was considered to be perilous in the extreme, mainly because of the existence of the mythical monster Scillia and the giant whirlpool Charybdis. Those, combined with strong currents and eddies, other whirlpools and violent squalls descending off the mountains, made taking this shortcut a serious undertaking.

The alternative was to brave the weather and sail all the way around Sicily, the largest island in the Mediterranean.

On our way from Athens to Toulon on the 26m motor yacht Aisling a few summers ago, we had decided to brave all the perils of the Strait, and I timed our passage through there to be in daylight so that we would see the stunning 3,274m Mt. Etna on the Sicilian coastline. 

I need not have bothered as just after rounding Italy’s southernmost Cape Spartivento to approach the Strait, we were deluged with heavy rain accompanied by violent squalls. With visibility down to half a mile at times, we didn’t sight any land until we were well into the northern and narrowest part of the Strait.

The weather forecast was not good, so we decided to put into Messina for the night, the harbormaster assuring us of a good berth. But on approaching the marina in the wind and rain, I decided that the pontoon was far too light for our 150 tons and opted to continue heading north.

The southern end of the Strait of Messina is 7.5 miles wide, but it narrows down to barely 1.5 miles at its northern entrance. This gives rise to strong currents of up to 4 knots that create whirlpools and eddies, charmingly known locally as bastardi. It is a busy stretch of water with frequent ferry crossings from the mainland to Messina, cargo vessels transiting the Strait, and the famous swordfishing boats that have bowsprits as long as the boat itself (13m).

After clearing the Strait we entered the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the weather thankfully cleared as we headed toward Vibo, some 50 miles to the north. Although a major port on the Calabria region’s coastline, we found Vibo to be a fairly sleepy town, but the facilities were good and the people friendly. 

Feeling energetic, I made a 6km hike north to the medieval town of Pizzo Calabra and was delighted by the ancient architecture, narrow streets, cafes that spill out onto the streets with tourists sampling the tartufo (ice cream) that the town is famous for. A castle built in 1486 by Ferdinand 1 of Aragon overlooks the main town square, the Piazzo Umberto. As old as every building is, they all appeared to be either lived in or in use.

A couple of days later, after stocking up with fresh local produce, we were on our way north again. Although always in sight of the coast, we were disappointed by the noticeable lack of bird life. The Mediterranean Sea takes 180 years to renew its waters with an intake from the Atlantic, and with modern development around its vast shoreline it has become polluted. 

This, combined with over-fishing, is having a severe effect on the marine ecosystem, which is now a marine version of a semi-desert or semi-arid land. The lack of circulating currents, plus the pollution and relatively tepid water, does not provide ideal conditions for plankton, the basis of all marine food chains. The much-vaunted clarity of the Mediterranean is in fact due to this plankton poverty.

We ran into fog on our overnight run up to the island of Ischia that lies close to the coast just north of Naples and Salerno. These are both major ferry ports, and like many other ferries, Italian ferries do not slow down when in fog. The ones we encountered didn’t anyway, and it was here that our AIS (Automatic Identification System) proved its worth. Interfaced with both our chartplotter and radar, it provided valuable information about the ships in our vicinity. The AIS is mandatory for all vessels over 300 gross tons, so one mustn’t be fooled in to thinking that all the targets on the chartplotter screen are all that there is out there. Our ARPA (Automatic Radar Plotting Aid) and a good visual lookout picked up the rest. It’s important not to forget to look out of the wheelhouse windows.

The mystical Isle of Capri slid by in the early morning mist, and after a short run across the Baia di Napoli, we approached the small but mountainous island of Ischia. Like many Italian mainland ports, the port of Ischia was small with berthing stern-to the town quay being the norm. The crowded, busy port is surrounded by the old town, its streets lined with thick-walled tenement-style buildings, some freshly painted, others fading and peeling, both somehow contributing to the overall warm ambiance found in most Italian towns.

With only 34kms of coastline, this little island just oozes history, starting way back in 750 B.C. As the result of invading armies and pirates, ownership has changed many times, even after the Aroganese castle was built in 474 B.C. on a large rocky islet, now connected to the main island by a stone causeway. The castle reached its highest splendour at the end of the 16th century when it was host to nearly 1,900 families while they sheltered from yet more pirate attacks. The Italian mainland is easily visible from the castle’s towers that were used to spot enemy warships as well as approaching traders.

The island’s 788m Mt. Epomeo was an active volcano until the 13th century, but now provides hot water for thermal spas, hot springs and volcanic mud, making it a sort of an Italian Rotorua for European tourists.

In many Mediterranean ports, it is not unusual to have someone drop their anchor across yours when executing a Mediterranean moor, as boats are often berthed just a fender apart. Clearing fouled anchor chains is a good sideline for many local divers. Luckily, ours came up unattached when the time came to leave.

Our next stop was Ostia, back on the mainland and at the entrance of the Tiber River that runs through Rome. On the river’s banks were fishing nets rigged on platforms that were similar to the ones I had seen at Cochin on India’s west coast. 

One can’t go to Italy without visiting Rome, and the next couple of days were spent soaking up the atmosphere and having a wonderful cultural fix just wandering the streets of that unique city.

But we still had to head north, and for the 106-mile run to Portoferraio on the island of Elba, we made an early morning start, assisted somewhat by the NNW current of one-half to 1 knot that flows up the Tuscany coast. Tidal differences around the Italian Coast vary considerably, but on the west coast, the range averages about 0.3m.

Portoferraio is a natural, U-shaped harbor and well protected by the surrounding hills, making it known through the ages as one of the safest ports in the Mediterranean. With only 60 berths in the port we were lucky to get the prime spot right outside the Porta a Mare, the main entrance to the mostly walled town. It was through this entrance that Napoléon Bonaparte passed when he arrived as an exile on May 4, 1814. 

While exploring the waterfront of this ancient port, I came across the ruins of a first century Roman villa with its still vivid geometry of a terrazzo floor. The Romans had ruled the island since 300 B.C., making copious use of the mines that yielded iron ore right up to the 1980s. 

But it was the Pisans who ruled Elba from the 11th to 16th centuries and whose citadel still dominates the skyline of Portoferraio. The town is a warren of steep, narrow-stepped streets, mostly only suitable for pedestrians, with the maze of alleyways and staircases lined with 18th century dwellings painted in a range of fading pastel colors. It’s hard to imagine why Napoléon ever left.

A short hop across to the mainland put us into the modern manmade port of Rosignano. From here it was just an hour’s train ride to Pisa, built on the banks of the Arno River some 13 centuries B.C. Then there was the tower that was built in the 11th century, and from which Gallileo, in 1604, performed his experiments on falling masses as it was easier to do them from a leaning building. I have to admit to feeling slightly uncomfortable on the top of this tower, although the climb was well worth the view over the town and rolling hills of the Tuscany countryside.

Corsica is the birthplace of Napoléon, and the island’s flag, which shows the outline of a black Moor’s head with a bandana around it, gives the air of fierce independence and pride. With 1,000 km of coastline, the island is the fourth largest in the Mediterranean. With more than 20 mountains higher than 2,000 meters, it has remained relatively unspoilt.

There was just enough room for us in the Vieux (old) Port of Bastia. With our 2.3m draft we had to berth on the outside wall of this shallow port surrounded by an array of 18th century tenement buildings that were homes, restaurants and shops. Even in a sad state of disrepair as some were, none looked out of place. 

Dominating the port is the 14th century citadel, or bastiglia, built to protect the town. The six- and seven-story houses that literally lean over the narrow streets have washing hung randomly between them, the housewives gossiping to each other high above the slow-moving traffic.

Bastia was the capital of Corsica until Napoléon changed it to Ajaccio in the south, and with the change came loss of privileges and trade, until by the 20th century it had become a slum. In World War II it had the unenviable distinction of being the only Corsican town to be severely bombed by the Americans. Unfortunately, the town was just celebrating the evacuation of the Germans when the bombs started falling. Although there are still signs of neglected buildings, it is still a delightful town, full of history, with tourism helping to restore it to its former glory.

We had a date with a Dockwise ship in Toulon that was to transport the Aisling back across the Atlantic to Ft. Lauderdale. So, with the sun setting behind the mountains of Corsica, we left Bastia and headed north around Cap Corse for a night run across to Toulon.