Chapter 15
TOM PARKED THE CAR at the ferry terminal and led us past some private tour operators and up a narrow side street to a restaurant called Fortunata’s.
The place didn’t look like anything special—it was just a dark room with a bunch of plastic chairs at laminate tables, but then someone who had been working behind the bar beckoned for us to follow him down a narrow hallway, and we emerged onto this perfect little patio that overlooked the ferry terminal and, on the other side of the channel, La Maddalena.
“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” said Tom as he pulled out a chair for me.
“That’s an understatement,” said Paul.
I had looked up the Maddalena Archipelago in my parents’ atlas back home and knew that the island of La Maddalena was the largest of seven islands and dozens more islets that sat like a crown at the top of Sardinia’s head.
Still, there was something about seeing the archipelago spread out in front of me that made it feel real.
“Where’s the ship?” I asked.
“You mean the Gilmore?” said Tom. “Can’t see it from here.” He pointed at a spit of land not far from Palau’s harbor. “See those little cabanas? On that beach over there?”
On the other side of the harbor was a rocky outcropping, and beyond it were two dozen pinpricks of blue. I nodded.
“That’s Santo Stefano. It’s a privately owned island. On the side facing us, there’s a Club Med and some old archaeological ruins. On the other side, there’s an Italian weapons arsenal and a NATO naval support facility, and that’s where the Gilmore is moored.”
“Oh, okay.”
“A little-known fact,” said Tom as he reached for a piece of bread, which had arrived at our table along with a bottle of water, “is that it was from Santo Stefano that a young Napoléon Bonaparte tried to capture La Maddalena.”
“Really?” said Paul.
Tom nodded. “Shelled the island with cannons for a day and a half but never managed to make it across the channel. It was a huge victory for the Maddalenini, and a century and a half later, they’re still not done talking about it.”
Paul laughed. “I guess I wouldn’t be, either.”
I stared at the outcropping. “How do you get over there?”
“We’ve got liberty boats that go between Palau, La Madd, and Santo Stefano. I’ll get you a schedule.”
I was about to ask what a liberty boat was when our waiter interrupted to ask if we’d had time to look at the menu. At least that’s what I assumed he said, because everything he actually said was in Italian, as were our menus.
Paul tried to point out a few things I might like, but finally, I told him to order for me.
He ordered the dogfish, but the only reason I know this is because Tom stepped in and told the waiter we did not want the head.
There was some back-and-forth, and I got a little nervous, but the waiter went away happy, and when plates of homemade pasta and fresh fish arrived on our table a few minutes later, we were, too.