Martina Franca

Our final stop before Taranto was meant to be Sibari, a six hundred berth Marina and apartment complex where we had more Calabrian adventures. We found the entry channel using our GPS and then slowly motored towards the entrance as depths were reported to be shallow. At the mouth of a canal which leads into the marina we were practically aground, so I called the marina on the VHF, to which there was no response. I then called them on the mobile ‘phone and got a reply. “Where are you?”, a charming woman asked in excellent English. “Outside the marina,” I replied. “Ah, you can’t enter I’m afraid, maybe next week”. It turned out that the port authorities had closed the marina, one of the largest in Southern Italy, because the entrance had not been dredged. This was even more baffling because a number of foreign boats had over-wintered here last year and we had already met one boat on our travels planning to stay this coming winter. “Yup, nothing really does work in Calabria”, I thought to myself. That night we anchored off a beach and at five the next morning set off for Taranto. In the afternoon the wind picked up and we had a really good sail right into Taranto harbour and up to the marina where our friend Claude was waiting to meet us. While under sail Sue hooked a fifteen pound Dolphin Fish (Claud says it was more like 20 pounds -Sue), which I struggled to haul in and some of which we ate with Claude that evening, along with a string of mussels given to him by one of the marina hands at Taranto.

 For the last few days we have been staying with Jane and Claude and waiting on the house. All the paperwork is ready now, so we are told, and we are just waiting for a date for our final meeting with the Public Notary. In the meantime we have been helping Claude with decorating, eating and taking siestas. Two nights ago Claude’s builder, Donato and his wife Maria called in for a barbecue. We cooked the rest of the Dolphin Fish and Donato and Maria brought fresh peaches and five litres of the strong local red wine. Donato is about sixty and worked in Belgium for twenty years and prefers to speak French with Claude and Jane. Maria is a wonderful woman of about forty five, big and full of energy, who mainly speaks Martinesh, the local dialect of the nearby town of Martina Franca. She works as a farm labourer getting up at three in the morning and working for maybe four or five euros an hour. Donato is also quite deaf, so communication was a bit difficult on the whole, although their generosity and good humour was easy to understand.

 Last night Donato and Maria took us all to see the big procession in Martina Franca for Saint Carmello, whom one of Martina’s churches is dedicated to. The towns around here are all have elegant medieval centres, with stone flagged streets and alleys and whitewashed walls under the azure sky. There was a long procession with bands, the local mayor, an image of the Madonna and lots of old men in flowing white, almost Arabic costumes and women with lace headdresses. At intervals there were loudspeakers broadcasting the priest’s sermon from the church. There were also fireworks and decorations and stalls, mainly run by Moroccans. Afterwards, we went to a country restaurant where we ate a table full of antipasti, stuffed mussels and pizza. Despite Claude and Jane’s protests Maria insisted on paying the fifty euro bill (about £7 per head). Donato also says he knows where we can buy a cheap Rotavator.