kateandjohnsail.boats

Well, that just happened. We are on our way from Sicily to Valetta, to explore Malta, get a few boat things, and eventually pick up our next visitors. We are motoring (sigh) because although there is enough wind to sail, it is directly on the nose and we don’t have time to tack back and forth if we want to finish the 84 miles in daylight. There is a lot of boat traffic and I notice that a large power vessel not on AIS is a half mile from us on the starboard side. Suddenly I’m calling out to John, because a zodiac-style launch with four black-clad figures has left this vessel and is approaching us. Fortunately this is no act of piracy; the men are in uniforms and their boat identifies as GUARDIA FINANZA (Italian customs and border patrol). The launch comes along side of us and we are asked, in a serious but not menacing way, for our documents. This begins a sequence of handing very important documents across water from one bouncing boat to another. Each time I say, “Do not let go of this, per favore!”

First comes the boat registration, then our passports, then the proof of insurance and the corporate resolution that states that I am the owner of Quintessa Marine Corporation and therefore legally permitted to operate the vessel. We were glad that we had spent an hour the day before at the Syracuse Harbormaster’s office, standing before officials with our documents and justifying our presence there, and we had a two-page document to prove it. Then they ask for my license (would they have asked that of a man?) and we congratulate ourselves that I made the effort to earn and procure a “Certificate to Navigate in the Mediterranean” before we left the US.

The officials, bobbing up and down in their launch, lean in and scrutinize the documents, pointing at them and taking photos. To their credit, they are deciphering documents in their second language. But we are losing precious time in the journey we wish to complete during daylight hours. They must have sensed this, and come by to say we may resume our trip. I state the obvious: “But we need our documents!” to which the answer is “We will follow you while we check the documents.” Ah, so this is the equivalent of calling in a traffic check: they have been sending the information to their mother ship and are awaiting approval, which will come in its sweet time.

What can we do? I rev us up to 2500 RPM and we resume our course, with the zodiac zipping along behind and the mother ship trailing a half mile away. In a while the launch approaches again and we are told that our boat insurance expired 11 days ago. Oops, the policy was properly renewed and paid, but we handed over the wrong document. We produce the correct one and juggle it over the water to them.

We resume our speed and after a while we need to slow again so someone can ask across the water: “Are you married?” This strikes us as hilarious and we laugh and say yes, for 45 years! They then laugh too and I hear one say “quarantacinque,” obviously impressed. This bit of information, of course, has to be called in as well, so we resume the cat and mouse chase as we try to make a bit more distance toward Malta.

Finally, nearly an hour after this all began, the zodiac comes up and one officer is holding the documents, all together in a blue plastic folder we had given them. I ask if all was okay and the answer is yes. The final precarious handover of documents completed, the spokesman says “Thank you for your cooperation!” As guests of Italy, we are happy to keep proper documents and abide by the law. We toss them a large Ghirardelli chocolate bar, a gift from America. Arrivederci!