Right now we are parked in a rather lovely wooded site near the Maremma coast between Punta Ala and Castiglione della Pescaia. Getting here has been far from straightforward.
The storms that caused havoc in southern England, France and the alpine regions of Italy never reached as far south as here. What they did was to churn up the Mediterranean's perky pressure systems even more than usual, drawing in a stream of hot air from the Sahara, more than a breeze but not quite a gale, blasting us like a giant hairdryer.
On Thursday everyone on the beach was sunning themselves. Next morning when we went to the pasticceria on the small esplanade at the back of the campsite it was a different scene altogether. The sea was very choppy. We stopped awhile to watch the entertainment. Right in front of us a surfer standing upright on his board paddled out towards the bigger waves off shore. We admired his skill, his body weaving in time with rolling waves, then, as he reached the apex of a big one he drove down with his single paddle. The board flicked around, now riding the face of the wave he sped shorewards, balancing himself with the paddle held horizontally in front of him, like a tightrope walker. The whole performance was absorbing.
Further down the beach was a more mixed crowd, - the lads and dad's bodyboard zone. My old bodyboard lies buried somewhere in the rear garage of the motohome. I suppose I carry it because I can't quite admit to myself that at 65 years of age I am simply too old to deal with the battering you get trying to catch a wave.
Anyway, it was time to go, we had a ferry to catch in Portoferraio at three o'clock and needed to be at the docks an hour before. We drew up to the landing ramp just as the 12.15pm boat was leaving at half past one. We put this down to an Italian approach to punctuality while noting that we were in for a bumpy crossing, not at this point making the connection between the two.
Portoferraio harbour was churning and every so often a big gust shook the van. Waves crashed over the quay making small salt ponds in the car park.. We watched a Torremor ferry plough its way through the increasingly stormy sea and began to dread our forthcoming crossing.
We need not have worried,. As the wind strengthed to gale force all further sailings were cancelled for the day and we were rebooked onto the mid-day boat the following day.
Rather than return to Lacona for a third time we returned to Rosselba le Palme for a second. It's half the distance from the port and the road is marginally less circuitous. To make things simple in the morning we opted to stay in the camper park behind reception rather than one of the more picturesque pitches up on the terraces. It was a wild night, heavy rain showers and strong gusts of hot Saharan wind. The rain meant we needed to keep the skylights shut, the atmosphere in the van became suffocating. sometime in a night of fitfull sleep and bizarre dreams I was half aware of a thud on the roof. It was not a big thud. Maybe a pine cone has blown down, I thought, then fell back into a meandering dream.
We were up before eight. The usual breakfast routine, we didn't bother to open the blinds, we could hear it was a blustery, grey day.
When I hopped out of the van to head to the showers I got a big surprise. The small thud in the night was the merest whisper of a much bigger crash. The gales had more or less demolished a 5m oleander bush next to the van. One big bough lay alongside the van having missed the open kitchen window by a sliver, most of the main trunk blocked our way out of the pitch, missing the windscreen and bonnet by about half a metre. We had been so lucky.
I informed reception. Minutes later a small Piaggio truck containing two burly blokes and a chainsaw turned up, closely followed by the site manager. I think he was as relieved as we were that the tree had split in two, then fallen serendipitously missing the front and side of the van by inches. He did give us some good advice, 'everybody tries to get from Elba today, many queues, go off to the port many early!' We set off for the Portoferraio, a drive of 10km leaving more than two hours to get to the docks, sadly it was not 'many early' enough. We joined the first traffic queue with about 7km to go at about 10.20.
The departure time of of our boat - 12.15 - came and went, we were still locked in an immoveable traffic jam about 700m from the dock. It's a small port, and the town traffic and people leaving two large supermarkets get tangled up with tourists heading for the ferry terminal. It doesn't take much to create a total gridlock.
I guess if you are going to get stuck in a traffic jam then an Italian one has to be your preferred option. They are very entertaining, especially drivers' tendency to become totally exasperated, and use the wrong side of the road to reach their turnoff, a move which inevitably results in meeting on coming traffic so both sides of the road grind to a standstill. Nobody will give an inch, people leap out of their vehicles shouting, waving and generally becoming very dramatic.
The police were out in force, both the Carabinieri and municipal police. Their strategies include - gesticulating madly with big lollipop style batons at roundabouts and junctions, observing frenzied altercations between motorists laconically from the roadside but intervening loudly in situations that have already resolved themselves, and always prioritising gorgeous women drivers above all others. There was another cultural bias that worked in our favour, it seemed to me that the municipal police particularly enjoyed making life difficult for big expensive motorhomes with German plates. This modest British one they looked upon more kindly, helping us to squeeze through a tricky left-hand turn against the flow of the traffic to enable us to reach the Blu-Navy dock.
We joined a few other confused tourists at the dock. What particularly concerned us was the berth normally reserved for Blu-Navy ferries was occupied by a somewhat down at heel looking cruise ship whose home port of Matā'Utu turned out to be a small port on a miniscule French owned atoll situated between Samoa and New Caledonia. As experts in sat-nav malfunction we were mightily impressed.
The ferry company office was closed for lunch. At 2.00pm I joined a small gaggle of masked traffic jam survivors all trying to rebook on a later ferry. There was room on the next sailing at 3 15, and thankfully no additional charge. The lost French Polynesian island cruise departed and right on time our ferry arrived.
Exactly 24hrs later than planned we sat on the outside deck and watched Portoferraio's ancient ramparts disappear into the distance.
We were joined by a family from Switzerland. 'Hello, you are the Brits from Lacona camping,' the woman said with a smile. She spoke English well, and we chatted about this and that for the whole crossing. It was great to have a face to face, or rather mask to mask, conversation. We've been living a somewhat solitary existence for weeks. Though I don't crave social contact, I do realise being drawn towards social avoidance is not a good trait.
Back on the mainland our deja vu existence continued. Back to the sosta at Venturina Terme we had stayed on ten days earlier.
Next day, once more trundling a trolley around the town's big Co-op supermarket. Ten days on Elba staying in seaside places with basic 'seasonal' supermarkets had stripped our cupboards bare, we needed everything. One of the great things about travelling in the Mediterranean in the autumn is the supermarket fruit and veg departments are a cornucopia of local and regional produce. For Gill it's a cook's happy place.
We headed about thirty kilometres south following the Via Aurelia, a ruler straight road as you would expect from its name, an ever diminishing umbrella pine avenue.
A different Tuscany to the picture book pretty Chianti, the Maremma has bigger skies, a mix of low green hills, woods and salt flats, lovely in its own way.
We plan to stay here for a while with no particular plans. Sunny days are forecast, we need to enjoy them, prospects for the coming winter are not looking good. Whether we are able to travel is impossible to say at the moment. If we can we will.
No comments:
Post a Comment