Brindisi Brindisi Brindisi

Oh where to start... There is so much to share and our posts have fallen behind. Brindisi the town we wanted to avoid, ended up a weather retreat for 3 nights! A gritty industrial town, naval base and ferry terminal, it was not putting on a pretty face for the turistis. The U.N. humanitarian relief depot that greeted us in the harbor was out first clue that like the little old Italian grannies everywhere, Brindisi had seen better days.

In the first marina we stopped at, Fabio the man on the dock, discouraged us from docking as he huffed and puffed and said it was "impossible" to dock here. His plucked and painted on eyebrows added emphasis to his effeminate exclamation. When we pleaded, "Just one night" he exasperatedly sighed and told us to go over "there." When we got "there" it was so tight a fit that we'd have to wiggle our stern in back and forth just to squeeze between two other boats. Once we refused the berth he gave us a laugh and a shrug throwing his hands into the air. ~Cynthia

We were however directed by a camouflage adorned boater who led us to the "Portico Turistico" where we were able to fuel and moor. Being that it was off-season the facility felt abandoned and sad with a little cafe open for a few hours a day. Communication is not easy as most locals know little English. At the cafe Terry gets through giving his best Starbucks inspired order, "latte grande," he ends up with a tall glass of warm milk.

Brindisi offered us the chance to do some laundry and do some shopping. Mary and Terry went out and experienced the nightlife. Terry saw a bar called Big Ben and thought if there were going to be any English speakers it would be at a bar called Big Ben. As luck would have it they met Michael Parsons. When asked if he spoke English Michael replied, "Fuck yeah." as it turned out he was as happy to find English speakers as we were. He had been in Brindisi for 10 weeks on business and was leaving in a couple of days. Mary posed for a picture with him. We also visited a bar called John Martins.

Earlier in the day Mary and Terry went shopping in town while Serge and Cynthia hunted down boat parts and a computer/printer with an Internet connection. Or as Cynthia puts it, "While Mary dragged Terry out in the driving rain before breakfast to shop for a dress! I on the other hand, got to go shopping for a ball valve in a boatyard."

Mary ended up buying a beautiful red Italian Chanel outfit and Terry got a wool jacket. They also had an authentic Italian meal.

On the bus we were treated to a show. The Mole vs. The Bus Nazis. The Mole was a lady with a very large and long mole on her chin which sported several wiry grey hairs. Very similar to one you would find on the chin of a witch. This mole seemed so large we wondered if it had to have its own bus fare. Then the two uniformed ticket wielding Bus Nazis boarded the bus. They began randomly shaking down the riders to view their stamped tickets. The shorter Bus Nazi approached The Mole. She became indignant and the Bus Nazi pulled out his citation book. Of course, not being able to comprehend Italian gave us no clear understanding to the content of their exchange, but it either she was cited for not paying the fare for herself, her mole, or quite possibly both.

As soon as there was a break in weather we set sail to the town of Otranto.