Ah, Cinque Terre—where the cliffs blush with terracotta and the sea sparkles like a sapphire in the sun. Five villages, each more postcard-perfect than the last, clinging to the Ligurian coastline like stubborn barnacles on a particularly scenic rock. When we last left off, Sawasdeekat had dipped her toes (or, more accurately, her hull) into Monterosso, the largest of the quintet. But Vernazza—oh, Vernazza—was the siren calling us next. 

Vernazza: The Village That Stole Our Hearts (And Almost Our Mooring)

Picture this: a harbour so quaint it looks like it was designed by a Disney imagineer with a penchant for gelato-coloured houses. Vernazza is the kind of place where even the seagulls pose for photos. The only catch? You can’t motor into the natural harbour. So, like two overgrown kids playing pirates, we killed the engine and rowed our dinghy in, trying (and mostly failing) to look dignified. 

From the water, Vernazza is a watercolour painting come to life. From the cliffs above? Even better. But let’s be real—the best view was ours, bobbing on the waves with a glass of Italian white in hand. Fun Fact: Vernazza’s name comes from the Latin vinea (vineyard), and its medieval roots are still visible in the Doria Castle, a 15th-century lookout that once kept pirates at bay. These days, the only invaders are Instagrammers who are arguably more relentless.

Corniglia, the middle child of the Cinque Terre family, sits smugly atop a 100-meter cliff, taunting sailors with its stairmaster-approved ascent. We skipped it (our thighs thanked us) and headed straight for Manarola—the village so photogenic it probably has its own Instagram filter. 

Manarola: Where People Throw Themselves Off Cliffs (For Fun!) Manarola is one of the most famous villages of the scenic Cinque Terre coastline. The village has a small harbor with a boat ramp, picturesque multicoloured houses facing the sea and a tiny piazza with seafood restaurants. This is the perfect place to spend a lazy day sunbathing and watching people jumping off the cliffs… which we did and loved it.

Its tiny harbour, rainbow houses and a piazza where the seafood is so fresh it might still be arguing with the chef. We spent the day doing what one does in Manarola: sunbathing, sipping wine, and watching lunatics (admirable, brave lunatics) hurl themselves off cliffs into the turquoise below. I, ever the daredevil, considered joining them. Pookie, ever the voice of reason, held me back with promises of more wine.  Talking of wine, Manarola’s vineyards produce Sciacchetrà, a sweet dessert wine so prized it was once used as currency!!

The last of the quintette is the delightful Riomaggiore which is a very small place, so small in fact that the anchorages are non existent and the mooring bouys as rocky as the Wild Mouse roller coaster in Blackpool (now sadly no more).. anyway because of that we pushed on to Pisa!

Pisa: Because No One Leaves Without a Cliché Photo

Ah, Pisa—home to boats and to one of the world’s most famous architectural oopsies and, apparently, a dress code enforced by people who’ve clearly never felt the Mediterranean sun on their bare shoulders. 

We arrived in Marina di Pisa with two missions: 

1. See the Leaning Tower (obviously). 

2. Eat gelato and pretend to hold up said tower (even more obviously). 

Mission one was a roaring success. The tower is every bit as gloriously lopsided as the photos suggest, like a drunk uncle at a wedding who’s this close to toppling into the cake. We joined the legions of tourists doing the classic “holding it up” pose... though in hindsight, we should’ve charged for our services. (If the tower’s still standing after 800 years, it’s clearly because of tourists like us.)  Fun Fact: The tower took 199 years to build, which is roughly how long it felt waiting for Pookie to pick the perfect filter for our photos. But did you know the tilt wasn’t part of the original blueprint? The soft ground got stage fright during construction, and by the time they reached the third floor, the tower was already doing its best impression of a drunkard mid-tango. Centuries of panic, counterweights, and soil extraction later, it’s still standing—much like me after Pookie’s experimental limoncello spritz phase. 

The Cathedral Catastrophe (Or: How Shoulders Caused a Scandal)

Now, the cathedral. A stunning Romanesque masterpiece of marble and medieval ego… with a strict “no bare shoulders” policy. Because nothing screams “holy sanctity” like policing women’s collarbones. Pookie, resplendent in her sun-worshipper’s attire (read: bright yellow and I think very fetching dress), was barred entry for the crime of "bear shoulders" and turned away at the door like a rogue peasant trying to sneak into a royal banquet. 

Guard: “Shoulders must be covered.” 

Pookie: “But it’s 30 degrees out here, and even the angels in your frescoes are half-naked!” 

(Its true! The cathedral’s pulpit is held up by literal sculptures of naked Hercules. The hypocrisy is palpable)

Guard: “Rules are rules.” (He was having none of it but clearly feared the power of Pookie’s naked clavicles.) 

Cue a frantic search for a shawl vendor, who, I’m convinced, is the real genius behind Pisa’s economy. In the end she asked me to just take a photo.. I half heartedly did and came out. One less visitor, They’ll miss our donation!!

Defeated by dress codes but not deterred, we consoled ourselves with trying to find a gelato the size of a small child and sat in the shadow of the tower, plotting revenge. 

Pookie: “Next time, I’m wearing a t-shirt that says ‘The Monks Were Randy.’” 

Me: “Or we sneak in dressed as columns.” 

We decided not to climb the tower either. The tower’s 294 tilting steps? Hard pass.. Instead, we soothed our woes with the aforementioned huge gelato so creamy it should’ve been illegal. Pistachio for her, Rum and Raisin for me, and not a single regret between us.  Sitting there as the sun set, we toasted to Italian bureaucracy and started walking back to the boat. As we did we knew the universal truth - that every holy site’s dress code was invented by someone who’d never tried to look chic in 90% humidity. 

The Great Starlink Scam (or, How I Paid €250 to Post a Dish to America)

Now, a brief interlude for a rant. Starlink. Oh, Elon I would have thought you’d realise that people move!!. I bought the dish in the UK, lugged it to Italy like a dutiful tech-sherpa, only to be greeted by an email informing me that unless I posted it back to Blighty—or, inexplicably, America—I’d be slapped with monthly connection fees so extortionate they’d make a Venetian gondolier blush. The only address they’d accept? Post it to Florida. So, I paid the €230 ransom and our satellite dish began its transatlantic voyage.  I drowned my sorrows in Pookie’s Pasta (no pun intended) and began drafting a strongly worded letter (OK Twitter post) to the universe about the absurdity of modern life. 

Isla di Elba: Napoleon’s Exile and Our Temporary Misery

We motored on south (because nothing says more about sailing than just driving a boat against the incredibly annoying headwind in the Med that literally points at you even if you do a 360).. Anyway a night in Baratti was terrible as it was so rocky that neither of us actually went to bed. We then quickly moved on and across the Tyrrhenian Sea (get you with your big words about unknown seas of the med). We then stayed a night in Elba which was sadly underwhelming and set off at dawn.

Lulled into false confidence by the weather app’s cheerful icons, within an hour, the waves had other ideas. The Mediterranean, usually so docile, turned into a washing machine on the “agitate” cycle and 30 knot headwinds punched Sawasdeekat like a boxer with a grudge. The rigging howled. The mast groaned. Pookie’s grip on the rail turned her knuckles white. 

“This isn’t in the brochure,” I muttered, wrestling the wheel like a overcaffeinated gondolier. 

We dropped the mainsail, but the wind just scoffed and redoubled its efforts. The horizon tilted. My stomach staged a mutiny. Even the seagulls looked concerned. “We’re turning back,” I announced, trying to sound authoritative and not like a man one wave away from crying. 

And so we arrived back in the bay, I swear our anchor’s new motto is “Why settle for once when you can explore the entire bay!” After we had limped into Spiaggia di La Cala, the anchor dragged and dragged and a dragged. Finally We laid out 25 meters of chain in 3.6 meters of water—enough to moor a battleship—and collapsed.    

Final Thoughts

Sailing isn’t just about the destinations—it’s about the misadventures between them. The storms that humble you. The hidden coves that reward you. The moments when you’re clinging to the wheel, questioning all your life choices, and then... the wind drops. The sun sets. Pookie hands you a glass of wine. And suddenly, it’s all worth it again.  

Until next time, keep looking on the bright side. Don’t miss the next episode!! Because we tell you about the BEST KEPT SECRET in ITALY.. shh!

Heath & Pookie