Our insistence on docking Aisling with her bow forward instead of using the more typical stern-to approach often causes consternation for the guys who take our lines. In Pantelleria the confusion is even greater than usual. The man on the dock whistles, shouts and repeatedly signals that we should turn around and back in, while I shout back "Non possiamo!" (We can't!). It's fairly obvious that a pretty significant language barrier is in play, but the senore knows how to solve it. Whistling over his shoulder in the direction of the boatyard, he shouts "Generale! Generale!" A gaunt, weather-beaten man appears, wearing a light button up shirt with epaulets on the shoulders, a captain's hat and a jaunty ascot at his throat. After clearing up our communication problems, he invites us over for a visit. "I'm Kapitan Trutz." he says. "Come on over to my boat and I'll tell you what to do in Pantelleria. But it's got to be tonight. I'm in my office at the bar Goloso on the waterfront by 10 o'clock every morning."

As we tidy up our lines and wash away the filth that the lazy line had deposited on our newly polished hull, we hear a familiar voice drifting over the wall from the vicinity of Kapitan Trutz's boat. It's Aaron, a likeable young American that we'd met as he walked the docks in Monastir trying to hitch a ride to Malta. Not being too keen on the idea of taking a complete stranger to sea with us (not to mention the complications of clearing in to the EU with an extra passenger aboard) we'd felt it just as well that we'd already ruled out the idea of a side-trip to Malta. But here was Aaron, clearly not in Malta, settling in for a chat with Kapitan Trutz. Eventually, he appears at our bow.

"I finally found a French boat that was going to Malta" he says, "but I couldn't believe my rotten luck when they changed course and headed for Pantelleria!" Still, he seems quite relieved to be out of Tunisia, having had a spot of trouble with the police when he left. "I was stupid enough to rattle off a few sentences in Arabic and to admit that I'd spent time in Pakistan and Saudi. And they didn't like that I'd stayed in Tunisia for eight months." Say what? "Yeah well, I was out of money and it's cheap to live there. I just hung out in hot spots working on the internet until I got together enough money to leave." Now he wants to get to Sicily as fast as possible, and fortunately it sounds like the French boat will be taking him there. He encourages us to drop in for a visit with Kapitan Trutz. "I think he's pretty lonely" he says.

We're exhausted, but we pack a few cans of cold beer into a grocery bag and make our way around the wall and into the boatyard. Kapitan Trutz is clearly delighted to see us. Thankfully, there's no need for us to climb the ladder to his boat, because he has set up a ramshackle seating area near the stern, with a plastic table and three lawn chairs. Some dejected-looking potted plants sit on the table. Motown music blasts from speakers above us. A black kitten, wearing a red collar, runs nimbly up and down the ladder. The whole arrangement smacks suspiciously of permanence. In fact, by the look of the torn sails, ripped and ragged lifeline netting and old lines lying around forlornly, it's been many years since this boat has seen the water. Oddly, our host refuses to tell us his first name. "Call me Kapitan" he says "or just Trutz".



He thanks us for the "pane liquida" (liquid bread) and tells us so many tall tales that we're sure his nose is growing. He normally lives aboard his boat (Avangor) in the port at Scauri, which is really not a port. He is here in the yard to have work done on his motor. He once lived with Bob Marley for 3 months. Gerard Depardieu is a drinking buddy and good friend. Yes, that Gerard Depardieu. Madonna is "over" and has left the island for good. He can sell us the best wine on the island for a mere pittance. No labels, but it's the best. Actually, the wine comes from Gerard Depardieu's vineyard. There's absolutely no need for us to check in with the Guardia Costiera. No, it doesn't matter that we are Canadians and that our last port of call was Tunisia. "No one controls you here'" he says "and you don't want to wake the sleeping lion". We take it all with a grain of salt. But there's something endearing about how anxious he is to help us. So we agree to meet him at his "office" for coffee the next morning. That's when we discover that most of what he's told us is actually true.

But first, we decide we'd better go to visit the office of the Guardia Costiera, where hopefully no sleeping lions await us. The officers are pleasant and welcoming, but it's pretty obvious that few boats check in here. The records of our arrival (and simultaneously, of our departure) are carefully copied by hand into logbooks that are completely devoid of other entries. We're happy to be able to check in and check out at the same time. Now we won't have to come back here in the morning. But we do have to go visit the Carabinieri to get our passports stamped. Will this be the sleeping lion?

At the Carabinieri station, it's fairly obvious that the men are arguing among themselves about who will tackle the challenge of communicating with us. They also seem to be having computer problems, and we're asked to leave the passports with them and return later. I hate when that happens. But we don't have much choice, and if you can't trust the Carabinieri who can you trust? So we leave our passports with them, and head out to meet Kapitan Trutz.

We find him right where he said he would be, sitting at a table in front of the bar Goloso on the waterfront, with a brass plaque that says "Posto di Capitano Trutz" mounted on the window behind him. It's now 11.30 and he's moved well past the coffee stage. The Kapitan and his friend Jacky have tall bottles of Nastro Azurro in front of them, but we opt for cappuccino. Jacky chats away, apparently oblivious to the fact that we can understand only a fraction of what he is saying. Which is really too bad, since he's telling us the story of how the Kapitan ended up staying in Pantelleria. He mentions that the Kapitan's boat used to be moored beside Gerard Depardieu's in Scauri. He also tries to convince us to stay longer in Pantelleria. "No, no, one day will not be enough!"

The Kapitan has everything organized for us. "I've arranged for you to rent a car from my friend" he says. "It will say Switzerland on the front. Twenty five euros for the day. Just walk back in the direction you came from and stop at the place with the big wheel mounted on the wall. Ask for Franci. She's my girlfriend." He hands us a brochure and a few maps, and points out the places we should visit. It's all falling into place. We walk down the road and find Franci, who is a beautiful young woman. The probability of her actually being the Kapitan's girlfriend seems pretty remote, but we give her 25 euros and she gives us the car keys. No paperwork. We are told to leave the car behind the building and hide the key when we are finished with it.

And we're off! We're not exactly riding in style. The car is dirty and cluttered. It has no air conditioning and no door handles. The brakes are bad and the clutch is worse. But the island is small and even Rick won't be able to get up any speed on these roads.

We manage to have a pretty decent tour of the island in less than five hours, including a stop for lunch in Tracino. To our surprise, it is initially quite foggy (Oh please, let it not be foggy tomorrow when we have to pass through the traffic zone on our way to Sicily...)



But the fog eventually burns off, allowing us to see the stunning views that are around every corner. My favourite place is the "Arco dell Elephante", where the rock formation looks like an elephant bending to drink from the water.






We drive past acres and acres of vineyards, and fields where the famous pantelleria capers are grown. The countryside is dotted with "dammuso", the characteristic local houses (introduced by the Arabs) with thick stone walls and domed roofs.





We see Neolithic funeral mounds called Sesi.



We stop at Lago di Venere but we do not swim, nor do we rub ourselves in volcanic mud.



Back in Pantelleria town, we reclaim our passports from the Carabinieri and then cool off with gelato in a small bar on the waterfront. The town is not exactly picturesque, although it might once have been, before it had the misfortune to have the Allies bomb the heck out of it during WWII (a consequence of the dubious privilege of having been the site for a German base). We try to visit the Castello Barabacane, which supposedly has interesting exhibits, but can't seem to find a way in, so we go back to the boat to regroup. No sign of the Kapitan.

That night, we have a delicious meal at Il Cappero, where the waitress immediately brings us two pieces of the most delicious bruschetta we have ever tasted. We share a plate of seafood antipasti and a Napoli style pizza, which are equally delicious. With a bottle of Pantelleria wine, the bill is 30 euros, and we are given the leftover wine and a loaf of bread to take away with us. When we return to the dock, all is in darkness at Kapitan Trutz's boat. We're disappointed that we won't have a chance to say goodbye. Maybe he does have a girlfriend after all.

Jackie had been right; Pantelleria is worth more than a one-day visit. But we are paying 50 euros a night in a place that is not very pleasant, and tomorrow's weather forecast looks perfect for a sail to Sicily. We will leave the next morning at first light. Maybe we'll be back some day though.

When we eventually get back to Sicily, and a decent internet connection, we do some research and discover that "Trutz" means "Defiance" in German. Maybe there is more to this story. We also read several articles about Trutz, which say that he sailed in to Pantelleria, fell in love with it, and didn't want to leave. We can understand why. If you look at the photos in our gallery, we think you will too.