Yacht charter in Milazzo
LAGOON — Lagoon 380 (2008)

The red flags appeared on the day before our scheduled voyage. Rain was in the forecast. Heavy rain with lightening. The kind of weather that made sailors and seaman sweat the cold sweat of panic. And yet Carlo, the jolly, care-free man in the photos, seemed happy as a clam and cool as a cucumber, even as the seas grew fierce and our planned day started to look doomed. No messages with offers to cancel, or refund, or or reschedule. So I took the initiative and made contact. We agreed to push it back a day. The cost: 100 Euro because now it was a ‘weekend’ trip. Fact: In Italy, the weekends start on Thursday night. We met Carlo in Positano. To our surprise, we also met what appeared to be his girlfriend, despite the fact that Carlo stated that he would be coming alone. Okay, I thought. The more the merrier. Another hand on the boat couldn't hurt. Well, as it turned out, it also didn't particularly help. As we departed for Capri, we asked little of the captain or his mate. Everyone settled in, took in the views, talked quietly. A few of us cracked open some beer and wine, let the natural beauty envelope us. About an hour in, Carlo made his way to the front of the boat to inform us that we were approaching a small private island that once belonged to famed Russian dancer Rudolf Nureyev. "He used to take down his pants and piss off that rock, into the sea!" Carlo exclaimed with subdued glee. We all found it rather amusing. Not long after this little bit of trivia, somebody asked Carlo for help with the coffeemaker. He said it would be a few minutes. About half an hour passed, and I made my way from the front of the boat, to the rear, to check on things and hit the head. To my surprise, Carlo was drinking coffee. Apparently the single-cut espresso maker could only be used once per trip. The mystery of why the much bigger, standard coffee maker sitting on the counter couldn’t be put to use was never solved. No coffee for us. Two hours into the journey, I, along one of the others who had been drinking beer and wine, came upon the next big red flag. We were still a long way from the Island of Capri. In our communications with Carlo, he had specified a 2 hour trip, allowing us to tour the island, and still have time to visit the blue grotto. Stunned out of my delicious mid-day buzz, I asked him "are we going to be able to visit the Blue Grotto?" "I do not recommend." He replied. And then comes the biggest bombshell. The trip from Positano to Capri isn’t 2 hours. It’s 3 hours. Okay, I think to myself. No big deal. Just a major part of the trip, cancelled with the same glib indifference that Stalin might have exhibited while condemning a political foe to a life of hard labor. So, now I'm starting to get pissed. It's late. Our time on Capri is already down from 4 hours to two, and time is ticking. As we enter the harbor, it's nothing like the harbor I remember from my first trip there, 7 years earlier. Of course! I realize in a sudden epiphany. We were approaching the Island from the North, giving us access to a whole different side. Unfortunately, the most interesting parts of Capri, including the big harbor and the busses up to the top, are only accessible from the south. On this part of the Island, there is little more than a handful of pizzerias, gilato cafes and gift shops. As I realize that my guests will now not get to see any of the things I had promised, Carlo once again makes his way to the front of the boat. "What are you planning for our lunch?" He says in a hushed tone. "Your lunch?" I say, as a chill runs up my spine. "What do you mean." "The lunch for me and my crew," he says casually. "Nothing." I reply. Our WhatsApp conversation immediately came to mind, where I specifically asked him what to bring onboard, followed by his response: 'whatever you want'. "That's okay," he replied, deflating like an oversized beachball slashed with a sushi knife. "We will just eat," he paused. "fruit." "Okay, Carlo," I say, as my spineless American sensibilities drown my common sense in guilt-drippings. "You will come to lunch with us." "Excellent," the beachball re-inflates. "There is a wonderful place on shore, I know the owner, very not expensive. And if we eat there, the water taxi is gratis." "Great," I reply with a sigh. "And the water-taxi is late now," he continues. "So maybe, we don't rush. We open another bottle of wine!" Right. Another bottle of wine. My wine. The wine we brought. Well, Carlo got me back for that little burn. He and his girlfriend got their lunch. They ordered appetizers, for everyone. The treated themselves to one of the most expensive items on the menu, grilled octopus, and they weren’t too shy to order a nice red wine to pair with their slow-cooked, fire-finished tentacles. Lunch, reasonably priced as it was, cost 500 Euros for 12 guests. Carlo and his ‘mate’, who had among the most refined of pallets within our group, accounted for at least 20% of the bill. “I’ve been at this restaurant 10 times this season!” I heard him exclaiming to one of the other guests as I felt myself growing light-headed over the tab. But hey, at least the 10 euro water taxi was free. After our overpriced lunch was finally over, we had about half an hour to wander around the island. Luckily, it was the wrong part of the island and so there wasn’t much to see. I didn’t come to this fact on my own. When Carlo saw me looking nervously at my watch, he said, in words I will never forget. “There is just beach and shops. There is nothing to see here.” If he had told me this the previous day, we would have cancelled the trip. My guests returned to Carlo’s boat after about half an hour of perusing the gift shops. I stayed back to wait for the second boat. On my way back to the dock, I pass by Carlo, who I snow smoking cigarettes with his girlfriend, blissfully digesting the octopus I bought for him. I get the feeling that I’m on a hidden camera TV show, only there is no garishly dressed host there to make me feel any better. As I sat there, alone on the dock, awaiting the boat, contemplating all of the personal failures and failings that led me to this point in my life, Carlo appears, with his girlfriend in toe, and the look of displeasure stretched across his well-tanned face. “Alex,” he laughs mirthlessly. “I stand and wait for you for half an hour! Why do you not tell me you are going back!” “I walked right past you and said I was heading back to the boat, ten minutes ago.” I replied. “And you couldn’t have waited half an hour because half an hour I was paying for lunch. How much more money should I pay you now to make this better?” I start to dramatically reach for my wallet but I know it’s empty. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he laugh

WONDERFULL!!!! Carlo is a LOVELY skipper, his boat is perfect. A real DREAM to visit the Almafitain coast with my family and Carlo

We enjoyed boat trip with Carlo. Everything was perfect. His catamaran is very cosy. Carlo is very experienced sail man. I'll be glad to join his crew next time. Thank you.