Our upcoming sojourn unfolds in the quaint island town of Carloforte, nestled along the southwest coast of Sardinia. The nautical traverse from this charming enclave to the port of Mahon in the Balearic Islands of Spain spans approximately 270 nautical miles, a two-day odyssey by conservative approximation. Fortune may favor us with a swift breeze, shortening the journey. Our immediate destination, however, is the island of San Pietro.
The itinerary unfolds with a sequence of endeavors: provisioning, a leisurely saunter through the town’s labyrinthine streets, an evening repast, and a brief respite. As the midnight hour approaches, we unfurl our sails, setting a course for the port of Mahon. While an extra day of repose here would be ideal, the captain, with purposeful intent, opts for a more expedient passage. The reasoning becomes apparent – conserving time for a restful interlude before the impending regatta, coupled with the imperative task of acquainting himself with the newly assembled crew.
Carloforte marks our final port on Italian shores, with Spain looming on the horizon. Bruno, confronted with the prospect of departure, releases a discernible sigh, seeking solace in two glasses of wine and a shot of grappa. My leisure time proves scant; night watch duty beckons. The evanescent views of Carloforte captivate our senses. Home to a modest populace of around 6,000, it transcends the conventional definition of a town, assuming the character of a seaside hamlet. Established in 1738 by King Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia, the town venerates its founding monarch with a monument gracing the promenade – an enduring emblem of its historical roots.
Carloforte’s denizens trace their lineage to Tabarka, a diminutive island settlement off Tunisia’s coast, once a Genoese colony. Families relocating to San Pietro transplanted the essence of Ligurian language, customs, and culture. Presently, the island’s residents zealously preserve the cultural tapestry woven by their forebears. Our fleeting evening interlude permits a meandering exploration through the town’s narrow, deserted thoroughfares, an architectural mosaic steeped in uniqueness. Though museums and cathedrals remain veiled in nocturnal closure, the ambience remains enriched by overheard conversations drifting through open windows.
A dinner rendezvous unfolds at a nascent restaurant, primarily catering to cooking and delivery, yet offering al fresco tables. The culinary duo, a husband at the stove and his wife orchestrating service, present a menu adorned with culinary delights – chicken tobacco, stuffed peppers, dumplings, and the quintessential Olivier salad. Curiosity leads to an inquiry about their origins – a local husband complemented by his Polish wife. Subsequently, a serendipitous encounter with a Michelin-starred establishment unfolds during our nocturnal ramble. A notion surfaces; the charm of this venerable town encapsulates a community residing on lands bequeathed by a king nearly three centuries past, with his monument serenely gracing the main promenade. Occupying ancestral abodes, the residents persist in timeless pursuits – the fisherman ply the trade of catching fish, the cook expertly crafts culinary delights. In the relentless momentum of our age, such inertia appears a marvel – a testament to a life unfolding at its own unhurried pace. Indeed, a spectacle of wonder!
