The last time I heard the phrase “General Strike” was probably during an O-Level History lesson some considerable number of years ago. However, in terms of the impact that these words had on me personally, I can assure you that the UK’s General Strike of 1926 paled into insignificance compared to the Italian General Strike of 2010.

The Kiriacoulis office in Grado had very kindly agreed to let us have our boat, a spankingly new Bavaria 47, a day early, so we had booked to fly out to Venice early on the Friday morning with BA out of Gatwick. When the email pinged up on my screen late on the Thursday afternoon cancelling the flight the air was blue with my “dissing”( I think it is junior speak for disrespecting), all BA cabin crew, their parentage, their children, children’s children etc, etc. Then, having calmed sufficiently to be able to read the next line of the email, it was revealed that the cancellation was solely due to an Italian General Strike to take place just for the one day, the one Friday that we happened to be wanting to travel to Italy. Blood pressure restored to near normal levels after a phone call to BA rebooked the flight for the Saturday lunchtime. The only alternative being to fly to Trieste which was going to take 11.5 hours!!!! With 2 hour stopovers in Milan and Rome, no thank you.
The BA flight was problem free and completely stress free compared to some of the less pleasurable flights we have had with some of the budget airlines, but at £142.50 return, it was money well spent. I had prearranged with the Grado office to have us collected at Venice by a minibus which was dutifully waiting to whisk us off. Normally we would have enjoyed the prospect of a train and bus trip to the Grado base but having already lost a day of our holiday, and having had some previous experience of Italian weekend train services, the 190 Euro fare between 5 of us seemed reasonable for a journey of over 100km.

The Grado marina is based just out of the town adjacent to a huge campsite. It has excellent facilities and just when we were wondering how to get into town to victual the boat we were informed of there being a very reasonable supermarket in the middle of the campsite. These campsites are very “together” and offer very good facilities all round, not in the least the restaurant where we ate on the Saturday evening. Great pasta, great steaks and a very drinkable house red for around 25 Euros a head. We probably shouldn’t have discovered the very pleasant bar after dinner which introduced us to the drink of the holiday, a very fine Mojito or three, or was it four, I can’t remember for some strange reason.
We set off early on the Sunday morning; after all it was to be a momentous day. It was to be the day that England was going to thrash Germany at football once again. My crew were keen that we should be tucked up in front of a big screen in Pula for the big game. It was a lovely start to the holiday. The wind picked up along with the sunshine. We soon had the sails set on a beam reach, heading south for Pula.

Of course that perfect wind never seems to last for long but it saw us on our way and we got to Pula just after lunch, in perfect time to avoid a crew mutiny. Straight back into our berth guided in by the marina staff who upon my touching terra-firma, immediately demanded our papers. No problem as I went to retrieve our passports and the ships papers that I had been shown back in the Grado office. I was now alone in a foreign country, deserted by my crew who had already taken their places in front of the nearest big-screen. Having been escorted to the marina office it was explained to me that we hadn’t been through immigration. Ah, I was beginning to realise that this probably wasn’t going to be an easy process. I then walked alone around the harbour to the Harbourmasters office to be sent on to the police station who kindly showed me the immigration office. Unfortunately the immigration officer was not for bribing. I then had to walk back around the harbour, wrench the crew from their front row seats in the bar where the football was well under way and return to the boat, slip our mooring, motor 400m across the harbour to the immigration post. Once there, I took passports and ships papers, as before, to the immigration officer who kindly stamped them, having not once even left his desk to look at the boat itself. I then returned to the harbourmasters office who thanked me kindly for our new papers and then advised me of a new “tourist tax” 300 Kn that was being imposed on visiting yachts. She pointed out that she was merely advising me of its existence and that maybe I would like to go away and think about it and should I remember later in the week, then I might pay. But should I forget, ho hum.

I returned to the immigration jetty to collect both boat and crew to motor the 400 meters back to our original berth, they returned to the big screen, but by then it was too late, even the seats at the back of the bar seemed to be too public for the humiliation that we were suffering at the feet of our eleven best men.

Pula is a big bustling town with over 3000 years of history centring on its Roman amphitheatre. Everywhere you look is a landmark of one description or another from the Triumphal Arch of the Sergi from the 1st century B.C., Hercules’ Gate and Twin Gates, the Temple of Augustus, Arena and Small Roman Theatre in the town centre. We dined that evening in the town square where every restaurant seems to have at least one person on the door endeavouring to gain your custom. Another good meal with a good selection of fresh fish for less than £30 per head.
Monday morning and we victualled from a local supermarket after having got some Croatian money from one of the many cash-points by the marina. Time to head further south. From the end of the Istrian peninsula into the “Land of a Thousand Islands”.

It was going to be the same for most of the week, bursts of cracking sailing broken with periods of motoring, but then it really is the sort of weather that I would expect in that part of the world, at that time of year. Fortunately our Bavaria 47 was just so easy to rig with her in mast reefing that hauling sails in or out was never a chore.

We got down to Mali Losinj, a day run of 41 nm, in the afternoon, having dropped anchor in a lovely bay just inside the main entrance to the harbour. My God the water was fresh to say the least. I think we were all expecting it to be a little warmer than the chattering teeth described. At least though it is good clear water, with an abundance of fish to be seen swimming about. A refreshing sight in this day and age of oceans stripped bare.

Mali Losinj is a busy tourist town with a lovely harbour to walk around and take in the sights and restaurants. Again, we were asked for our papers, but this time, no problem, all was in order. It was a gorgeous evening and we sat out at a harbour side bar for a beer before dining at the “Bistro Maritime”, a moderately cheap and cheerful establishment, but the food was fine and only £20 ph.

The next morning we left to further head south, stopping though at the fuel point just a few hundred meters outside of the marina complex. The islands are a vast sailing area but are not equipped with too many fuel stations, so it paid to top up now. We had somewhere to go. We were aiming to get right to the southern end of the Kornati National Park, to a place called Opat.

Opat was the furthest north that we had gone some years ago on a previous visit to Croatia. It is a fabulous spot, with an absolutely wonderful, if expensive restaurant. This is forgivable though when one is aware of the fact that simply everything has to be brought into this island, even the fire wood, and then all of the waste has to be taken away for disposal, all by boat. It was very interesting this time to approach Opat from the West as opposed to the south because whereas before we had thought that we were in very isolated spot. This time a different approach revealed the existence of several more bays with yachts moored close to small buildings, suggesting the presence of more restaurants. It is this barren rocky landscape that can really confuse the eye. It would appear that one is heading straight into a solid wall of rock, to the point of leaping below to check the plotter, then by nature of having moved no more than a couple of hundred meters suddenly some depth to the wall is revealed, suddenly the entrance to an inlet is exposed, an island separates from the mainland. I am not sure that it is an area that I would like to be navigating at night, without the use of a plotter. The visuals are just so confusing. It was worth the trip though. A long day of some 72 miles sustained by the ubiquitous Mrs F’s fruit cake we knew it would be worth it. The restaurant did not disappoint, and although the most expensive meal of the trip at £55 ph it was still worth every penny with an absolutely gorgeous Carpaccio of fish to start followed with a beautifully oven cooked John Dorey for the five of us to devour with some relish.

Having missed that first day our week was already flying by and it was time to start heading north again. We took the inshore route this time meandering up between the many, many islands and found our way to lovely little fishing harbour at Bozava. A m ere 41 nm for the day. Tying up against the stone harbour wall had us meeting the harbourmaster who wasn’t remotely interested in our papers but proceeded to chat to Kevin in French about where and what to eat that night. The facilities in Bozava amounted to an open-air shower on the jetty, but it served its purpose well. The supermarket had everything we needed and was open until 2000. Even without shore power, the UPRIGHT!! Fridge freezer on the Bavaria ran right through the night on batteries and always provided us with a copious supply of ice when required. What a joy that fridge was. No scooping out the soggy remnants of something indescribable from the bottom of the bottomless icebox at the end of the week, a real proper fridge. Heaven.

The Thursday was going to be a long sector as we had to do some miles to make up for our lost day. We slipped out of Bozava at day break to motor over an absolutely flat calm expanse of water. It was as beautiful as it was calm abut as the morning got under way the temperature just rose and rose. By the time we had passed Pula, this time to starboard, and we got into the marina at Rovinj it must have been mid to high thirties, a steaming hot afternoon. Rovinj is a big tourist centre within easy walking of the marina. There must be at least fifty restaurants to choose from but our eventual choice, the “Sidro” as selected by Pete, well, it was his birthday and it was a fine choice. We were presented with yet another fantastic seafood meal. Wonderful fresh fish, good house wine and far too much Grappa as a digestif, compliments of our host. Still only around £30 ph, which seems to be pretty much rule of thumb for five guys having a good meal pretty much wherever.

At least the long haul on Thursday had only left us with around 40 nm for the return to Grado. A leisurely cruise up the very northern Croatian coastline, somewhat flatter than the rocks of the islands. We dropped anchor for a swim and lunch just shy of the border with Slovenia. I couldn’t face the thought of any more paperwork. Then we motored back across the Bay of Trieste and into the marked channel for the marina only to promptly run aground on the first turn. 3.8 meters suddenly became 1.3. “Don’t worry about it” I was assured back in the office, “We are always dredging but the sand just keeps coming back”. I liked his laid back approach. It was too hot for anything else but. Our final night in the campsite was pretty much a repeat of the first and just as good.

We broke our journey home with a whistle stop tour of Venice. St Marks Square, the Bridge of Sighs, a Bellini in Harry’s Bar and pizza in front of the Rialto Bridge in under two hours finishing with a water taxi ride back to the airport. What a great way to finish a superb week. A full throttle blast across the lagoon in my quickest taxi ride ever. I love Italy and I love Croatia. This charter gives one the ideal opportunity to be able to enjoy both.

Ross Farncombe 23/07/2010