Departure

Today, I felt like a sea spirit again. It's a strange transformation that springs us from winter mode into the sailing season. All winter, the sea is a leaden, sultry and uninviting place. It sends us evil winds and storms, and seems like such an inhospitable environment. Not somewhere you'd want to go...

Megan, Ina, Tim and Geert: Haul-out buddies

Pavlov waiting for a lift

... looking rather forlorn in the pen.

But today, Spit and I went for a tour of the harbour. Spit (our dingy, the name should be obvious) had been rolled up for winter storage, and our little 3hp outboard had undergone a major winter overhaul. I needed to test them both before we head off for summer. So we pumped up Spit, laboriously patched the patches on her faded sun-cover, and strapped the outboard on the back.

Nicco from Snow Goose, some Belgium friends

Megan and Pavvie, lifting together 

Pavlov levitating 

Hanging about in the slings

Spring cleaning, Pavlov style

And suddenly, I'm skimming across water, salt spray in my face, sun dappling on the dancing wavelets, and I'm reborn as a sea spirit again. In one split instant, water now seems like our natural, maternal environment, and I revel in the freedom of spinning across the harbour that we trudged so manually around in winter. It is indeed Spring, and the water beckons us with its siren call.

The long trudge to our haul out place

Our home for the next 5 hectic days

and the view from the deck

However simple and instantaneous the transformation of the spirit, the actual transformation of the boat takes a little longer. We've now progressed onto the hard, lifted Pavlov out of her element and suspended her in space for a little work on her ... ah hum ... filthy bottom. Its a stressful time in most cruisers lives, with unexpected calamities, unavailable parts and money-grubbing boat yards conspiring to make your life hell.

One of our painters 

Pavlov getting the beauty treatment

Our particular hell was a very slow leak in one of our main fresh water tanks. I disembowelled the boat several times trying to trace the leak, replacing every suspect pipe that I could, until I was driven to the conclusion that the leak must be from the tank itself. Ahhhggg, major surgery was required.

Decorated carts parading for Saint Angelo

One of the famous dancing horses celebrating St Angelo's day

Taking the ponies for a walk

In the end, we extracted the tank more easily than I imagined, and we were lucky to find a very experienced TIG welder in the boat yard who agreed to weld up the leaking welds for the absolute bargain of  30 Euro. However, the whole boat was 'deconstructed' to remove the tank, and since we had to keep on living in her, life went on in the most chaotic of fashions.

Dashing Sicilian horsemen

... younger ones

... and dancing ones.

Our 'unavailable part' was an anode for our prop. The last one had not survived the year, and we needed a new one before we splashed. The yard here was shutting down for several days for the annual St. Angelo (patron saint of Licata) festival holiday, and we had to be out this day, or else spend another 5 days in purgatory, along with the fumes, dust, public inspection and toilet that had mysteriously run out of water. The other option was to dive on the prop while in the water, and attempt to remove 3 screws and anode and replace without dropping anything to the briny depths, or breathing for 5 minutes.

The well groomed look

The brighter, the better

Got to feel a little sorry for the pony

It really was a mammoth parade!

So the last day we could launch arrived. It was blowing a gale and no anode, but we just couldn't face more time in the yard. Last coats of antifoul were slapped on, the prop greased and all made ready. Then, 30 minutes before launch time, in a last desperate visit to the chandlery, we found that the anode had arrived. Hastily fitted, we were ready to launch. We also lucked out, the winds had faded from the constant 35 knots of the previous few days, and we had some reasonable winds to accompany us back to the marina.

Traditional Sicilian dress

Saint Angelo's square after the parade had passed

More traditional dress

After docking in the still considerable cross winds, and being scored on our performance by the greedy eyes of all the other cruisers on the dock, we were back in our winter nest. It was so comforting, that we forgot our spring imperatives for a day, and just lolled in the calm and security of a familiar place.  The next day, we swore off boat maintenance, as we were so thoroughly exhausted from the haul out. It was time to join in the festivities celebrating Saint Angelo, the patron saint of Licata. There was a massive parade of prancing horses, many with gaily painted carts. The streets are lined with stalls selling all manner of things, no-one works all week, and there is an elevated party mood permeating the town. Tonight, the men will race tall religious towers (for want of a better description) around the town, and tomorrow, machismo will rule as men try to climb the greased pole.



One of the more colourful stalls for the festival.

Italians love food and there are many stalls like this.

One of the church 'towers' that they race around the town

Another example

So we have a few days left to finally prep the boat, bend on our sails, do the washing in the last laundromat we'll find for a time, and make a provisioning stop at Lidl. We will miss the home we've made in Licata, the friendly cafe proprietor who greets me with ' Ah, Capitane' every morning, the hidden treasures buried in the ugly exterior of the town. But its time for new pastures, and we're heading for Malta. So, Arrivederci til then.

Breakfast at our local cafe

The Admiral at Toto's cafe, our local haunt.