The Voyages of Lyra

We were up early conscious of the fact we had to move. Our plan was to do so first thing and then go to Negombo, the spa resort, for the day. After breakfast we shut all the hatches and stowed our gear securely, then sat around, because it seemed a bit early to disturb people by coming alongside them. John went along to see what was happening in the marina office and arrived back to say we were off. We ran the engine for a bit, then John released the lazy line and I slipped both stern lines. John puttered out into the marina, whilst I coiled the ropes. One of the marineras waved at us from the usual pontoon, but from the opposite side to usual. I switched to the starboard side rope and John backed us slowly in. The lines went ok, but we were too close to the pontoon, so the marinera came aboard to help John pull up the lazy lines. The lazy lines are awkward here in that each thread from the shore is attached to two manky lengths of rope, one to go either side of the prow. It’s a good system for holding the boat, but it’s not obvious which hank of dripping grot goes to which side, they can get wound round each other if you guess wrong, and each one takes some pulling before it can be secured to a cleat. It was heroic of the marinera to volunteer to help with such a messy job. Though it meant that as I stood at the wheel ready to deploy the bow thrusters or move us forward I had two men telling me what to do, and they had different ideas. Anyway we ended up docked at number 122, Mum and Dad’s address, which gave me a pang. The marinera left us to it and we started to connect to shore power. John was just looping the lengths of cable round the stern when our man came back in his dinghy, his walkie-talkie spitting feathers. ‘Not to carry on! Very sorry, we were the wrong side. Please to come here by Callisto Rose.’ We prepared to go again.

Callisto Rose is another sailing yacht, but smaller than us and slightly lower. John reversed into the space next to her and we began the palaver all over again. I became concerned that our fenders needed moving to the middle to hold us off the smaller boat and as both men seemed happy enough at the front I left the wheel and adjusted them. I was going back to my post when the marinera came past me muttering to himself in Italian , clearly agitated. What on earth had John said to him? I looked forward. There was no John. I looked from side to side. He was just not there. It dawned on me he must be in the water, then I heard splashing on the starboard side and a familiar voice shouting ‘Turn the engine off!’ This I did and the three of us convened at the stern, we lowered the ladder and John climbed out dripping, but none to worse for wear. Turns out one of the lazy lines had caught on the anchor and in reaching to free it John had passed the point of no return and executed a perfect swallow dive into the harbour. Our man was clearly upset and motored about to retrieve John’s cap. Then Fausto arrived from the office looking very cool in his casuals, but also concerned. We made jokes and assured him all was well. Finally John could have a shower whilst I washed his clothes and dried out his phone, which fortunately also is no worst for the dip.

It was not the man overboard drill we had practiced, or indeed imagined. Thankfully John was completely unscathed, but it was scary how easily it happened and very eery realising he was gone and that I hadn’t heard him go.

After such an exciting start to the day we felt we deserved the spa and relaxed on a sun bed, dipping in and out of the various thermal pools till the sun passed the yard arm.

The Bar Calise, always our first port of call when arriving in Casamicciola, has closed. The doors are shuttered and the outside tables and umbrellas gone. There are still tables and chairs set up inside and someone is watering the planters and the Calise in Ischia town is still open, so maybe it will come back, but I expect the courteous waiters will have found new jobs, so the experience of wandering up the square and into its sanctuary may never be quite the same.

The rest of Casamicciola is thriving. There are new bars, playing music with waiters dancing across the access road traffic with their trays of drinks. Where once there was a dearth of places to eat of an evening there are now choices and old stalwarts have been revamped, though the Hobbit burger bar is sadly no more. The Bottega del Pane is still going strong, with queues at the hatch every morning. Next door is the Bar del Porto with a pretty garden of pots and the most wonderful lemon croissants I have ever tasted. They are the breakfast of Queens, though possibly not of super models. There are now at least three Gelateria, though the one in the little precinct with the merry go round seems to still draw the locals, who still promenade purposefully of an evening.

Further afield we have visited the garden of La Mortella and I could not resist taking yet more pictures of the plants. They have reduced the pressure on the fountains with the result that the water plants have burgeoned.

Afterwards we walked down the hill into Forio and had lunch at one of the beach cafes before walking on into town for a drink in the square by the odd water feature.

We have also walked into Lacco Amino, where the main listed attraction is still the mushroom shaped rock. We duly took a selfie in front of it. This took several machinations as we swapped sides and photographers trying to fit both of us and the rock into the frame and not look too manic in the resulting outcome. Eventually we managed one with all three of us.

One of our better efforts I think!

Our latest main attraction at Lacco Amino is the baby shop and we returned with shorts and t-shirts for Ivan. The baby and fabric shop in Casamicciola is still open, so I have promised myself a visit there before we leave.

Last night we were blessed. We were sitting out on deck in the gathering dark and a white sail appeared with a retinue of children processing along the service road. Behind the children came a small band holding onto their instruments followed by a singing priest followed by a plaster Madonna on a carried dais, a larger plaster friar brought up the rear. As he passed the priest called for blessings on all Mariners. They went all the way up the Main Street, to come back with the band playing. They congregated for a service just opposite us after which were fireworks. Then they carried on and after a while we saw more fireworks further up the hill.

The blessing might come in handy as Fausto called round earlier and asked if we could move onto the pontoon tomorrow. I expect we will benefit from the mooring practice.

A rough crossing we had of it. The seas were still lumpy from the recent windy weather and after the initial exhilaration of being underway I managed two log entries before I had to lie prone on deck. This was despite my sporting the sea sickness wristbands that had been effective before. John stoically carried on. We dodged a couple of ferries and, true to form the wind came up as we came closer to Ischia. Unsportingly I hoped John would not want to sail. He didn’t.

Once we were in the shelter of the islands the seas calmed down and I felt normal again, albeit rather nervous about docking. We arrived in the harbour, radioed in and were promptly met by three young men in a boat. ‘Follow me!’ So we did, John reversing smoothly between two large motor boats to a place against the harbour wall. Shades of Greece and a new one for us here. The new ropes worked well, John sorted the lazy line and we were soon docked, just by the pedestrian crossing and a short walk to the office and the toilets.

We headed off to the office and there was Fausto, clearly glad to see us. He probably thought we’d died. We’d worried about him when there’d been no sign of him on the dock. It was handshakes and kisses all round. He announced that they still had all our details we could just go off and enjoy ourselves. ‘Maybe you need the latest copy of the insurance?’ ‘Ah yes, just the new insurance’. The chap on the computer was meanwhile quietly photocopying all our documents.

Then it was off to the high street and a couple of cold beers.

Whether it’s climate change or a natural progression the Sahara is definitely on the move and an irritating amount of it keeps being deposited on our deck. Yesterday John had just finished cleaning everything down and polishing the brightwork, ready for us to set off on our first voyage IN FIVE YEARS. Last night it rained and today he is out swabbing again. The good news is the water did not come in. The work he did resealing the joints on deck kept it all out. So far we have spent a couple of weeks cleaning, carrying out repairs and checking the systems. Finally the dominoes are falling into place. All the bagged and stored books and bedding are in out. The engine starts, Broadsword can converse with Danny Boy, the sails come out and go back in again. (Granted a bit of trim is dangling from the mainsail, but it is not vital and the worst it can do is fall off into the water rather than onto the deck.) All the new instruments are working and today John has managed to re register the new set on the AIS, so other craft will be able to see us coming. If it doesn’t rain again tonight Lyra will be at her sparkling best.

So tomorrow watch out world here we come!

Rain is forecast for the day after tomorrow, so there is a certain urgency about our autumn spring clean. We washed all the bedding yesterday and used the tumble drier to get the duvets dry enough to sleep under, but there are lots of our clothes and towels, not damp but a bit stale after three years confinement. We festooned Lyra with as much as we could, flipping things over to catch the sun. Laundry in Italy is very satisfying.

After lunch we walked into town and chose our fabric for the new mattress. It was unrelentingly hot and standing in the tiny shop was not much cooler. We had planned to do some shopping in town afterwards, but the mimed offer of a lift back was too much to resist. We said please, hoping we had not misunderstood, but our man gathered his keys and led us to the entrance to a subterranean car park. We waited till he came out in his car and it was such a relief to sit down. We sped all the long road back, with the wind bathing us with cool, marvelling at the ease. He gave our dock number at the gate and took us right to our pontoon. We couldn’t thank him enough. It would have been an act of kindness at any time, but in view of Covid even more so.

At the end of August John received an e-mail from the boatyard to the effect that Lyra would be ready at the end of the week, but then the yard would be closed as they would be on holiday for two weeks. As it turned out we were then on holiday ourselves, in Devon, so it we did not set out to return to Italy till 21st September. The week before we were due to arrive the boatyard sent another missive saying we would have to pick the boat up from them and take it round to the marina ourselves. This was daunting news for a woman who had yet to jump from a moving camper van onto a lawn. Especially as it was to be just the two of us this time, no Lara. Once again we arranged to stay at the Hotel Miramare. We arrived to enjoy a spectacular sunset over Ischia from the bar.

The following day we had a morning by the pool and a lovely, if rather bracing, swim. Then we again took a taxi to the boatyard. We headed upstairs and were told that all was well, but the water pump needed to be replaced, they had the part and it would be done in an hour. Maybe an hour and a half. In fairness they could only test the pump once the boat was in the water and they had only put her in that morning, though why they could not have let us know what was happening was a mystery. They assured us we could go onboard and see the boat and wait. We went down to the yard expecting someone to come and show us the way, but nobody did, so we made our own way down to the slipway.

There was Lyra looking much better to be in the water. She had obviously been cleaned, though her canvas cover and the cockpit hood were bundled up on the stern. We climbed aboard. The new black screen covers stood out and down below the beds had been stripped and all looked shipshape. The new lights worked and looked very shiny. John tested the instruments and they were not working. The engineers arrived to fit the water pump. We left them to it and headed wearily back to the office to report our problems. They would send an electrician.

We went back and sat on board whilst parties of workmen sorted out the pump and the wiring.

The wind began to get up. I was not looking forward to the sail round to our berth and the landing there in calm weather and grew more tense at the prospect by the moment. Finally the engine started, coughed out a mess of weed and grass cuttings and was running well. All the circuits we’re working, the engineers all left, including the one secreted in the engine room and we were good to go. Thankfully John decided we would be better coming back in the morning when we were fresh and the wind wasn’t. We let the office know and they were cheerful as ever. We began the weary walk back into town. Our way took us past the upholstery shop that had made the spray hood and cover in 2018 and it was open, so we called in on a whim. The couple were there, every bit as kind and calm as we remembered. Sadly neither their English, nor our Italian had changed much, but they remembered us and when I showed them the pictures of the spray hood and cover they remembered the work. They arranged to meet us at our berth at twelve the following day. This somehow lifted my spirits. We went back to the hotel and treated ourselves to a posh meal in their terrace restaurant overlooking the sea. As the evening wore on it became a mite chilly, but was balm to the soul nonetheless.

First there was COVID and we could not travel to Italy. At the time Lyra was in the boatyard being polished, so we decided to give up our marina berth and leave her there on the hard. They were happy to accommodate her there and delighted we had paid them for the work. They were having to shut down themselves, due to Covid. Then 2021 had its own sliding scale of restrictions and by the time we could consider travelling it was August and too hot for us. Given the short days and more regular storms of autumn we decided to leave Lyra where she was. We thought this would save us money. Come this year we were ready to start sailing again. In a slight aside, I felt less ready than I would have wanted. Two years of not hauling myself up onto Lyra and jumping down onto the pontoon had left me much less limber. My remaining hip was beginning to signal the arthritis aches familiar from before my left one was replaced. I practiced pulling myself up into Johnsey’s van and jumping back down onto the drive. I improved, but it was not elegant. Lara suggested I needed to practice jumping out of the van onto the grass as Johnsey drove slowly down the drive. I could see the value in this, but decided I would rather save injuring myself till I had to. As a result Lara agreed to accompany us to help, even though she hates the start of season cleaning.

The marina said we could have our old berth at nearly the same rates. Perfect. The boatyard kept ignoring John’s calls and putting us off in their e-mails. April turned into May and finally John booked the three of us to fly out and made reservations for two nights in a hotel in Castellemare. He e-mailed the boatyard accordingly. Silence. Two days before we were due to fly came an e-mail asking if we had authorised the removal of our navigation equipment. We had not. There followed an exchange of e-mails. Various things had been stolen, if we could go on the boat and check what was missing when we were in Italy that would be helpful. Their insurance would pay for everything. John contacted our insurance. The hotel could not put us up longer than we had booked, the season was starting. John trawled the internet and found a hotel on Ischia we could book into for a week.

There was a meeting between all interested parties. John and I took a taxi down to the boatyard. There were three people from the yard, their insurance man, our insurance man with a woman to translate, John and myself. We sat round a board table and everyone was very pleasant. Our insurance seemed pleased that their insurance had offered to pay. We set out to go and look at Lyra. They all stood and had espresso shots by the machine on the way out. I could not have swallowed it, though the smell was great. We all trailed across the hot, virtually empty yards. John spotted Lyra’s mast. She was in a remote corner, dusty with her cover gaping open, huge out of the water, her deck high above our heads. We all stood around while one of the boatyard suits went for a ladder. We waited longer while a very dusty workman brought a massive ladder and rested it alongside. After some discussion he brought it round to the rear. The translator expressed horror and announced she would not be climbing the ladder. Despite my lack of practice I was not going to stay behind to keep company with her. I left my handbag with her and followed John and the men up. There were gaping holes in Lyra’s panelling where the screens had been. The inside was dry and our books were all bagged up, our personal belongings as we had left them. I gathered hats and our walking sandals and put them into my beach basket. I felt empty and John was clearly shocked. He had done all the talking with the various men. We climbed back down. Going over the top was not much fun, but one of the men carried the basket for me. We trailed back across the yard and into the meeting room, where John and I sat with the oldest of the boatyard men and everyone else chattered round the computer in the next office. Eventually they emerged triumphant with a piece of paper. I had a strong recollection of how cheated I felt as a child when the Wizard of Oz solved all the characters problems with certificates and bullshit. It was an agreement, a catalogue of what was missing and the boatyard’s commitment to replace it. There were six copies and we were all to sign all of them. This we did, passing the papers round in a spirit of conviviality. I asked when this would happen (actually I just asked when). This put a bit of a damper on things. It was all very difficult, the war in Ukraine causing a shortage of computer chips etc, etc. Our insurers suggested if we could find a supplier we should forward this information to the boatyard. They both looked us in the eye as the woman said this. The meeting broke up in high spirits. We shook hands with everyone and John put our copy of the agreement in his bag. The two of us walked the long road back into town. Half way back we stopped to change into the walking sandals I had liberated from Lyra. It was a low point.

The high point was our week in Ischia with Lara. The hotel was on the far end of the island, gracious and relaxing. There was a turtle pool outside the lobby a lovely outdoor swimming pool, indoor spa pools and a dedicated stretch of beach. We had a proper holiday, if not the one we had anticipated.