Where is That Little Bonaparte.

Elba is about a 4-hour sail and we get there a little before 1pm. There is a sign on the gas station that tells us it does not open until 3:30. Not a surprise, Italy is known for not working much between 1 and 4. So we decide to break out lunch and kick back on the cockpit of the boat. We dine on a nice tossed salad, bar-b-qued chicken and calamari marinated in a sauce made from their ink that Victoria brought from Spain. Cheese and pears for desert complete the meal. If it sounds delicious, well it was. As we are eating, someone notices the sign says they do not reopen on Saturday during the off-season, so we are stuck there without being able to get any fuel. Well I guess we will worry about that tomorrow.

The town is like a lot of the small ports we have been in. Three story pastel buildings with shops and restaurants on the bottom floor surround the marina. Stone streets and marble curbs wander in some unplanned course. A brightly painted yellow church with its bell tower dominant the skyline and its ringing bells bind the community together. Teenage boys maraud around on their bikes. Shop keepers picking out your fruit for you so that you will not take their favorite peaches. And then of course the gellatoteria tempting us with my favorite “fruita de bosco” sorbets. It is a mixture of blackberries, raspberries and gooseberries and literally means fruit of the forest. So as I savor its taste, I envision young boys skipping through the forest harvesting wild berries all for my indulgence.

In the afternoon, Peter, Mike’s son and Afton, his girlfriend joins us. They have been traveling around Europe on Eurorail passes for the past two months. The boat is a welcome change from jostling trains and toting backpacks. We are glad to have them along. That evening, Mike treats us all do dinner at a local restaurant where we dine on local swordfish, octopus salad, pasta, grilled vegetables and steak. Early the next morning, we head to La Spezia and the Chinque Terra.