“My first Middle Sea Race was unforgettable and I’ll tell you why.”

What does it mean to participate for the first time in the Rolex Middle Sea Race (the 606-mile race starting in Malta and circumnavigating Sicily by sailing up the island’s east coast, passing the Straits, then rounding Stromboli, Favignana, Pantelleria and Lampedusa and returning to Malta)? And what does it mean to do it in an epic and memorable edition, with winds up to 60 knots, dozens and dozens of retreats, dismastings?

He explains it to us, in his usual semi-serious style, our philosopher/sailor Marco Cohen*, fresh back from Malta where with his Mat 12 Dajenu he finished in a very honorable fourth position in IRC and ORC categories. Read his fine story and we are sure you will eventually want to sign up, with your boat, for Middle Sea 2025!

My First Rolex Middle Sea Race

10 a.m., at an unlikely pool in the Milanese hinterland, on a chilly mid-October morning in Milan, I find myself fully dressed as a boat, complete with boots and oilskin, ready to jump into the water to try to climb back up, clothed, into a life raft. In fact, I had always wondered what was in that very heavy box that you have to move, yawning, every two years to go for the expensive overhaul. No, I have not gone crazy! The survival course is one of the requirements for going on the legendary Rolex Middle Sea Race, at the end of October, in Malta. Race with a monstrous safety protocol complete with an on-board visit, winged boat to check appendages and virtually all equipment replaced and upgraded. Later, I would find out for myself that all this attention and safety culture was absolutely justified.

“I have decided. I’m doing the Middle Sea!”

But let’s take it slow: a year ago, somewhat depressed about the official entry into the world of the elderly, I realize that a few days after my birthday the Middle Sea Race starts. Of course, it is too late to participate, but I decide to watch, in the warmth under the comforter, the live broadcast of the start from the spectacular fortress in Valletta Bay. I am thunderstruck, and to the cry of “you only live once,” I decide that the following year I would be at the starting line. I spend the winter dreaming and start thinking about crew composition, and I look back on the Rolex website at the best-of video of last years’ regattas and realize that it is a schizophrenic regatta: it alternates postcard moments, endless flat calm, and Bass Strait-style storms. Of course, I convince myself that this year will be a calm edition, suitable for people like me whose physique gave out when Oscar Luigi Scalfaro was still at the Presidency of the Italian Republic. We arrive in Malta and indeed the temperature and weather are as summery and flawless as in my sweetest dreams. The next day the first Coastal Race immediately awaits us to get acquainted with the place and the boat, rearranged from end to end according to safety and efficiency standards that are absolutely unknown to me. Idyllic weather, Tigullio-like conditions with light winds, and indeed we close with a very honorable third place in class, complete with a crew party and awards ceremony that we flood with bottles of chilled rosé, given the temperature.

I stow the truly unhoped-for cup in my luggage and the next day break and tour of Malta. A thought and a recommendation if you are coming by boat or plane for vacation: Malta is ugly and I would not live there, it is absurdly built with a building speculation that not even Ciancimino in Palermo. Something I’ve never seen.

Tourist-gastronomic tips

But there are two buts, quite relevant:

• The old town part of town, called Birgu, is charming with churches and buildings funded in the Middle Ages by the Knights of Malta and now fully restored. For boaters, the Camper & Nicholson marina is well-maintained and impeccable. Recommended stop and very efficient.
• And as far as the sea is concerned, the blue lagoon between Gozo and Comino is stunning, though overcrowded. But just turn the corner, so to speak, and you will find a deserted bay called St. Marija.

Of course, I sacrificed and even tried a few restaurants. Out of all of them Fra Divino wins. Simple, unpretentious, right next to the marina. And gelato from Sottozero.

The galley on board

And speaking of restaurants, Barry, our man in Havana, or rather in Malta, who in addition to his obsession with safety, also has an obsession with lightness and control of crew nutrition, greets us by saying that there is no need to do the shopping, because two months earlier he had sent us a questionnaire on nutrition for the regatta, and since no one had spun it, by now he had arranged everything.

With Ciccio Manzoli, a great cook as well as navigator, we unsuccessfully try to hide some wine and packages of Rummo pasta, with Mutti passata and tuna in the safety equipment. With sadness and bitterness, instead they are seized from us by the inflexible Barry: all just like the famous scene of the seizure of the little radio to hear the game during Battleship Potemkin in “The Second Tragic Fantozzi.” We will then be imposed on a regimen made of astronaut-style pouches, already prepared and with no expiration date, which look like a mix between an East London Indian restaurant and the grand hotel in Monte Carlo in the Vanzina movies: they practically heat up in less than 10 min in a finger of water, you eat everything in the pouch and so in the end you don’t get dirty and don’t take out dishes, which in a 5-day regatta with 8/10 people is 100 meals and several hours saved in preparation. In the end we adapt with dignity, although I assure you that testing a tandoori chicken on the passage to Favignana at night dinner, with groppo and wave, or beef stroganoff in Lampedusa, is truly a dissociating and psychedelic experience. Instead, the great Ciccio Manzoli, enthusiastic about duck or rather parmentier de canard, sensitizes me to launch a class action among Ligurian sailors to have the name pasta al pesto removed from the Italian cuisine version envelope that had been included on our menu (see photo below).

Here we go!

Back to the regatta: we are finally off! Great show, somewhat in the manner of the Sydney Hobart, with people crowded on the fortress walls before the bay exit, cheering on the local boats.

To set the tone, I hold an ipad, which I had ambushed to watch the games (and which with the excuse of Navionics had not been seized from me) a bit like a Tp52 tactician, that if you don’t have a tablet to check instrument navigation and other boats you are a loser. Being aware of my limitations in fact I only stay at the helm in winds under 12 knots and with other boats far away. In the first hours of the regatta we still find conditions within my reach and we suffer a spectacular overtaking of Scallywag that brushes past us going 20 knots below Code Zero: crazy thrill to see her sailing so close. Here we are talking about the 100-footer that then crossed the finish line first in real time.

In defense of “all against all”

By the way, while I respect him and find his boats wonderful, I absolutely disagree in Luca Bassani’s proposal to separate professional and amateur boats, because this is the only way to achieve a fair and comparable rating system . My personal opinion is that this makes absolute sense for coastal competitions or inshore sticks (moreover, this is already the case, just look at the world championship organized by the Maxi class, the various Swan Cups or the Tp52 races that in fact are raced in real and not in compensated), but it would take away all charm from the mythical offshore competitions where, and this is the deep meaning of these races, even David can beat Goliath. Plus there is a big difference: the Ferrari races on a closed track. Racing is done on the sea that belongs to everyone.

Men make the plans and the gods smile

It’s sailing beauty, some would say, men make plans and gods smile, as the beginning of one of my favorite films by Gabriele Salvatores (Amnèsia, ed.), an Oscar-winning interstate director and sailor, goes. And indeed, the sky suddenly begins to turn gloomy, as in my worst nightmares.

Four whirlwinds begin to form, wedged between the boats in the fleet with five to six hours to go, at the same time, almost delineating the race course where most of the sails are concentrated. I take a few photos and then with the excuse of shift change, like a true rabbit, I sling myself into the berth knowing that those outside are much better than me.

In two minutes gusts reaching 60 knots lay the boat down and crumble our and our neighbors’ sails.

Dajenu, my Mat 12 (great Mark Mills who designs them and the Mat shipyard that does them so well) bends over, but soon after it doesn’t make a crease and gets straight again. Fortunately with such a well-prepared crew, and seeing it so serene, I feel I can succeed and pop out of the bunk to figure out how to get going again. The boat seems intact, so we decide to continue. Incidentally, following the advice of our sailmaker Roberto Westermann “don’t be an asshole, bring a second mainsail that in a regatta like this you never know“…we replace the mainsail and continue our sailing. Ps: Note to reader. When I say let’s pull, let’s … it is obviously a case of the plural maiestatis.

After the storm, the calm with current

As a Dantesque contrapasso punishment this deadly flailing is alternated with a resounding six-hour forced stop in the Strait of Messina due to contrary current.

We were the first not to pass, because we passed through when the wind went away and the current reversed. We lose six class positions, from third to ninth. I’m about to curse, but then I remember:

• the flat calm in the Straits allowed me to watch with full signal (since the shores are really close) Roma – Inter: 0-1, for the record.
• we survived a monster windstorm. We are beginning to hear the first reports of retirements (eventually 34) and two dismastings(we told you about the one on the 65 Hagar V Stable here).

The best helm of my life

We continue in the idyllic scenery of the most beautiful part of the regatta, jibe at Stromboli and begin a 3-hour surf under gennaker and Vulcan behind. We hold an average of 10 knots for three hours with highs of 14 and smiles plastered on our faces. The best helming of my infamous sailing career. A marvel.

Everything seems quiet. The heat returns and major “cippa” until the passage in and around Cape Passero (where I think I am almost at the end but then realize we are only halfway through). The ride continues with another bump/weather, fortunately this time without tornadoes, but with the blessing of seeing Thuram’s Young Boys – Inter goal in the passage to Favignana, topped by Indian chicken in a bag, of course pretending to see Yellow Brick updates and the Navionics. We resume the comeback ride by gaining positions. I’m starting to get really excited thinking that maybe I’m doing it, finishing this crazy race.

We did it!

Triumphant entry into the bay under gennaker and we finish with a third in class in IRC (then fourth due to a rebate given to a boat that had stopped to render aid) and a fourth in ORC class out of 24 boats. As soon as we crossed the finish line a bit of emotion drops from messages from family and friends and from the legendary Tigre sailor and former mayor of Portofino who writes me “your dad would be proud of you.” His favorite locution towards him was “he is not a hoe” , referring to the rough ways in which my father and us descendants treated the helm of the boat. On the other hand, I have always admitted that I am more comfortable with the wine list than with the wind list. We embrace with all the crew; I feel towards them and the boat a feeling of deep gratitude for taking me all the way: in 5 days of this adventure a human bond is created that would take years in life ashore. In the end, then, I am left with a strange feeling about this regatta. Of course I am talking about this edition, but almost all veterans have assured me that this is the norm, not the exception. Being a circular regatta that starts and returns to the same place by going counterclockwise around Sicily, it almost never has a linear development but always encounters a mix of contrasting conditions.

Rolex Middle Sea Race is a Frankenstein regatta

Imagining a kind of Frankenstein’s monster made from pieces of other regattas:

• the somewhat Sydney Hobart-like start for the bay, the participation of people and the Australian 100-footers.
• the slalom between islands and volcanoes somewhat in the manner of Roberto Lacorte’s great 151 Miglia. Here I counted nine, including Sicily.
• the Rolex touch and the crew party the Giraglia way. Even the polo shirts are the same.
• in this case the rain and angry wind of the Fastnet, as well as the current taken in the Strait of Messina and never experienced in my life, but typical of those seas.
• and allow me, even a bit of emotion, at the legendary Tigullio Nesci Cup for me, in which we sail strictly in the heat, light winds and glass of wine in hand. The only real difference is that this time the wine was seized from me.

Five reasons to attend the Middle Sea

I conclude with the most classic of rankings: five reasons to do the Middle Sea Race plus a recommendation at the end.

• Let’s start with the easy stuff. In Malta at the end of October it is practically summer and it is like doing a regatta in July in our areas.
• You cannot live and survive with class and elegance if you don’t have dreams. But then you also have to try to achieve them and as someone said… dream the hardest things because then those will be the things that will give you the most happiness.
• I have found that such a long race is not just three times as long as a regular offshore race, but much more. The times are stretched and the physique (or rather, what is left of it) adapts to the rhythms of the boat and nature.
• To make your boat a safer place. And here I make a self-criticism as big as a house for sometimes approaching the sea with little attention to these aspects that can seem bureaucratic and hassles. But then, when you happen to be at sea with conditions like we found, you thank every euro you spent for the safety of your crew.
• Ciccio Manzoli said to me on a night shift, “Do you know why they only do the Ostar (the cold, solo ocean crossing by real sea dogs) every 4 years? Because one only after some time has passed, one remembers only the good sides and forgets the others. Otherwise the next year col…. he would do it again.” And you have no idea how many times we got soaked in the bunk, woke up at 3 a.m. as we slept curled up with our comrades on duty, damp and with all the oilskins on we wondered laughing like crazy… but who the fuck made us do it! But then, when you’re back home, comfortable in your big bed, you’ll miss all this and want to start over.

Finally, I take advantage of this space to make an appeal/invocation to Kurt Arrigo, the official photographer of the event whose photos of the boats in the bay or with volcanoes behind them have always made me dream… But don’t you have a photo of Dajenu to put in my office to remind me of this wonderful adventure?

The crew

I close with the presentation of Dajenu’s crew. Obviously for such a regatta and knowing that I am dog and rabbit, I reinforced the historical crew with three professionals, two of them Anglo-Saxons and the other already known, but as a barbecue frequenter, in the worst gardens of Chiavari.

Nick Jones. I found him with the boat when I went to pick it up in England: a mix between Super Mario Bros-because he always goes around with his toolbox fixing everything that comes his way-and a candid and always smiling children’s educator. Being good with children, he always treats me perfectly. Barry Hurley. Nineteen, say 19 Middle Sea Races behind him. Solo Ostar. Iron sergeant, but velvet-soft helmsman’s hand. He tried to bring order to our somewhat anarchic, aperitif approach.

Ciccio Manzoli. A legend, first in the 2005 Ostar, a strange combination of a homegrown chef, Pelaschier-esque helmsman class, and the big smurf given his not-quite basketball proportions and wisdom. Historical friends in strict alphabetical order: Nicola Pesaresi. Tailer arrived directly from the European community in Brussels, perfectly at ease mediating the different cultures of the crew. A certainty his Speculoos, cinnamon coffee cookies, one of the few good things Belgium produces. Raul Rossi. Bowman. Our favorite scapegoat . A bit like Darmian in Inter, though he always plays in the end. Loyal and irreplaceable. Leonardo Servi. Navigator. As an owner and friend (his Scricca, one of the most successful boats in recent years) he plays a role of psychological and motivational counselor to yours truly that can be summed up in the phrase he constantly addresses to me “you can’t keep such a crappy boat…” In this regatta, he has also been my upwind berth mate. Although I have resumed (I am writing from home in Milan) sleeping with my wife, I already miss him a little. Marco Viganò. Fellow bunkmate. To him I owe the transformation from Tigullio sailor to international offshore regatta goer from the Giraglia to the Copa del Rey. One of the lucky ones who managed to make sailing his job with Forsailing. And…. I also put in an absentee (because the coward went to do the Swan Worlds in Palma) Stefano Westermann, my adopted godson who never stops trying to make me a better sailor.

Marco Cohen

*Who is Marco Cohen

The author of this article is film producer and sailor Marco Cohen, pictured here at the helm of a small boat (in that case a Cape 31, designed by his “fetish” designer Mark Mills).

Owner of a MAT 12 (designed, indeed, by Mills) tours the Mediterranean for regattas (losing almost all of them but having a lot of fun). A keen humorist and sailing philosopher (“I re-embraced sailing at age 37 after yet another soccer injury, when I realized it’s the only sport you can do sitting down and with a glass in your hand”), his articles are always a big hit. Below you can read some of his “pearls”:

• How to slow down a racing boat. 10 secrets to not winning
• Phenomenology (semi-serious) of the Winter Championship.
• The owner’s syndrome or how to be happy despite the boat
• How to participate in offshore racing knowing you will lose
• Guide to Dreaming Sydney Hobart
• The boat change syndrome
• Small boat vs. big boat
• Nice Giraglia, with the Maxis it would have been even better