Leaving this venue on Saturday; having enjoyed a second visit just as much as the year before last. It floats my boat and gets a vote as the most fascinating destination of all those places Helen and me have visited over the many years of travel together. A place where we find it easy to park and forget the Morgan for the whole duration of our stay, and soak up the maritime atmosphere, day after day in a dozen different ways. The street market, the festival. The fast food bars. The bewildering choices of dish on paper platters. I have not enjoyed filleted sardines with frits quite so much as here sat beside the fishing boats.
Sottomarina is where our room is located, sandwiched between the harbour and a wide beachfront spit. A fifteen minute walk links across two road bridges to the island.
The tendency towards thinking all should visit our Shangri La is one of those failings common enough that no apology need be made here. With Venice on the doorstep and such welcoming people, well fed on a rich diet of fish and sunshine, and somewhere to hopefully return to. Packing up the Morgan, front suspension freshly greased and tank fuelled, we head for Castellan in a few hours time. Sadly we will miss the height of the Fisherman's Festival. Street party tables set out and costume dressed diners are seen enjoying the mediterranean diet. I am offered a taster, gratis free from a stall holder, of Grilled sardines - plus a plastic cup of the most enjoyable wine tasted for a long long time. I donated a couple of euros and earned myself an extra sardine.
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A parade through town, a few sardines, a glass of wine and Helen for company |
