As for my trip, I did it, as long as I’m flexible about what ”it” is.  And I feel really good.
All that was left for me to do was get my boat home.  I contacted a lot of shipping companies online that promised free 24 hour quotes.  Only one got back to me.  I also called a couple of airlines, and getting through to one of them found wonderful news.  They would let me take my boat with me for a charge of 80 euro as sporting equipment.  I stressed that the boat was very long, 549 cm, and was assured that it would be no problem.

I think that if you assure somebody of something, and turn out to be wrong, they should be allowed to punch you in the jaw really hard.  If they’re not strong, they should be allowed to find someone to punch you for them.

I was doing this research from a cozy youth hostel I found in Naples, where I also made friends with a couple of fellow travelers.  Like me, they were low budget adventurers, and I’d like to think our souls bonded. Jack and Jill would come with me to the airport in a rental car to help me with onsite logistics.

Q: Dov, I heard you have this great blog.  Can you tell me what it’s about?

A: It’s about people, good and bad.  It’s about deeds, kind and apathetic.  It’s the story of what happened to me when I stepped outside the lines, and found a different place.

The car that I could find to rent for the day, after walking from four rental places that were out of cars, only had stick shift.  I drove a stick for a little bit about seven years ago.  I drove through the streets of Naples to my boat.  It was really close.  I only stalled about five times and took one wrong turn.

Driving in Naples was the most dangerous thing I had done on my trip.  Things like lanes, street signs, pedestrians, and other cars are ignored by the drivers of Naples as they would figments of their imaginations.  The rest of Italy is only a little better.

Later Jack and Jill showed up, we got food for the day, loaded my boat on the car and were off.  Jill had a stick shift at home, so she was willing to drive.  My job was to navigate and tell her that she should try not to be too intimidated by the killers on the road.  Jack kept track of the kayak and the makeshift racks.  It was a good thing too, because he was first to notice when it was shifting dangerously.  We stopped, fixed it, and were back on the road.

”The only thing I’m really scared of going wrong is that we’ll show up at the airport and they won’t let me take my boat.”  A similar thing had happened to me once before with a bicycle.

”What will you do then.” asked Jill.

”umm”

”I think he’s under enough pressure without that sort of question.” said Jack.

I had an answer.  ”Cry, maybe.”

By some miracle, we survived the Roads of Death, arriving at the airport in good shape.  Jack and Jill began securing the boat for transit as I went to find out where to bring it.  I waited in 1,000 lines, and then some more for a supervisor to get back to the woman at the ticket counter.

After a few hours I was told unequivocally, “No.”  My kayak could not come with me, I would have to leave it behind.  No, I could not get my money back.

What to do? where to go?  I remembered that Ostia was near the airport and that the LNI there was very kind to me.  I looked into renting a car, it would be expensive.  I tried to get a cab, but nobody wanted to take my boat.  It was explained to me that the police didn’t let people have anything on the roof of their car that extended beyond the front or back.

“Would I be willing to pay the 2000 euro fine?”  One cab driver asked me.

“Yes.”  I tried.

Too bad, he wouldn’t take me anyways.

Then there was one cab driver that was interested.  He said he would take me the 15 kilometers.  So Jack and Jill and I got all of our stuff up the hill over to where he was, since he wouldn’t drive through the departure area.  He took a look at the boat and said “No” again, despite the fact that I told him how long it was in advance.  But another cab driver was also interested and began calling cabbies he knew with large vans that might be willing.  Finally, after I finished saying goodbye to Jack and Jill,  he took me himself.

The LNI was closed, so I found an out of the way place to leave my boat and planned to sleep under an awning for the night.  I found in my pocket a single old piece of paper, folded and faded.  Barely legible was the name and phone number of the vice president of the Ostia LNI.  When his phone rang, he dropped what he was doing and came.

A: So yes, I would definitely like to think that my blog is about good people.

I want to thank all of them.  All the people I met on the way who helped me.  I don’t remember a lot of your names, but I remember you faces.  I remember your welcoming smiles and kind words of encouragement.  I remember the warmth and care that you gave me.  Thank you, so very very much.

Thank you KayakDov team:

Ben my brother and editor.  Rachee for all the amazing help with the pictures.  Mom and Dad who despite their claim that they would provide me with no assistance whatsoever, gave me overseas logistical support.  And Toby, who was instrumental with the cool logo.

Thank you John from Kayak East, and Boyan from Epic.  Both of you were very helpful in many ways and I hope that my readers seek you out when looking for relevant services.  You both did great jobs above and beyond what one would expect from commercial enterprises.

Thank you DTBH and YPRC for your help in training over the summer.

Thank you friends and family who contributed gear and cash to my trip, as it happens, I’m finishing with no spare change so every cent counted.

And finally, thank you, the reader, for taking the time to read my words.  In your reading, I was a little bit less alone.  I hope you enjoyed my story.  Keep your eyes open for other adventures of mine over the next few decades.  If I have my way, there will be more.

Dream big and follow your dreams to where ever they may take you.  I think you’ll like it there.

Sincerely,
Dov

Finito.

A couple more posts will follow.

Today I paddled to Pozzuoli. While at first the scenery wasn’t exciting, the weather has continued to be warm, sunny, and almost without wind.

I passed a small orange hill that had a tunnel leading into it. There were a number of rocks coming out of the water near the entrance to the tunnel, so I had to proceed very carefully to avoid them. The cave itself was a couple of meters wide with a very high ceiling.

As I paddled in I was pushed by waves that picked up strength when forced into the narrow passageway that weaved, turned and got thinner, before a light ahead gave way to an opening. I passed through the mountain and came out the other side into a stream bed.

I paddled up it a little ways then tried to turn around, but couldn’t. The way was so narrow that I couldn’t even turn around, so I paddled into the turbulent tunnel backwards, out the way I came. The only times I hit the walls were when I stopped to try to take pictures.

The rest of the day I paddled by islands and around large colorful cliffs with lookout towers and castles ready to defend against pirates. At least, they were probably ready 500 years ago. I explored four more caves, and passed others by. The last one was also a tunnel and turned out to be a shortcut through a mountain.  My day ended crossing a bay.

I was paddling near two sailboats when a larger ship came hurtling through. There was no way he didn’t see the sailboats and me, and being a more maneuverable vessel then ours, we had the right of way. But the big boat didn’t care and came straight at us from behind.

As I turned 90 degrees and scurried to get out of his way I took a moment to share my feelings with the pilot. From his lofty place up high in the ship he wouldn’t have been able to hear me. But convinced as I was that he could see me, I hope he could also see the salute I gave him, one from each hand.

Tomorrow I finish my trip in Naples.

* It wouldn’t be funny.  Your mother has been calling me. ~ ed.

Saturday night the club was throwing a party for the president.  He had just returned from an attempt to cross from Africa to America on an extremely small double hulled sailing boat, no cabin.  Had he succeeded he would have been the first, but far out in 30 knot winds his boat went over and his mast broke.  He activated his EPIRB and was picked up by a freighter.

Sunday was a bad weather day.

Day 59 (Monday):

Today I paddled to Anzia.  The vice president of the club came to see me off.  While making my beach launch I waited for a lull in the waves, and then put my boat down so that I would be taken out to sea when the waves picked up again.   Hopefully by then I would have my sprayskirt on and be ready, but it was not to be.  The VP, noticing that I was sitting in my boat on the sand messing around with my skirt thought that I needed a hand and gave me a shove off.  It was nice of him to try to be helpful, but without my skirt ready I took on a bunch of water while pushing through the breaking waves.  Oh well.

Once out I tried to lower my rudder.   It wouldn’t come down, sand must have gotten stuck in it.  I paddle fine without a rudder, but I paddle faster with one.  There were twenty miles ahead of me, I wanted it down.  Not excited about the prospect of another beach landing and takeoff, I sat and thought.  With the sun shining wonderfully I decided it was perfect weather for deep sea style repairs.

I set up my paddle float and began inching my way onto my rear deck towards the very end.  While the extra stability from my paddle float was enough to support my shenanigans in the center of the kayak, as I got to the end, the deck of the boat began to drop below the surface of the water and the kayak began to take some water into the cockpit as the bungees failed to sufficiently hold the makeshift outrigger in place.

In other words, as such, my plan wasn’t working.  I rolled off the deck into the water.  It was cold, but not unbearably so.  If all went well I’d be back in my boat in no time.  I positioned myself next to the rudder and tried to pull it down.  It wouldn’t move.

I don’t keep much gear on my deck, but I do have pliers and I put them to use.  The rudder was down in a moment and I climbed back into my boat.  Lessons learned, inflate both sides of the paddle float and not just one, attempt to wedge the paddle under the non bungee deck lines, and extend the paddle to its maximum length for best results.

Back on my way I was cold, but soon warmed up with the exertion of paddling.

Late in the afternoon I passed some ancient ruins.  I think I’m learning to distinguish between middle age ruins and Roman ruins, but I’m not sure.  Anyway I thought that these were Roman.  Aside from some dilapidated structures, there were large caves through a peninsula cliff, allowing one to look through it to the other side.  It was cool.

As I entered the port in the evening I passed the usual group of fishermen.  I couldn’t help but think bad thoughts at them, which probably makes me a bad person since it is unlikely that these are the same fishermen as the dozens of others who have done me harm on this trip.

Tonight I’m staying with the welcoming LNI here in Anzio.

Wednesday I ate breakfast, got ready to paddle, and puked. It looked like it would be another bad stomach day, so I sat in a comfy chair, watched Pulp Fiction among other movies on my computer, and managed to avoid moving unnecessarily for the next 24 hours. In the evening I forced myself to eat, which wasn’t easy.

Day 58 was a force to be reckoned with. The plan was to kayak from the Lega Navali in Santa Marinella (42.036273,11.87223) to the next Lega Navali, in Ostia(41.718111,12.301828). It would be a distance of about 30 nautical miles of coast, and on account of a strong headwind, I would be sticking close to the coast.

Even on the coast, though, my progress was slow. Moving into the headwind and the oncoming surf I passed by waterfront towns in the outskirts of Rome.

After a nature reserve I heard shooting above me. It wasn’t the first time; I also thought I heard shooting next to the airport in Genova. I didn’t think anybody was shooting at me, they say that if a bullet passes very near you, you can hear it whiz by. While I have been shot at plenty of times,* I’ve never heard the whiz of someone aiming for my head and just barely missing. Either way, no whiz, no visible shooter, I figured I’d be fine.

The Military dressed man on the beach who stopped me probably didn’t think so. I brought my boat as close as I risked and he told me I couldn’t paddle any further. I parked on the beach and got out. A sniper was practicing in a range and the coast was closed five miles out. I guess he wasn’t a very good sniper, if they were worried he might accidentally hit passing mariners up to five miles out. No, I was used to such rules, there are plenty of them in Israel.

I waited about half an hour and then was back on my way. There were a number of places I passed on my way and at each one I considered whether or not to stop. I was expected in Ostia some time between 7:00 and 9:00. If it looked like I wouldn’t make it in time, I would stop, call ahead, and finish tomorrow.

To stay out of the headwind I was paddling very close to the beach. The closer to the beach I got, the less current and headwind were against me. Considering this, and how many times before I’ve been in the same situation, it’s strange that I hadn’t until now accidentally washed up on shore. It was annoying. With my starboard side to the beach I was not at all in a position to launch. I tried anyways, and hopefully didn’t lose to much of the finish off of my bow. With what my boat has been through, the finish has probably been gone some time now, so I can rest easy.

In the afternoon when I had my last chance to stop for the day, an expected good thing happened, my headwind turned into a tailwind. At a decent speed I moved slightly away from the coast and began to cut straight across to Fiumicino where I passed the mouth of the Tiber at night. I looked up its wide banks and saw lots of lit up buildings on either side. It may be the largest river mouth I’ve passed yet, but I’m not sure since it’s been a long way.

The other noticeable thing about Fiumiccino was the airport. There was never a moment when a plane wasn’t taking off, one big commercial jet after another.

Paddling in the dark I found a seawall ahead of me and followed it away from land, only to take another turn at what seemed to be the top of a “C” heading back the way I had come. Had I accidentally moved into a port without realizing it? I hadn’t noticed any navigational lights. I was almost at my destination, or so I thought, and it was frustrating to be backtracking, looking for a way out to sea around the wall. The light from the city blinded me and I had no idea how long it would go on for. I shut off my own green/red light to allow my sight to improve slightly. Finally, I turned a corner and was headed back in the right direction.

Interestingly, a look at a map shows the area to be nothing like I perceived it at night. Fortunately, keeping the mainland on my left is easy enough even when depth and angle perception are completely thrown off.

Finally my GPS had shown me that I was there. I got the coordinates from the previous Lega Nevali, and thought that maybe I could make out the masts of sailboats just beyond the rise of the beach. I had also seen it on a map, I was fairly certain I was in the right place. A good thing too, because it had been a long day.

A couple of fisherman were fishing off a seawall and I checked with them just to make sure. They told me several things, among them, that I shouldn’t be paddling at night and that there was no Lega Navali here. “Are you sure?” I asked. Yes, they were absolutely certain, I would have to paddle for another kilometer.

Huh. I must have gotten bad coordinates. Maybe this was some other boat club, my host for the night would be waiting at Lega Navali, not here. It was 9:00 in the evening. I paddled on, past industrial places, storage houses, and beach bars, all dark in the night.

Finally, after about a kilometer and a half I saw an inviting beach that might have had some small sailboats parked a little ways up it. I stopped and got out. Wet, cold, and exhausted I dragged myself and my boat up the beach. The small sailboats I saw dissolved as phantoms.

I found a walkway that brought me past many small buildings, unlocked. I couldn’t make out much inside of them, but I was very cold and the small room would be a refuge. The building that I thought was the L.N.I. tuned out to be restaurant that was closing. I asked if I could leave my boat there over night.

“The Lega Navali isn’t far, about a kilometer back the way you came.” I was told.

I put in what felt like it ought to be a post-last effort. I paddled back the way I came. I came to a building on the beach that was toop dark to make out. A flag flew above it, a flag that might have had the “L.N.I.” on it. While I was thinking about it the surf surprised me with a short fight. I think the thought was that I was as beat as I looked.

I didn’t want to risk another wrong guess. I figured either this was it, or the fisherman was wrong and my GPS position was right. I didn’t want to do another beach landing and relaunch, so I paddled back to my GPS position. The land was right as I had seen it on the map, maybe I had been shown the wrong place.

I got out and climbed a very steep beach, stumbling and falling over myself and the sand. From the small hill I could see a field of light double hulled sail boats and a building with people in it just beyond. With great effort I got my boat next to one of the others.

Covered in sand and so tired, I wished I was a weaker man that I could cry, I found myself in a bar in the building asking if I could just sit there for a while.

It was the Lega Navali. The fisherman who told me it wasn’t was the devil, come out to try to put a stop to my trip in the night. I’m so close to finishing. The people of the L.N.I. were super nice; after a shower I found myself in a room with a couple dozen or so, finishing up a meeting. When I walked in, they all applauded.

I guess I deserved it, after all, I fought with the Devil and survived.

* True. ~ ed.

Yesterday I paddled the short distance to Santa Marinella since the next Lega Navale is in Fiumicino which was too far. Today I had intended to paddle there, but I woke up with a bad stomach, probably on account of some cheese I ate last night that I picked up in Rome. To lose the contents of your stomach on the water is to lose all your energy, so I thought I had better take the day off than risk it.

The weather was sunny and the water so clear I could see the sea bed as much as 20 feet down. It was a nice afternoon.

I thought I saw my first dolphin of the trip, when a black spot came quickly out of the water and then back down near a buoy. My experience with dolphins is that they won’t come up just once, but are constantly surfacing and submerging. I kept my eyes open to catch it again, only to find a diver in the same spot. I had seen his flippers pop up for a moment as he swam down.

Finishing with the warming sun still in the sky I decided I would practice a couple of rolls. If my River People dry top and NRS spray skirt were quality then I would have stayed almost completely dry. But even with my neoprene cap, I got wet while under and was very cold when getting out of my boat. The water is getting cold.

I was welcomed at the entrance to the harbor and made to feel at home in the Lega Navale here.