Taormina, perched high on the mountainside overlooking the sea, defines picturesque. A tourist mecca for years, the well maintained cobblestone streets are lined with restaurants and shops selling high-end clothing as well as the standard tourist souvenirs. Although crowded, the excellent people-watching compensates for the hassle of weaving your way through the throngs.

The star attraction as far as touring goes is, of course, the ancient Greek theater. With excellent views of the sea as well as Mount Etna looming in the background, the venue has hosted live performances for the past twenty-three hundred years.

When we saw a classical concert advertised for Thursday night, we jumped on the chance to buy tickets. We had planned to take off that evening anyway. We delayed our departure by a few hours in order to see the concert. We enjoyed the music and atmosphere tremendously, although keeping the girls awake listening to classical music for the entire repertoire proved too great a task, and we left at intermission.

Finding a cab to take us back down the hill after the show, we traipsed across the stone beach to the dinghy, hauled it back into the water, hopped in and ferried ourselves a few hundred yards to where Zia was waiting. As the girls snuggled into bed, we hauled up the dinghy, raised the anchor and headed east.

Thirty hours later we were rounding the boot heel of Italy, right into a twenty-knot breeze hitting us square on the nose. We beat into it for a few hours until we were able to make it into Otranto where we found an empty spot along the public seawall. Our timing was perfect as the Guardia Costiera had just asked four other boats who were tied up further back on the wall to move, making room for a big ferry scheduled to dock in a few hours.

The history of Otranto goes back a millennium. Republican Rome used it as a main port for trade with Greece and Asia Minor. One of the most famous episodes in the history of the town took place in 1480 when it was attacked by the Turks. All but 800 of its inhabitants were slaughtered. The survivors were promised their lives if they renounced Christianity. All refused. The bones of the martyrs are in the Norman cathedral. There is also an Aragonese castle that overlooks the port. Factor in Le Botte and top it all off with a nice beach exposed to the north, wide open to the waves rolling in off the Adriatic, and you have a pretty nice spot to hole up for three or four days.

Rafted up on the section available, we quickly met our new neighbors. All are here mostly by accident, waiting for the winds to calm down and allow them to continue on their travels. Some are bound for Greece, some Croatia, and others will remain in Italy.

Waiting out the weather in Otranto.

Throughout the weekend Zia bounced around alongside the dock, noisy and a little uncomfortable, but safe. The anchorage here is completely exposed to the wind and the waves so we were happy to be where we were, able to get off the boat without soaking ourselves in a wet dinghy ride to shore. The wind mellowed enough for us to get a good night's sleep last night but it is back up into the mid-twenties again. If the forecast holds true, we'll get the break we need to leave for Croatia.

In the meantime, we have found the best restaurant in Otranto. It is a fairly touristy town, although filled mostly with Italian tourists. Trying to find a good restaurant on Saturday after strolling around the old city, we found nothing that inspired us. We remembered a few spots on the walk back to the boat and decided to head that way. Outside the walled city, just as we started down the hill towards the port, we passed Le Botte. It was already getting crowded at quarter to eight and they asked if we had reservations when we inquired about a table. We figured that was an excellent sign and took a free table on the patio outside. Not very picturesque, with only a view of the street, but the pizzas make up for the lack of scenery. Watching the pizza man work a ball of dough into a perfectly round, thin circle just with his hands, spread just the right amount of tomato sauce and mozzarella over it, and then distribute the appropriate toppings was like watching an artist at work: a very prolific artist. He must craft hundreds of pizzas in one night, each and every one appreciated down to the last bite. It was so good that we went back again the next evening for our last meal in Italy for a while.