Bailey Alexander: The Europhile

May you experience joy...

Dreams of Diaghilev

In the Red Shoes, my favorite actor, Anton Walbrook, plays Boris Lermontov, the magical and exotic genius modeled on the Russian impresario, Sergey Diaghilev. 

Both "The Red Shoes" and The Tales of hoffmann featured prominently in our living room last week and dovetail nicely into this little tale and why I was so ecstatic to find Diaghilev's bio while browsing in a bookshop in the plainpalais district yesterday.

This is the kind of book love where one practically skips home, throws keys, handbag and gloves aside, mindful of one thing only; removing the large book from its bondage, placing it carefully upon the table, all other items having been removed, then staring at the cover, stroking the sleeve, studying each sleeve, reading, then re reading each word, dusting off prior fingerprints, gently pulling the sleeve away and inspecting the rest of the book until sufficient time has been spent admiring the look and large size and then, only then, can one sit back comfortably in the chair and ponder the probability of what awaits inside.

Then, tenderly, oh so tenderly, the book is opened, just wide enough to peak inside and blissfully begin the pleasure of reading about a life that scales myth; Sergey Pavlovich Diaghilev.

Interesting to note, for me at least, the similarity btwn Sergey and two other male heroes, Orson Welles and Gore Vidal.  They too, actually dined with and lived amongst those that were making history, living history, creating the kind of art that put color to canvas, like Picasso, or that designed before their time, like Coco Chanel, I mean, for heaven's sake, before my eyes could feast on page 40, Diaghilev's sat with Tolstoy and refers to his distant cousin Tchaikovsky as "Uncle Petya"....

Gore Vidal was at the crucible of just about every interesting event that occurred in the United States and Orson Welles was still a teen when he found himself having lunch with Hitler and just about everyone else.  We don't have modern essayists or artists to match this kind of CV or lifestyle, ironically, even in such a close-knit, globalized world.  Watching Christian Anampour interview Mugabe or Hitchens having Christmas with an Amis just isn't the same thing. At all.

There's over 500 pages to enjoy of this man's life but I had to pace myself and stop at page 70.  I know that Stravinsky and Nijinsky are just pages away but I had to turn the lights out and just imagine what shaped this creature that could blend and braid beauty with such gusto, elan and esprit. His modern great age of art, this London/Paris/Berlin/Madrid kind of world that he almost ruled when Venice was still symbolic of the grandeur of Europe and Germany was the mecca in many ways for those in search of deep musical and literary culture.

Recently, I spent several months living just a petite train ride away from Venice.  That place, that space.  He loved Venice.  LIke his first true musical love; Wagner, Venice held a sway over both.  Like Thomas Mann, when one was gay, an aesthete, in search of pure culture, that was the place, and it has in many ways, like few  cities, retained its unique space in time.

I love living vicariously through his drama, even if I know this bio may not be the best.  But its serendipitous as I find myself more drawn to music than ever before. I'm grateful my mother felt so strongly about the arts and that I was so responsive to her quiet passions, she was as much my muse as the other way 'round.....we enjoyed front row seats at Pacific Northwest Ballet for 8 gorgeous seasons, as well as ACT, The Seattle Rep, I think I saw the Joffrey ballet the first time it came to Seattle and by the time I was 25 I was active with fringe theatre groups and non-profits, playing my part, even playing impresario in the most minor fashion, though I can attest to the gasps and bits of adoration thrown at my productions, back in those days while directing fashion and drag shows. I can feel some of that spirit reviving itself as I seek out ways to blend my writing with videoblogging, I'm feeling creative once again. 

I admit Opera's been beyond my love and affection but I've been to the Staatsoper in Berlin and met Daniel Barenboim, I've enjoyed La Boheme in Vienna and in fact, just this week, we'll be going back to Salzburg, just as we did one decade ago when we spent our first Christmas together when I met his family for the first time in Bad Raichenhall.  I remember attending the opera with my husband's Italian mother and her Bavarian friend, everyone stamping their feet, shouting bravo.

This trip won't feel nearly so exotic or jarring, now that I think about it, but reading about Sergey Diaghilev while in unison will ensure all life's tedious particulars and politics will fall away and life will simply be an aesthetic pleasure.

 

Joss Garman: Copenhagen - Historic failure that will live in infamy

Boy, you can say that again. 

Garman's article in the Independent is brutal.  As one diplomatic said, "This deal crosses so many of the red lines laid out by Europe before this summit started that there are scarlet skid marks across the Bella Centre, and one honest European diplomat tells us this is a "shitty, shitty deal".

But then maybe we shouldn't rely upon governments to play honest broker.  The solutions will be found by individual people and groups and businesses that can apply serious and strategic thinking to how we can change our insatiable ways towards using energy. 

HEATING, POWER and TRANSPORTATION all play their part and technology can certainly assist, but as long as Americans advertise new SUV models with fridges inside, some habits are going to be very, very hard to break indeed.

Taking photos from our flat, taking trains from Geneva to Zurich

 

The deeply personal world of Social Media.

Such profound change in both media and advertising blows the mind, but exactly which which rules apply is perplexing.  

I'm comfortable with LInkedIn and enjoying its natural shift into facebook and twitter, but still...

After meeting with the wise queen in Zurich yesterday, I decided to finally apply some serious study to the phenom that is social media.

It's quite a labyrinth to navigate but I did manage to mine the major players.  One such guy named Seth wrote The medium is no longer the message, you are.

Signor Goldstein clarifies his point in the comments section where furs were ruffled, understandably, "To be clear, I am simply saying that the medium is no longer *just* the message. What I was trying to illustrate in this essay was that in a social media context where identities are known that people themselves become a form of media.

Well, that's a relief, but it is all about trust, which poses a problem, I mean, who's going to trust a woman that wears opera length gloves with a Dartanian style cape at two in the afternoon?  Not me, certainly.

Another popular guy Chris Brogan, is not only a trust agent he's co-authored a book called Trust Agent, naturally. I found it unsettling to read his recent blog which speculates about those who shall go down in flames in 2012.  Social media space is, if anything, fluid.  And there's more than a whiff of motivational speaking, if you get my drift.

One ponders whether the boom and bust cycle has already run its course, alas, no worries, M. Brogan quickly addresses my concern, "Is This Gloomy?  No. I think this is business. This is a new space. There’s always an adoption curve, a glut, and then a thinning out – a normalizing. I think this is just part of the flow.

Well, I for one am relieved, giddy even marketing webconsult; it's traditional IT services and successful mission critical projects are proving attractive to VC's here in Geneva, very grateful indeed.

Drama in Italy and I'm not talking Don Giovanni

So Silvio gets whacked by a whack with a statuette of the Duomo, MIO DIO!   ciò che sta accadendo!

Populism; How the dividing line discourages discourse

So yes, watching Du Rouge Sur la Croix helped to rinse out the bad taste but the movie enforced the distance war has traveled. Back at the battle of Solferino when the Italian and French were fighting the Austrians you had to come mighty close to kill the enemy.  Today,an American can assassinate a Pakistani with a predator drone while sitting thousands of miles away behind a console. 

Last week wasn't all that...

Swissmix

I don't know much about Geneva but I do know it's the most international place on the planet with at least 40% of the population made up of expats. 

Cyclin' the Swiss Alps up to Mont Blanc

Le Glacier & Mont Blanc

Minarets, The Swiss, and the WTO, once again.

Relocating to Geneva reminds me of exactly one decade ago.  While living at the corner of Olive and Boren I enjoyed my salon in the sky for several blissful years.  I was single and very social, prior to meeting mio marito who would dictate a more conventional home, like buying a houseboat. 

Mio Dio, Silvio's literally 'rocking and rolling', allot, at 72

The term 'rock and roll' or 'rocking and rolling' was secular black slang for sex in the 30's and 40', then gospel artists hijacked it, then Alan Freed and others brought the term along with black music into mainstream society.

Logic would follow, at least Italian logic, that our dear leader, Silvio, would thus make the cover of Rolling Stone.  Apparently, according to the Independent, he's rocking and rolling allot.

Murdoch n Microsoft go bully while British gov't becomes more nanny than ever...

Very, very bad news for anyone living in London This law is so peculiarly awful but not so surprising for the Nanny state, is it?  Just as questionable is Murdoch and Microsoft's partnership and strategy for paying businesses to ignore Google.  Biz Stone, Twitter co-founder suggests the two magnates are trying to put the genie back in the bottle.  Ignore google.  Good Luck.

However, very, very good news that Velib, the bike hire scheme we used all the time in Paris, is coming to London.  Still theft and vandalism will be a challenge, as it is in the other European cities that promote its use for their residents, but somehow I imagine in the UK, unique issues shall arise...

A cartoon, a cosmic joke, or a country overwhelmed by its own pathologies.

Everything's sort of cartoonish, isn't it?  America's most popular movies are either animated and/or infused with so many special effects they affect a raving headache rather than make you think.  I can't handle the combination of audio and doomsday narrative and I'd rather watch something like Night of the Iguana anyway.

Such straightforward behavior makes me appreciate Italy's less than transparent ways

Catherine Ashton, Baroness Ashton of Upholland, in fact, becomes EU foreign policy chief.

Climate Change; instill some fear into yourself with science.

Sir David Attenborough asks the obvious question, which part of climate change is due to natural causes, which part to human activity.  Here's the chart.

Even the most ardent activist and hardened skeptic can agree on the following fact; faced with so much science and data , why not try and address the risk, slow it down, now, when we have the window like this guy, in his video, spread the word.

Listening to "Prescious" on itunes; an otherly experience to embrace.

For avid readers who prefer their own imagination to someone else's interpretation, audiobooks can detract rather than enhance.  Recently I've enjoyed re-visiting Rebecca and The Castle of Otranto if only because my imagination dictated the first impression. 

But In regards to Sapphire's "Precious", well, that's a different gig entirely.

Glenn Greenwald ponders two establishment journalists' attitude towards Israeli aid.

Is using aid to Israel as leverage becoming a mainstream idea?  Glenn Greenwald explores the taboo topic by cross referencing Friedman's inconsistent column with Joe Klein's piece in TIME.  Friedman, of course, is too coy to carry his thoughts to their natural conclusion so Greenwald does it for him but GG's surprised by the harsh and realistic tones of both columnists.

Lee Daniels digestivo; "I'm a little euro, homo and ghetto."

Benissimo, certo, after listening to the NPR interview with Lee Daniels my appetite's been sufficiently whet, like an aperitif, it is certainly time to see his movie called Precious.  

Here in Northern Italy, the local digestivo consists of one part soda, prosecco and Campari with a slice of orange or lemon and that's how it felt listening to Sig. Daniels speak, he's so utterly charming, enticing and refreshingly authentic. I'd no idea what the next question would inspire in this guy, how he'd relay a chapter of his life, a family member, a situation, he was so eloquent.   He inspired the mind to wind back to former lives and times. 

Merkel's Sturm und Drang; Issues addressed, Hopes dashed

Italy convicted 23 secret agents, challenging the CIA's extraordinary renditions.  Odds are the agents may simply be issued new passports but the world is paying attention, the statement has been made.  As I said in previous posts, Italy does it differently, that's why they adroitly pay off the Taliban chiefs to keep their troops safe.  It's Berlusconi's way and say what you want about Silvio's 'art of the deal' making ways, I'm not sure he'd have his hopes dashed as did Merkel.

Venice...

This weekend la serenissima breathes as the tourists clear out...took some pics, funny ones with fake papillons and casino entrances insisting 'no guns', 'no umbrellas' allowed....enjoy...

 

Thanks to friends, travel and social media...

...I've enjoyed a lovely birthday and it's only half over; received kisses from Dutch n Swedish friends, kind wishes from the isle of both Malta and New Zealand, lovely, wonderful notes from Paris, Rome, London and from across the pond, old friends from NY, Chicago and Seattle sent their very best, forwarding them in advance to arrive on time.

tony blair update; non merci, non grazie, nein danke.....

Edith Sitwell and Mata Hari; Eccentric women worth reading and watching...

The Independent asks whether Mata Hari was she a double agent meant to disappoint and exasperate both sides, alas, no one really knows...files to be released in 2017 may assist but the mystery is so much more fun and inspires another eccentric, Edith Sitwell and her poem about the 'great Popinjay'

Dawn Powell on Gore Vidal, "not to be fit in any fashion"

Sig.Vidal's sun is setting and he may be grieving for a circle and country long gone but while we overlook Lignano this October eve his views prove as probable and prescient as ever.

I love Vidal, read him often, but must rely on Dawn Powell's acute observation circa '54: "Something of a Disraeli, a high patrician like Solomon in judgment and philosophic power with wit, poetry and music.  Not to be fit in any fashion, but will outlive them all, like the great ones."

Discussing de Chirico up north while watching Gomorrah down south

Mio marito skidded in from Geneva as did an old pal from Seattle, Ian Mcfail, visiting while in the midst of his adventure having a Giorgio de Chirico authenticated at the foundation in Rome.  I bestow all the de Chirico energy as I've posted about friends with their own originals.  Either way, Ian has a pretty spectacular collection for your purview if interested on Facebook. 

Even though the cold winds have arrived and the men have left it still feels like la dolce but now I'm alone and Zurich and Milan remain one week away, it's time for new film. Fortuitously enough, upon picking up my MacBook Air from the techie hospital in Venice I located what mio marito suggested I see and I say there's a reason we've driven thru this commune, quickly, without dropping in for a caffe macchiato, rather than stay for a tour.

Travelling to Trieste, coffee capital of the world

My guy insisted we go to Trieste as we'd never been before...the city was grand, all Austrian Hungarian architecture on full display, not to mention a million sailboats.  As if I hadn't see enough, alas, the Barcolana was in full swing, arguably the largest sail race in Europe, some sort of casual crazy race of families and somesuch, who knows....but it was lovely.  Generally i post my own pic but someone else posted the onlyh one worth viewing
 

Venice; La Serenissima...

 

Sexual Relations with Letterman and Polanski

Somewhere along the yellow brick road I lost the desire to impose morality on other people. Godot arrived, advised otherwise and once again I live in the land where love, sex and skin is everywhere, therefore overlooked, almost irrelevant, especially here in sunny, laissez faire Punta Faro marina in Lignano Sabbiadoro. 

So many syllables, must be the close proximity to Germany, either way I find I'm thriving in my temporary lifestyle. No one is as surprised as I, now more than before as I'll soon be in Milan or Zurich. My existence inspires the mind to be utterly quiet at times, decreasing the energy of my personal existential angst.  The days may be spent online or addressing the remaining issues on the boat but the nights are so still with solitude my body' becomes little more than a sliver, a slice nestled with a hammock within a womb serenading me to sleep.  I'm awaken either by silence surrounding my life or the dogs demanding it's time to go above for a sec, that's why it's called the poop deck.

Lisbon Treaty: Second time's a charm, Ta's trump.

Astonishingly enough the Irish have ratified the treaty.  Now for the tricky bit, positioning the EU presidency.  Position's open and we all know who's campaigned the loudest.  Merkel's vote is the most decisive, obviously, and like many Europeans they'd prefer anyone but the 'brand' that is Tony Blair but if she can lobby her candidate in the foreign high representative slot, maybe the rictus grin will be on display center stage. 

 

"Brands" are often empty suits but lonely hearts are the real deal

Rarely does the concept of 'branding' live up to its own hype.  Therefore it comes as no surprise that now the world has less money to spend on the concept it conjures up fairy tales such as The Emperor's New Clothes rather than any desire to acquire or buy into a 'brand', super or less than.  

Rarely does the concept of 'branding' live up to its own hype.  Therefore it comes as no surprise that now the world has less money to spend on the concept it conjures up fairy tales such as The Emperor's New Clothes rather than any desire to acquire or buy into a 'brand', super or less than.  

Happiness is...

...on the decline for women according to a study on HuffingtonPost.  Maureen Dowd, who's never pretended to be happy puts on her own spin.  I like Dowd, she's bitter and a stereotypical NY'er and very good at her job. I begrudge her nothing, she's honest.

So what happened. Quello che è successo? This study started in the 70's when women were 'officially' allowed to find their independence, but let's not discount those that did prior to permission, in fact, the one's I know seem relatively content, but let's review the Study and play along.

Swearing and Cycling, equally enjoyable sport.

I've adapted easily to this new routine, this sporty, cycling life, filled with fresh fruits and veggies.  I'm even doing Pilate's on the bow of the boat in the morning sun using the same large rubber matts we used to view the stars on midnite watches, no longer missing my Pilates machines stuck in storage.

Life's pretty healthy and organic. I'm meeting my laid back neighbors, working on my Italian, enjoying the rhythms of their arrivals and departures as they come to putz for an hour, take the family out sailing for a day or escape back onto the dock alone for a peaceful overnite sleep, winking my way, offering a quiet 'ciao'.  How can one not luv the Italians...

Oh dear, Glenn Beck dictates the discourse...

Last night I downloaded several podcasts and sat back for a long listen.  Initially it was inspiring with some pundits wishing to end partisan politics but quickly the discourse descended into base vitriol with policy sifted effortlessly into cyberdust. 

When conservatives like Auberon Waugh and his Etonian brethren of a certain era issued vituperative remarks they maintained upward mobility because they were played as farce, a spoof, until the winds changed tack and libel laws inspired Mr. Waugh to write seriously, which he did, about wine and travel rather than Lord Goldenballs and Nora Balsoff. 

MADI, Mother Nature and Antonino Morocutti's Memoirs

One of the benefits of a 'liveaboard lifestyle' is close proximity to mother nature.  You become much more aware of everything, including oneself while in close proximity to mother nature. Everything you do and use is inspected on a base level and I've become even more weather obsessed than ever.

As much as I may love this time of year, this climate, this place and the variable weather, the perspective shifts dramatically aboard a boat when the skies open up with thunder and lightning, if only to accentuate the drama...this is Italy, operatic et al, so I suppose one must be careful for what they ask as the answer may arrive and collide in one's cockpit, located not so conveniently on top of one's cabin, quite suddenly, as it did aboard MADI.

While sailing we saw so many stars...

Still Life of a Liveaboard

Option A was to stay in the Malta flat in that heat and that air with transportation via mio marito's motorcycle or 60 yr old buses blowing billows of black smoke. 

Option B was to become a liveaboard within country club environs with transportation via my nice new white bike and golf carts with personal drivers.

Option B is working out really, really well.  In a month or two we'll decide upon a country to call home, permanently, or as much as a nomadic European and an obliging europhile can call any home permanent.For now, we domicile in a divine space with the most breathable, fragrant air and nature as surround sound.  Venice is but a half hour away, Vienna a pleasant train ride.  Lignano Sabbiadoro is Italian style infused with German competence; molto bellissimo, tranquillo, perfetto.  Option B, brilliant.

Architectural sonatas as performed by Rome, Austria-Hungary, and Tito

We parked at ACI marina in Pula, our last stop in Croatia.  The views were spectacular, if not extreme.  At first we have the Imperial grandeur of Rome, a lovely coliseum, if not thee coliseum.

Food, conversation and the kids tour their twenty-third.

Simple fare; fish, white wine and local water have been super for the diet and waste line for both me and my guy but finally we enjoy fries and a meat platter, wonderful stuff.

Here are the kids, Colette and Godot visiting country number 23...I'm thinking a book perhaps as I have pics to prove...this idea is teasing and tempting the commercial mind to coincide with the less than lite stuff. Hey, wait, I forgot, Colette was born in Australia, she's been to more continents than I....

 

While life is still bare of clouds, chatter and things that don't matter...

Weather channel's insisting we stay at port another nite lest the Bora winds get the best of us so I've time to post pics from Mali Losinj.  And si, oui, scenery's still drop dead gorgeous.

Walking away from the coastline, like the town before, the views transport my mind back to Northern California near my birthplace, where the lovely stucco homes are protected by elegant palms...then a home or two ago in Rome, even the Azores make an appearance, then time rewinds and I'm transported to Seattle, distinctly PacNorthwest territory with its deep pine forests  

Dining along the pines, beneath the bridge of sighs

A block from the marina we dine along the pines, just beneath the bridges, modeled after the Venetian 'bridge of sighs' where convicts were allowed their last divine gasp of the most feminine, the most pure city of them all.

Croatia arrives as advertized; drop dead gorgeous

Cruising the Caribbean was culturally diverse with its islands of French, British and Danish descent and sailing from Seattle to Desolation Sound was deeply pretty, pristine and clean but Croatia, well, it has castles, cathedrals and 'bridge of sighs' kind of architecture via Venice.

From the immortal lettres a la Jim Carrey, this place is absolutely B.E.A uuuuuuutiful.  

Capitano brings us into Marco Polo's birthplace in Korcula

 

Back in the land of fashion and food

Still floating in Otranto, taking a breather prior to sailing across the Adriatic to cruise Croatia and then enter La Serenissima.  And why not, this town is quite the party, it could easily rival the Edinburgh fringe festival for eclectic music and entertainment, at least by square mile. 

Otranto may be tiny but performance art, jugglers, musicians absolutely swarm the place at sunset.  After dinner when back on the boat we listen to latin, techno or italian female crooners carrying their sound across the water to MADI and no one hangs out better than the Italians, basta cosi.

So I must give thanks to the gods of fate for allowing the quality of the food and fashion to pronounce its style in color and variety once again.  The pasta and fish equally fantastic and discussed and loved upon arriving at the table with just the right amount of fuss. 

By day the Otrantini bronze at the beach and by night the walls of the castle and the boardwalks compete with sounds and visions for everyone to enjoy.  Otranto took us totally by surprise, what a welcome and perfect reprieve...

Anchored out near Otranto's Castle.

How fabulous is that!  Quite, in fact, but not without its multiple tasks, bruises, abrasions, work and lack of sleep, some of which we've received back, but do need much more, svp. Gosh, had to edit prior post, a rarity, but it was written as if waiting for the lift.

Mi dispiace, allora, we've arrived. Even Godot. So here we float, situated at the Eastern most proper tip of Italy; Otranto.  Madi is anchored alongside Otranto's castle, ready to stay steady for a day or two, maybe three if something breaks, which something almost always does, just about everyday, when you're sailing...

Here's a beach perspective of Madi with the red Tinker tramp hugging her port side.  The Tinker, the world's only inflatable/dinghy/sailboat.

Robert and the Tink dropped me, C, n G at the port to see if there might be room at the inn, there was not, so I ventured into the town to find shops where we could buy other stuff to fix the other stuff that broke. 

Unfortunately, when I walkietalkied my taxi service my chauffeur wasn't any too happy to see me as the engine had broke en route so we were towed by some awfully nice Otrantini back to Madi.

I didn't mind, I was whistling and rowing happily enuf, enjoying rare and real exercise but kindness is something too precious to push away...   Gosh, I didn't even play walkietalkie as a kid but it was fun, if silly, but silly's good...sleep's even better....   

After a nite out w/the Genovesi we set sail to Santa Maria di Leuca

The Italians aboard the lovely 50ft beneteau with passarelle boasting black lights (tres chic), on our port side suggested we hit the well known fish joint across the marina.  They'd just spent two months sailing along Croatia and had much news to impart and we're listening as that's our next destination.

We met Allesandra, (pictured above) Michele, and Giacomo to enjoy the first proper meal I've had in too long...once again, all is right in life as some invisible magician orchestrates that food and wine simply appear, course after course, et.

Allessandra's one of those cool chicks from Genoa who works in Milan and speaks some English and likes to party, so we do. The cigarettes, cigars and camaraderie float down from up North and play surround sound for the night.  We may no longer smoke but its outside and just fine as Allesandra tries to seduce me into dancing into the nite, but I'm spent.

Her father, Michele, is the kind of Italian that exudes an ease with life; retired, content, happy to hang with his daughter and friend, and cook, Giacomo. Allesandra's twin brother is far away, in NY, learning English and Economics. I'm pretty sure I'll see Allessandra again and it's so nice to have to speak Italian, struggle though it may be after three years in Parigi.

When the pasta arrives, I can taste the Italian herbs.  The volcanic ash is at work and the cows have been sung to in Italian so the food is simply bettah, so there.  I can practically channel Paul Giametti in Sideways, identifying the grape within the Italian white wine butter sauce. Colette and Godot joined us at the table, we're all so relaxed, unfussed.

We set sail from Crotone at 8am, sailing at 15 knots until noon. This time I'm channeling my grandfather back when he used to sail one of his many mistresses in the san francisco bay, of the inanimate/yachting persuasion.  The waves and wind hid hard.  By mid afternoon, everything calms down, we then pull out the deck chairs at 6, have a cocktail and peacefully enter the harbor of Santa Maria di Leuca at 10pm and anchor out. 

So here we are, at the southern most tip of the heel, dello stivale, in Santa Maria de Leuca....

 

A bit of a slog, allot of bliss, but we're back...

...in the land where the coffee tastes like milkshakes and the pasta is al dente, finally! Benissimo!!!  Such a process this exercise of sailing.  It took some time to prepare. First I became at one with MADI.  Cleaned, bleached, waxed and varnished her back to life: packing along bits of Italy, France,Gore Vidal and  Dawn Powell to keep company. Provisioned for a coupla days but Maltese fruit, like the little banana, lasts little longer than a day.

Nav station, pilot house in order and V-birth stashed and organized

  We're ready to set sail...

6 hr watches, mio marito prefers the night, I the day...our times overlap, we all catch the sun rise and set along Sicily.

W'ere so blissed out, our thoughts focused on nothing other than the stars exploding, the sun's moods, life's so nice a dragonfly joins us 12 miles out from the coast along the Ionian Sea.

On the 3rd day we tie up at Porto Vechio Crotone, in blessed Italy as the cute kids whiz along the marina in their vespa...

Alors, with the Italians and French flanking either side, we're happy and secure....time to drink some milkshakes, wake up and explore the town prior to setting sail towards Otranto tomorrow...

Persephone's myth, Malta's archipelago and sailing away from Calypso's imprisonment

We'd hoped for Sunday but Monday's just fine by me.  One should never, ever challenge the weather gods or the gods of fate when setting sail long distance. 

So, now tis time to bid adieu to persephone's myth near Mdina, to 7,000 yrs of Maltese history and all that jazz. 

A good entrance and exit is key, to any country, we think.  Would have loved to sail away on Muv's b-day, but that's why we create pictorial blessays.

Escorted by my grandfather in their home in San Fran, Muv walks towards her betrothed, the man she would marry for some 55 yrs...

 The second is her last sketch, outlining her own exit; with style and strength; 

My biological realities, so much in evidence this past week as I spoke for the first time in 2 decades to my daughter.  We'd emailed and I'd provided the background to particulars surrounding her unique birth.  Even though she boasts a double degree from Univ of Washington, she opted to become a dancer in New York, a young women that proves both delightfully fierce and artistic, making her way into an all female dance company in the big city.  I sigh with wonder. I may have given her up for adoption while at University so long ago, but her DNA plays a part in placing her in the space in which she lives today.  The fact she studied in Argentina, speaking Spanish, simply completes the biological bookends, Basque et al.

Magic and mystery abounds, almost always.

So tomorrow, this time, when we set sail towards Sicily I'll pray to Calypso, documented as the first feminist, Homer's character of 2800 yrs ago that lived on the isle of Gozo, not far from Malta. 

I've never been in danger of placing a mirror to the nymph's mistakes but departing this patriarchal island and entering a more matriarchal spirit is more than a bit symbolic.

And if Muv was a bit proper, funnily enuf, she luved nothing more than painting La Nu.....

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We stayed in a cave in Basilicata.

John Hooper@The Guardian has a great article about Matera, a place of caves where people have been living since Paleolithic times.  This place, in Basilicata, in the south, was surreal and a must see for anyone that wants to see what most others don't while living in or traveling throughout Italy.

We didn't stay in this hotel but one similar, in a cave, with a lovely bed, phone and candles.  Prior to falling into a blissful sleep our eyes hung off the window perched high above as the church bells rang and then silence, still, complete silence, like I've only heard in the middle of the Atlantic provided surround sound.

Hopefully I'll hear the same kind of sound on this sail to La Serenissima...

Hamburg teases with dreams of green; a view from their window.

One of the highlights of having a sailboat is meeting new friends along the dock.  Here in Malta, Manuel Marina to be exact, we met a cool couple from Hamburg, Knut and his lovely wife Birgit.  They park their baby across from Madi and come to Malta several times a year to sail the Med. 

Last weekend they came for a sail to Sicily, giving me advice, sympathizing while leaning back and laughing as I varnish in the high heat, then kindly offer a good beer or two aboard their boat before they see me melt my way home. 

Per their promise, they then went home to tease and please me, keeping me posted of news, weather and local environs up north.

Here's a view from their window; a gorgeous garden, a jungle of beauty they call their backyard in Hamburg.  I sigh with wonder at what their eyes see, green with envy...

'bis bald', 'a presto', 'a bientot', soon...

 

Monday to Sunday countdown to sailing away....

Because I felt landlocked for so many months, this simply serves to enhance the elation I'm beginning to feel. Big Time. To see the ETD exist within this week, to decide the date of departure lives on top of my beloved Muv's date of birth simply makes it all the more meaningful.

We're just ripping thru our lists of lists.  The apartment is closing down nicely. We've inventoried the entire boat, serviced the engine, fuel filters, genset, fixing the sump pump, water-maker, servicing the outboard engine that sits on the back of our little red 'tinker'.  We're fixing stuff that need fixing, and stuff always needs fixing on a sailboat, but it's actually fun work, 'cept for the heat.  The humidity makes it feel like Hades, if it weren't so hot we could spend twice the time on MADI.

We're networking for crew, creating websites to outline the itinerary; http://www.madi.altinger.com and I'm just luving MADI...scrubbing, bleaching, applying teak oil and varnish to her everyday and each hour I work aboard my ticket to freedom I reacquaint myself with the past and the transatlantic voyage that brought us here 8 yrs ago.  I find clothing worn once upon a time, letters, notes, documents, books and phone numbers that gently rewind time and remind me of the blessed past that lived back then, as well as the future that awaits our new home, culture and way of life.

For the first time in years, we're gunna be cruising some of the most beautiful places on earth.  We did the Caribbean a decade ago, bought MADI and sailed from San Fran to Seattle.  We've cruised up North from Seattle to Canada many times....serene, green beauty and waterfalls surround, we were lucky to live there and sail up North. 

Back to the present and the gift that shall be Venice.

Yes, soon, La Serenissima but before, we can cruise Croatia's Dalmatian coast...it's supposed to be unspoilt and something else... the coast and Dubrovnik, one of the legs along the way...