Life Aboard

“It’s not the towering sail, but the unseen wind that moves the ship”

-Proverb


Living aboard a “barca a vela” (sailboat) is like camping in a place in where the earth is constantly moving and there’s barely enough floor space for the tent.
I’m the first to admit that I’m not a natural sailor like Jeff and Jenna, so spending the month of August on a boat will be a challenge for me, no doubt about it.
I love to be IN the water, but living ON the water taps my senses in surprising ways – motion, sound and light disorient and delight me all at once.
Just simply boarding the boat requires walking (teetering) across a narrow wood plank, slightly wider than a balance beam. It’s tricky if you’re carrying, say, a bag of heavy groceries, but I get wobbly just carrying my purse across. All the boats in the marina are moored “stern to”, meaning the back of the boat is tied to the dock (about 5’ away), with a line extending from the bow, anchored into the water to hold it in place. This way of mooring boats allows the marina to fit more boats with less dock.
The boat we’re living on is 36 feet long and about 12’ wide, in typical nautical colors of white and navy with a nicely finished teak trim (thanks to Jeff). Along with their boat “names”, each boat is identified by a flag flown from the stern (back). Ours is the Irish flag, since the boat is owned by our Irish friend Terry, with vertical stripes of green, white and orange. Our neighbors aren’t sure what to make of us, because we’re clearly not Irish.
Once onboard, after a shimmy around the large steering wheel in the cockpit, there’s a small al fresco seating area and fold-up table. I’ve brought my small planters of herbs (parsley, basil, mint and cilantro) which are getting windblown and scorched, but they help give this space a nice homey touch. Jeff has rigged up a sunshade overhead, made from a white king-size duvet cover, held in place with an inventive combination of knots, bungee cords, broom, mop, 2 big sponges, and I think a few of my hair ties. This is the epitome of “jury-rigging”, but shade is essential in this sun-baked location.
“Down below” four stair steps and into the cabin there’s a tiny L-shaped “galley” (kitchen) with sink, 2-burner gas stove and refrigerator. Forward from the kitchen is a dining table with u-shaped padded bench seat, and across from that is a desk with navigational equipment. Long narrow windows and several hatches (operable skylights) provide natural light and air. There are two tiny bedrooms called “berths”. Jeff and I are in the “V berth” at the bow, with two small closets, floor space for one, and a “V” shaped bed that’s wide at the head and shoulders and narrow at our feet like a mummy bag (adding to the “camping” feel). Getting out of bed requires either an elegant backward summersault or an ungraceful pinwheel “break dance” move, with my bare feet grazing Jeff’s cheek.
Jenna sleeps in the “quarter berth” at the other end of the boat. When I say “other end” I mean about 7 steps away. She has similar floorspace and closet, with a rectangular bed and limited head room (if she rolls over and sits up in bed she’ll bang her head on the ceiling).
There’s also a miniature head (bathroom), with an inoperable shower, tiny sink and a toilet that requires a complicated flush/pump/water/rinse procedure that continuously baffles me.
There are “cubbies” and shelves everywhere for storage, but trying to fit all our things in these tight quarters is challenging. I try to channel my mother-in-law Lucy, who manages to expertly pack and organize literally hundreds of items on their similarly-sized sailboat in preparation for their annual voyages up to Vancouver Island in Canada. From Dijon mustard to smoked oysters, she knows exactly where each item is stored. She’ll say, “Tracie, could you reach behind that seat cushion in back of you and grab the powdered sugar—it’s underneath the cornmeal”. A quick glance into their “V” berth and all her sweaters are rolled up tightly and lined up on the narrow shelves (they might even be organized by color). It’s an amazing talent that I, unfortunately, do not share. Our “V” berth shelves are spilling over with a jumbled combination of bags, sunglasses, hats, dresses, books, phones, Advil, bottles of water and wadded up pieces of paper.
I’m good at organizing, but I have an annoying habit of not putting things away where I found them. I know this about myself. I’ll misplace my passport or my wallet for the hundredth time and Jeff will roll his eyes and say, “How unusual”. I understand the importance of “a place for everything and everything in its place” especially on a boat where space is limited, but putting it into practice is a struggle.
It’s been 5 days aboard and I still feel dizzy. When I close my eyes I am rocking all the time, feeling the room spin like I’m constantly drunk. The other day I walked over to the marina showers and while I was shampooing my hair, I briefly closed my eyes and ran into the wall. I almost tipped over completely.
Combine the dizziness with a continuously rocking boat, factor in the low ceilings and narrow walkways of the cabin, and this is a recipe for injury. I bang my head on the low ceilings, bruise my hip running into the desk, ram my thigh into the table. I also trip over all the raised “lips” on the door thresholds. I assume experienced sailors get used to all these hazards at some point, but I have not reached that point. Jeff and Jenna appear to be bruise-free.
The mornings are beautiful. I usually wake up because I feel the boat swaying from side to side. I listen to the water slapping gently against the bow, the quiet creaking of boats nearby, and a tiny jingle of boat lines. If I get up early enough, I can catch the morning sun reflecting off the water, making wavy white patterns on the other boats. The buildings along the waterfront are bathed in sweet buttery light.
I’ve started taking morning walks again, because it’s cooler down here, next to the water, than back at our barraka on the hill. Sometimes I walk along the seafront and out to the jetty that juts out far into the bay, to watch the ferries come and go. But sometimes I just walk a few blocks to the panificio and buy fresh ciabatta before it runs out by mid-morning. The thin, crispy crust and chewy insides are delicioso with butter and orange marmalade.
The social life in the Marina Sifreidi is unique. There’s a comraderie among sailors, as they all have this sailing thing in common. Everyone is tanned and leathery, and quite friendly. It’s fun to wander along the dock and check out how people live on their boats. Some people are always there, out in the cockpit, eating, talking, laughing, playing cards, drinking wine. And others keep more to themselves. The really big yachts are all grouped in one area along the seafront, so all the passersby can gaze at the luxurious splendor and wealth. These yachts (which are sometimes as big as ferries) have uniformed staff who get up early and bustle around the ship, cleaning, cooking, setting the table, looking busy.
The other day, we met a family from Roma, moored 3 boats over. They have two young girls, Flavia (8) and Ariana (11). Outgoing Ariana spied Jenna and immediately recognized a kindred spirit. She began talking in animated, rapid Italian. When she discovered we were American, she barely missed a beat and immediately launched into her practiced English skills. What she lacks in vocabulary she makes up in enthusiasm.
We’re discovering that, while most children in Italy are taught SOME English in school, those from larger cities seem to have better skills and seem more at ease with it. Within minutes, the three girls were playing—such is the universal language of children.
We met the parents briefly that first day, and then the next morning they surprised us with an impromptu invitation to sail around the island on their boat. Knowing the boat was big and stable, we didn’t let our last go-around stop us from an adventure.
The girls were giggly and excited, and the parents, Sonya and Walter, greeted us warmly and apologized for speaking “only a little English”.
Sonya and Walter are a vibrant pair. Sonya is a young, buxom outgoing woman with a big smile and a quick laugh. In perfect Romanesque style, she wore big black sunglasses and an elegant thin white chiffon tunic with rich paisley trim over her tiny bathing suit. Sonya is warm and friendly and simply oozes sensuality. Jeff is completely smitten with her, and I think I am, too. Her husband, Walter (pronounced “Valtera”) is a handsome 50ish man, with grey hair and a stout hearty presence. He is an “accountant”, which means “lawyer” in Italy.
We sailed halfway around the island on their lovely 44’ boat, and as the day went on, Sonya and Walter’s English skills got better and better. It was as if they were uncovering words that had been long dormant. By mid-afternoon, they were cracking each other up with broken English banter.
“Sonya” Walter calls from the dinghy, “Get me photograph machine, please”
“Camera!” yells Sonya, laughing.
“Wife, get me CAMERA please” Walter repeats.
“We speak very good English by tonight” Sonya winks at us.
Jeff and I spoke as much Italian as we could, and only resorted to English when we had to.
This is the way it goes with the Italian friends we have made. As with our landlords Rafaella and Salvatore, who have taken us under their wing, we’ve gotten into a companionable presence with each other, while they speak as much English as they can, peppered with Italian, and we speak as much Italian as we can (until our heads hurt), peppered with English. It works! (With the occasional help of an Italian-English dictionary.)
We anchor halfway around the island off a small beach and loll away the afternoon talking, swimming, eating a delicious lunch that Sonya prepares of little “pizzas”, soft delicious rounds of oily focaccia with hints of rosemary and coarse salt, split open and filled with cotto (ham), local tonno (tuna) and formaggio (cheese).
We take the dinghy to the beach and Sonya and I sit at the water’s edge, scanning the small rocks and shells, looking for the “occhi di Santa Lucia” (“eyes of Saint Lucia”).
These precious, 1-2 cm. finds look like tiny rocks or flat shells, but are actually an “operculum” (the small plate that closes the opening of a mollusk’s shell when the animal retracts) of a small sea-snail called Astraea Rugosa, found in the Mediterranean waters of Corsica and Sardinia. The flat side has an amazing, swirling, butterscotch colored spiral, and the other side is white and brown, and slightly rounded.
When I find my first one, it feels like I’ve discovered an ancient artifact. The spiral reminds me of an ancient symbol, something that seems to resonate deep inside of me. Often bound in gold to form a pendant, the Eye of Santa Lucia, also known as Shiva eye, is considered to ward off “the evil eye” and bring luck and happiness, as well as good fortune. I scan the area thoroughly, because we need these things.
Saint Lucia (282-304), a Christian martyr, is the patron saint of the blind, who bestows the gifts of light, enlightenment and eyesight, especially as the opener of newborn eyes.
The legend of “Saint Lucy” is conflicting. One story says she gouged out her own eyes in response to a persistent, but undesirable pagan suitor. Apparently, she then sent her eyes to him on a platter and asked to be left in peace. Another version has her tortured by eye-gauging because she turned down that persistent suitor. And yet another story says that in order to stay true to her faith, she plucked out her eyes and threw them into the sea, then later the Virgin Mary gave her even more beautiful eyes in response to her devotion.
Saint Lucia is often depicted in paintings with her eyes gouged out and holding them on a plate, but Sonya tells me that the statues often show her holding her eyes in her hands.
The feast day for Saint Lucia is December 13, which, coincidentally is JENNA’S BIRTHDAY. In Italy, Saint Lucia Day is celebrated primarily by Christians, but oddly enough, it is also celebrated by Lutherans in Scandinavia. It is said that, in Sweden, to vividly celebrate St. Lucy's Day will help him/her live the long winter days with enough light.
After an hour, Sonya finds three and I find two.
We stay longer than we’d expected and end up motoring back to Carloforte in the crisp weather of twilight. Sunbaked and tired, we get off the boat, say Ciao and Grazie to our new friends, and walk back to our own little sailboat, 3 boats over.

NEXT UP: Sul Lungomare (On the Waterfront)