The name Marsala seems to give off a cheery sunny tone. One expects the sweet and tart flavour of the eponymous wine to set the tone in this large seaside city. Certainly Garibaldi thought enough of it to make this his first landfall in his campaign to unify the Italian states under one republic, And you can see ample sign about town in the form of statues and plaques to remind the visitor of this fact. Unfortunately non of this distract from the underlying sadness of this place. Our sense of being underwhelmed started at dockside where we were received by a lone elderly man who waved us onto a floating pontoon. Then left as soon as he arrived having made fast our cast lines. The sorry looking docks heaved with each swell that managed to creep past the breakwall. This sad state of affairs was amplified by our electrical hookup which could only managed a pallid 190 volts instead of the expected 220. This, off course, would mean no energy for our needy aircon!! That would just not do in 35 deg C heat and 100% humidity. Some words to the management got our electrical juiced up to 205 volts. Just enough to power our aircon and other systems. Despite making our dockside electrical hookup heat up to an alarming level.
After so many days on the hook we were bursting to get off swaying decks and onto terra firma. Of course, anyone who has sailed will know that even on dry land your mind continues to sway. You walk bow legged down the street expecting the pavement to heave and pitch at any moment. We made our way to the centre of town having to pass through the dreary outskirts of the city. This is when the sadness of this place really came to mind. So many of the buildings were in need of repair, many more shuttered and abandoned. Old boarded up shops with faded signs that spoke to a previous time when shopkeepers where busy and hopeful of customers.
As we made our way up the central artery of town, Via Roma, things brightened up with cafes and bric-a-brac shops. Tourist are mostly of the Italian variety, and I suppose one should not expect the usual clutch of Germans and Dutch that are always so distinct and visible. But even in heart of the old town, defined as always by a prominent church and steeple, things were a bit off. The rather large and baroque exterior to the basilica gave way to a plain and uninspired interior treatment. Suggesting that the locals ran out of money, or enthusiasm to spice up the religion inside.
This is a hot, dusty town with a humidity you can cut with an Italian breadstick. We schlepped along in midday heat and soon came to a rest stop in the shade of the basilica. The waiter must have seen the heat sweat dripping from our noses and provided perfectly cooled drinks and a snack.
Evening dinner was as at a pastvceria (pasta restaurant) and extraordinarily good gelato on the way back to the swaying boat.
