Welcome to the Fiord of Furore!
Furore translates to “fury” in English... here, it is the fury of the sea. When a torrent sea is present, the water rages with great force, exploding like an angry volcano of sea water through the narrow channel of the Fiord.
The following photo was taken in 1987 of such a storm:
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Every July, there is a platform set up for a diving competition on the other side of the bridge - an amazing drop of 30 meters. This poster is from 2007, the first time I lived here.
the bridge:
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Yesterday, the fisherman were going out to sea and the surf was a little too rough for them to launch their boats. They lined the beach with their bows aimed seaward, anxiously waiting for the calming of the sea. Silent and reverent in anticipation... except for the sound of the waves crashing ashore.
All of the sudden, the fishermen started shouting all at once! “Go! Go NOW!”
I quickly grabbed my camera to capture this moment on video, but of course, I got lost in the moment and kept filming and filming... that particular video is the best, but the file is too large to post on my blog!
Here’s another video that’s shorter - but it definitely lacks the drama of the first one.
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Earlier during the day I had gone for a swim out past the bridge and back. As I was nearing the shore, one of the older village fisherman whom I know, asked me if I wanted to go for a short row to see some of the villas that are hewn out of, and built up around the cliffs. [Yes... there can be benefits of being a woman in Italy... just choose wisely and appropriately!]. As he rowed, I wondered who lived in this one... what that one looked like inside... what were the secrets of their past...? I was shown the sea rock ‘carved’ by the wind and elements known as the small Madonna (lo scoglio della madonnina) who seems to gaze out to the mariners, perched on nature’s towering stone plinth. Now I was the silent and reverent one.
[Sorry, didn’t take camera swimming!]
We soon arrived at a little moorage spot close to shore to stop for a short swim. There are many of these “moorage” areas scattered about... they consist of a floating plastic container, or plastic pop bottle (anything that will float, really) with a looped rope on top to attach to your oar peg, then also a longer rope wrapped around a rock at the sea bottom. By the way, the oar peg is often just a jammed in stick, but hey, whatever works!
As I was swimming around, I headed toward the shore rocks that welcomed the gently swooshing waves that flowed around them. Apparently it was calling ME too. I knew I had to be a little careful, but there really wasn’t a lot of motion happening... only until one swoosh too many that totally surprised me (that’s how the gets us all!). I grabbed on to the rocks (ohhhh... don’t EVER do that!)... the soles of my feet, knees and palms of my hands got a wee bit scraped on the shells and corrals that are attached to the rocks.
I am told that the sea heals all wounds, so I guess I’ll simply have to keep on swimming - just a little tough to walk right now! Nothing like a little (operative word here!) raking and gouging on sea rocks to make one feel alive!
On the row back, I got my usual lesson in Italian from this singing and educating fisherman... this time about the weather and about the wind, the name of each kind of wind, depending on from which direction it comes...
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