On board S/Y Bushido
I changed my mind about going to Capri. Apparently no heterosexuals are allowed on the island during August, so I turned to starboard and headed for Sardinia. The last time I was there I was in my early fifties, my children were in school, and I was running after someone who is now in her late forties. Oh and, yes, I almost forgot, the Sardinian waters were as clean and clear as they get. No longer. The first mega-monster I crossed was the ghastly Abramovich stink pot, a humungous bad-taster whose personality reflects that of its Russian owner. No wonder the Sardinian sea now resembles Blackpool.
Mind you, not all stink pots are the same. The Virginian, owned by that Bamford fellow, has gracious lines for a modern mega-yacht, and, from looking at it, its owner is obviously a gent. The rest, however, fugget-aboutit. Sardinia is cool because of the winds. Ernesto Bertarelli, the current holder of the America’s Cup, chose to defend his title, and successfully at that, in Valencia, but in my opinion Sardinia would have made a more exciting venue. Racing under light winds gives technology the upper hand, and the slightest mistake counts as major, whereas under strong ones the human element kicks in.
The Porto Cervo Yacht Club sponsors racing almost year round, and this year it celebrated its 40th anniversary. This is a good club with which the Gstaad Yacht Club enjoys reciprocal privileges, although I stayed anchored in a bay and never made it to port. I used to love tying up and chatting people up while drinking on board. That was back in the good old days when one used to know the majority of yacht owners. Marinas were not crowded, there was no loud music, and generators were turned off at dusk.
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