We had booked a place at one of the marinas on the Tiber itself. At its mouth, the river (Tevere in Italian) is called the Fiamare Grande. This distinguishes it from the Fiomicino canal which cuts through the back of this cape and joins the river further inland. We have read of many boats which have wintered in the canal, but we had not been able to get a place there. Also it is very close to Fiomicino Airport, and, although we had not seen it commented on, thought that would be unpleasant.
This lighthouse is now out of use, showing how little large shipping now uses ports on this coast. There is a big ship anchorage, and some offshore platforms, in the vicinity, but inshore it's only small fishing boats and pleasure craft.
Entering the river is very straightforward in calm weather. There was a red beacon marking the channel, and we saw least depth 6.3m. The banks are lined with substantial shacks and fishing gantries, but its not an impressive riparian entrance to such a great city, more its neglected back door. Rather like London's attitude to the Thames in that respect!
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Another two miles south is this headland, which is adorned by these splendid modernist houses.
We had a fantastic, gentle sail much of the 25nM south to the Tiber. Cruising chute up, a steady 4 knots, flat sea, warm sun. A great last passage of the season.
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We were going to go into Civitavecchia harbour and take our chances in the yacht basin. But the pilot book describes them as noisy, crowded and very hot. We couldn't raise anyone from the harbour on the VHF, and quailed at the port full of ferries, liners, container ships and the like. So we turned our tired bows the two miles further south into the modern marina at Traiano.
This was the first ordinary marina we'd entered since Genoa. Showers! Washing machines! Most of all, lots of attentive help with the berthing. We're not used to that, the usual British way being to let you get on with it. Of course, you must have some help here often, as there is no way to get your bow lines onto the rings on the quay without help. But here, they come and nudge your stern and help you haul the mooring line out of the water onto the aft cleat - as well as having someone on the quay. They were astonished in the morning when we simply let go our lines and left our slip without any help!
Still - it helps to justify the off-season charge of 50 euros!
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This is the smallest visitable island, and the furthest south. The picture shows the northern tip, where there is a small anchorage. We went round it, trying to keep outside the protected Zone 1 area, where navigation is prohibited. Our target was Cala Spalmatoi, shown as a well-protected inlet in the eastern coast.
The Cala is indeed well protected, but has not only mooring buoys but a ferry dock. Not much room for bigger boats, though a small yacht could pick up one of the buoys. Outside the inlet itself, the water is very deep, almost all over 25m and in many areas over 30m. Although quite a few boats were there when we arrived, many left, presumably with only enough scope for a lunchtime stopover. Despite our 80m of chain, we struggled to find a good spot where it was shallow enough to anchor but we felt far enough off the rocks, particularly given a forecast north easterly. In the end the best place was in the south of the bay, at a spot marked in the pilot book at Cala Volo di Motte. Here we found a ridge of less depth, about 20m, which was much more manageable. Along with six other yachts we had a pleasant, still evening in a gentle north westerly.
Shortly after dark, the wind came round towards the east. So long as it stayed far enough north that our bows pointed not more than 035 degrees, we were comfortable. Any further and the swell came round the point, and the boat started pitching. With memories of our CQR dragging very quickly in pitching waves at Villefranche last year, we were both a bit nervous as the bows rocked up and down. But the new anchor held absolutely solid although the night. The wind never got above a force four (about 18knots), but the pitching swell made everything less than relaxing.
When the dawn came, we saw the three of our companions had gone: the big superyacht had left about 2300. The two smaller boats (both less than 27 foot, who had been our neighbours in Giglio) had wisely retreated into the Cala itself. By 0900 everyone was yawning on deck, pulling up anchors and scattering to look for more restful places.
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This is the stern line. The water is so clear, it's hard to tell how deep it has become - an additional frightener when the ferry is looming above the decks!
The town itself is very sweet but very touristy. Lots of over-priced restaurants. Above the port is a walled village, dating back to when this island was ruled from Aragon. Unfortunately we didn't get there. On Saturday morning, we were told we had to leave, as a big fishing festival and competition was being held that day and the harbour was full. What's more, we had to be gone by 1100, as yet another ferry would be using the quay. That cut our time short, but we hope to go back another time and see more of the island.
We had been pronouncing Giglio with two hard 'g's - a laughing island. In fact, both are soft, making it more like Jeelio, which is Italian for lily. We left the island of the laughing flowers for Isola Giannuttri, just 12 miles south.
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