Scilla

After the Aolies we anchored at the mouth of the Straits of Messina at a fishing village called Scilla, named after the legendary monster with many arms which the Greeks said lived in the Straits and dragged ships to their doom.  It is a heart-achingly beautiful spot.  The water in the little harbour is crystal clear and the old stone houses are set on a steep slope down to the waters edge.  Outside every little terrace of houses there is a slipway with small fishing boats pulled up literally at each front door, with weather beaten old men mending their nets.  Going ashore we walked the networks of tiny alleys, which every now and then gave a view down steep stone steps to the clear water of the harbour.  Like much of Calabria the place has a Victorian juxtaposition between wealth and poverty, with expensive harbour side restaurants cheek by jowl with decaying cottages ripe with the smell of damp and mould.  In the harbour we were able to take a closer look at the sword fishing boats, with their tall pylon-like masts and improbably long gantry-like bowsprits, which are actually longer than the hulls.  The blokes who fish from these things are built like rugby forwards and I suspect may be the elite of the fishing industry.  Atop the masts there is a platform on which four of these hairy-arsed gorillas sit on plastic chairs lashed to the guard rail.  Next morning we saw one of the boats catch a swordfish.  The gantry was manoeuvred over what I presume was the sleeping fish, which one of the gorillas speared manually with a harpoon, before bounding down the gantry like an olympic runner and helping the rest of the crew haul in their catch.