Greece–continued

We departed Milos in mid-afternoon on July 31, for a blustery sail out of the bay, with winds gusting down off the hills as SD sprinted along under headsail and mizzen. Clearing the coast, we turned left to lay a westerly course for Monemvasia, 65 miles distant.  The night passed in the usual roll-y conditions of the Aegean, and the flukey winds had Ken frequently alternating sail arrangements to suit the conditions.  We reached Monemvasia in the pre-dawn, and hove-to for about an hour, entering a little anchorage at first light.  We had our hook down not a moment too soon, as the wind was really honking by 0900.  Conditions kept us aboard all that day, but we dinghied ashore the following morning, parking Loose Change in a tiny protected harbor among the little local fishing boats.
Monemvasia is a hump-backed island with a short causeway connecting it to the Pelopnnisos.  From offshore it resembles the Rock of Gibraltar, and on its south side sits a 6th-century walled Byzantine village, once an important port. From the sea, it appears unchanged from ancient times, although once inside the walls, we found small gift shops, cafes, and even tiny hotels, which have taken up residence in some of the old buildings. Happily, there is no evidence of new construction, and the village retains its charm, as houses, churches, steps, and (very!) narrow streets all remain in their original stone construction.  After dark, the mountain is low-lit to lovely effect, and from aboard SD we could hear a distant female voice singing softly in Greek from a piano bar at the mountain’s base.

Monemvasia

We made an 0645 departure, heading west to round Cape Maleas before turning north to Elafonisos Island. Winds were predicted to be light, but were actually fairly brisk, and the wind and seas increased substantially as we approached the infamous cape. By the time we were actually rounding the cape, we had 6-foot following seas, and the wind was howling. To add to the entertainment in these rowdy conditions, a 40-foot fishing boat, with miles and miles of the Aegean to choose from, had opted instead to motor along just a few yards off our port side. (Note to Dave Reaves: Encroachment!)  The wind went briefly light once we were around the cape, but it was just a tease, as its force abruptly began to increase until it was screaming a full gale, with SD barreling along in a miserable chop with just a scrap of headsail unfurled.
Arriving (finally!) at our anchorage, we got the hook down, but stayed aboard, as the wind remained strong and gusty.  By the next morning, all the drama had spent itself, and at 0615 we weighed anchor and headed out of the bay in light winds and calm seas. It turned out to be one of the most beautiful days we’ve seen, so perfect that we decided to skip our planned anchorage and continue around Cape Tainaron. Tainaron, another cape with a nasty reputation, was believed by ancients to be the entrance to the underworld. Tainaron and the previous day’s Cape Maleas are sometimes known as “twin Cape Horns” because of their notoriously rough seas, described by one source as “some of the roughest water in the Aegean”.

Tainaron Cape off the bow

Tainaron Cape Light

This day, however, we could look down to Tainaron and see nothing but more flat water. In the spirit of “carpe diem”, we changed course and were soon safely around, with the big bad cape fading into the distance. As we continued north in perfect weather, we passed the towering cliffs of Capo Grosso, pockmarked with old pirate caves, close on our east, while to our west there stretched a whole lot of nothing, all the way to North Africa. 
The quiet anchorages at Port Limeni and at Kardamila were small, relaxing overnight stops on our way up to Kalamata.

Kardamila anchorage

Port Limeni anchorage

Village street in Kardamila

In Kalamata,we berthed in the marina, as there is no anchorage. A wonderful paved bike path skirts the top of the bay and runs all the way up to the center of town. We took turns on our shared bike, riding in the cool mornings before the heat of mid-day and the influx of pedestrians, who exhibit an exasperating amount of not looking where they’re going.We’re not marina people, as we hate to part with our money, and being close enough to see your neighbor’s eye color is not a proximity we enjoy. But as long as we had no choice, we took full advantage of the amenities, like cold beer a few steps away, and unlimited fresh water.  Our onboard entertainment was watching the arriving yachts attempt the berthing process, which could be pretty lively if the breeze was up. On such occasions the newcomers would be blown past their target berth, often fetching up unfortunately positioned broadside to one of the berthed boats, whose crew would frantically arm themselves with boat-hooks to fend off the runaway. It was pretty exciting to watch, but undoubtedly not much fun for the participants.
Sometimes this wasn’t entertainment enough to suit Ken, so he decided to inspect our manual bilge pump. He found it to be badly corroded and the rubber flapper valves were no longer flexible. He decided it would be best to replace it instead of trying to resurrect it. This wet, messy project turned out to be even more fun than replacing the toilet pump, and involved several hours of labor and considerable chaos of tools and paraphernalia, and irritable mutterings from the captain.
After several days at Kalamata we departed for quieter waters, anchoring off the little village of Petalidhion, ten miles west, where we were often all alone in the anchorage. We treated ourselves one afternoon to a table at an “ouzery”. This is basically a bar, where old Greek men smoke, drink, laugh, play cards, and smoke some more. The locals took no notice of us (they were too busy smoking), and we sipped our iced-and-ice-watered ouzo and nibbled our olives, delighted to be soaking up local color in a decidedly non-touristy spot.
Next was little Koroni, a 3-night stop in a pretty anchorage at the base of a hill where sits an old monastery and the remains of an ancient fort.  We enjoyed wandering among the ruins, but our night-times were a repeat of Milos, with ear-splitting techno-noise (can’t call it music) blasting from a club on the quay. It marred an otherwise pleasant visit.

Koroni water front anchorage

Monastery of St. John the Baptist at Koroni

Cemetery at the Monastery (I see dead people)

Ancient ruins of St. Sophia Church at Koroni

Eighteen miles further on, northbound up the west coast of the Peloponnisos, we anchored at Methoni, where the enormous ruins of a 13th-century Venetian fort sit on the headland. The fort was built to guard the shipping route, and actually housed an entire community. The towering walls and parapets are still intact, as are the the ancient roads and many structures. Protected by the sea on three sides, the place has an actual moat on the landward side, and its entrance from land is accessed by a magnificent stone bridge of 14 arches.



Methoni has been one of our favorites stops; we ended up spending 2-weeks here. The anchorage was calm even when the wind piped up. Enjoyed watching the antics of boats coming and going. During happy hour we could watch the locals, silhouetted by the setting sun, fishing from the stone jetty while we sipped our wine; the landing of an octopus was high excitement! The small village was pleasant and convenient. Some days we would sail “Loose Change” (our beloved dinghy) around the anchorage just for the fun of it.

We’ll linger a bit longer, waiting for a good weather window before commencing our departure to our last anchorages enroute to SD’s winter home in Messalonghi.   Cheers!
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Hello Greece

 

We said farewell to Turkey on July 15 when we left our Datca anchorage for the brief and pleasant sail to the Greek Island of Simi. Although we were only a few miles from Turkey, it was immediately obvious that we were in another country. We chose as our anchorage the little bay at Panormitis, located in the SW corner of the island, whose shoreline is dominated by the Monastery of Michael the Archangel (c. 1740) and its five-tier bell tower, said (by Wiki) to be the tallest baroque bell tower in the world. In fact, there’s not much else on shore other than the monastery.

The village population is about sixty souls with a single quayside taverna and one tiny market selling a surprisingly good selection of wine and cheese. There are no roads other than the one that leads out of the village, and local children ride their bicycles along the quay. It looks like one imagines it did fifty years ago, even to the bell tower, whose bells are actually manually rung by one of the monks.

We dinghied ashore in the evening and bought a five liter box of wine (hey, we’re cheap) and two cold beers and sat on a quayside bench to drink them (the beers, not the wine). Facing west, we watched the sky tint itself pink and peach in the sunset, and a series of little lights winked on to light the path to a small windmill at the mouth of the bay. Behind us from the monastery drifted the haunting and beautiful sounds of the Gregorian chant as the monks sang their evening prayers. When the sun and the beers and the chants were gone, we took a table at the little taverna and celebrated our arrival in Greece by sharing a small bottle of ouzo, drinking it like the locals do. Poured over ice and topped with water, the licorice-flavored drinks were very refreshing, and we lingered over them for an hour before returning home.

Our first Taverna

Early the following morning we waited in front of the monastery and caught the little local bus for the 45-minute ride to Simi Town. Although the road is paved and well-maintained, it’s quite narrow, ascending steeply in a series of hair pin turns, sans guard rails. Sheep and goats rummaged in the road side shrubbery, and the view to the sparkly bay far below us was spectacular. Tucked amongst the big boats petite SD looked no bigger than a dinghy.

Gaining the summit, we soon began a steep decent down the other side, overlooking Simi Town and its picturesque little harbor. As we entered the outskirts and continued into town, the road narrowed to little more than an alleyway, twisting among the old buildings, all uniformly pale, in shades of white and cream and yellow. Touches of color are provided by red tile roofs and by wooden doors and shutters painted in bright blues and greens. The buildings are packed closely together up the steep slopes of the bowl-like sides of the hills, rather like and amphitheater facing the harbor.

We made the rounds of the various offices to check into the country, mistakenly starting with the Coast Guard. The pretty girl at the desk looked at our papers with a doubtful eye, frowned at us and said, “You have no visa. I don’t know if you can get visa. You must ask police. If you don’t have visa, you have to leave.” She didn’t look particularly optimistic, but we obediently trotted off to the police station, hoping the officer would give us a visa (passport stamp) so we wouldn’t have to leave. He did, so we didn’t.

After a bit of strolling and some lunch, we returned to Panormitis, arriving at the same time that a huge “tripper boat” was disgorging throngs of day-tripping tourists onto the quay. They swarmed the steps of the monastery in hordes reminiscent of those at the royal wedding, minus the hats.

A return trip to Simi Town was in order the next morning to get exit stamps in our transit log, as the wind forecast was favorable for departure on the following day. On our final evening in Panormitis, we visited the monastery itself, which was quiet after the departure of the day-trippers. Evening services were in progress in the tiny, dark, candle-lit chapel. The soaring stone ceiling and walls were covered with lovely old icons, rich with colors and gold leaf, and the fragrance of incense filled the air as the monks chanted their vespers. It was all quite beautiful and soul-soothing.

The following morning we embarked on a rowdy sail to the island of Tilos, 25-miles to our southwest. While in Panormitis we had changed our headsail, replacing the big one with our smaller 90% sail in anticipation of strong winds. It turned out to be a prudent decision on the part of the captain. Seas on our route were sloppy and choppy and definitely of the washing-machine genre. The breeze freshened as we approached Tilos and we were soon sailing hard on the wind. Ken tucked a reef in the mainsail and Katie manned the mainsheet, spilling wind to keep SD on her feet when she buried her lee rail.

As we rounded Tilos’ southern coast and turned into the bay, we had the wind on our nose, funneled between two hills, and SD was bashing her way into the white caps. We anchored in as close as we could, where there was significantly less chop, as the water was deprived of its fetch. However, we could see and hear the surf breaking on shore, so we stayed aboard. Our trip log for the day showed a maximum speed of nine knots!

Two days later the wind was forecast to be less, so we weighed anchor at 0600. The bay was just a bit roll-y, but outside it was just plain awful. We were greeted by steep choppy seas, with four-foot cresting waves, and it was also blowing like stink. We still had one reef in the main, and we only partially unfurled the headsail. The wind wasn’t horrible, but the confused seas sure were. Each time SD came over a crest, she’d slam into the trough, sending sheets of spray all the way to the cockpit.

Even with the side curtains on our dodger, we were both soaked to the skin within the hour. By the end of the second hour, Katie was feeling pretty seasick, which hadn’t happened since we left San Francisco, over five years ago. Ken, thankfully, was fine. We’d planned to sail to the island of Astipalaia, but with the wind angle, we couldn’t lay that course, so instead we set a course for Thira (aka Santorini), almost 100 miles away. Thank goodness for Horatio, our trusty windvane, who had the helm for most of the trip. Conditions improved a bit as night fell, and we had a big bright moon to light our way.

We arrived at the southern tip of Thira at the first light, and slowed down to time our entrance in full daylight. We entered the little “Fisherman’s Marina at Vlichada” and were directed by the harbor master to raft up alongside another yacht, a 51-footer named Blue Nose. Our new neighbors were Anna and Domenico, an Italian couple who run a charter business with their boat. The were charming, friendly, and very gracious, particularly since, as we were rafted, we needed to cross their deck to access the dock.

SD rafted up to Blue Nose

The following morning we caught a bus to the capital city of Fira. An elderly local gentleman named Spiro had staked out a nice spot under a shady tree near the bus stop, and from a little stand he sold produce from his farm, and wine that he made himself. About all that could be said for his English was that it was better than our Greek, but despite the language barrier, he urged us to sample all the goodies, and with gestures and big smiles, we managed a fine transaction, coming away with fresh figs, tomatoes, cucumbers, and excellent sweet red wine.

The island of Thira is actually a giant volcano, and is still active. It blew itself to pieces around 1450 BC in an explosion that spawned a tsunami estimated to be as high as 300 feet. It is believed by many eminent authorities that Thira may be the legendary island of Atlantis. The principal island is crescent-shaped Thira, which encircles the rim of the six-mile long crater, now filled with water, with the remaining cinder cone at the center of the crater. Steep-to on its west coast, Thira’s pumice cliffs drop sheer into the sea from about 700 feet, and keep going down for another 900 feet.

A landing stage at sea level is the quay for boats carrying passengers from the cruise ships anchored off in the caldera.  Behind this quay, 587 steps lead up to the sugar-white buildings of Fira, clustered tightly together on parallel streets along the ridge. We started the walk down, noticing a distinct piquant “eau de donkey” as we descended, and had put about 20 steps behind us when we rounded a bend and discovered the source of the olfactory punch. Dozens and dozens of donkeys, colorfully saddled and jingling with bells, lined the stone walkway that wound and snaked its way steeply to the old port, far below us. The donkeys looked weary and bored, but their drivers were animated and friendly, eagerly calling out, “Donkey, sir? Donkey, madame? Only five Euros!”

                                                 “Donkey, sir?”

 

We declined, having pressing business to attend to. One of the two on-board computers that runs our navigation software had suddenly expired, and we needed to get a replacement. Redundancy in this vital crew member was paramount, and we were fortunately able to find a replacement machine at a computer shop in Fira.  The on-site techie translated its language from Greek to English, and was able to do some trouble-shooting on a few glitches in our single working machine. All of this required multiple visits to the shop, much head-scratching, and some serious decision-making. (Not to mention money-spending!) We are quite happy with the new unit, even though the extended time spent in the search, purchase, and formatting meant that we had to sacrifice some sight-seeing time. Oh well, as our friend Bernice says, “There’s needs and there’s wants”.

After four days in Thira, we had a “weather window” for an early-morning departure. Our travels in Greece are dictated by the weather, as winds in the Aegean can be ferocious, and we need to plan our passages to avoid the howling winds called “meltemi”.  We had a less-than ideal wind angle for our next leg, but we managed an uneventful motor-sailing passage to a serene little anchorage about 15 miles from the island of Milos. The few beach-goers there were gone by sundown, and we had this charming place to ourselves for the night.

Friday, July 26 dawned clear and bright, and we had a lovely 17-mile sail to Milos, where we berthed at the town quay in Adamas, in Milos Bay.  We were thrilled to find unlimited fresh water at the quay for a sorely-needed wash-down, as both SD and her crew were as salty as anchovies. The small town was a short walk away and our little spot was convenient and comfortable. It became decidedly less comfortable at around midnight, when at least three nearby clubs began blaring what can hardly be called music at full decibels, apparently in a futile attempt to override each other. It was like being at a rave.  We decided that this simply would not do, so we moved farther down the quay and were henceforth spared the tuneless hip-hop noise and pounding bass, enjoying subsequently peaceful nights.

One of our new neighbors was a single-hander (solo sailor) named Stefan, a young German who was simply entranced by our Sand Dollar.  He asked endless questions and spent quite a bit of time admiring her from all angles, apparently delighted by her lines and appointments.  We even noticed him pointing her out to his friend, excitedly describing what Ken had told him. We don’t blame him, as we agree that she’s a peach!

Single-hander Stefan on his equally beautiful Contest sailboat (his friend’s Nicholson 32 in the background)

 

Cute little hand crafted Greek fishing boats

Example of white-washed home with the classic Greek blue trim

                                               Fresh-caught octopus hanging up to dry.

 

 

The prevailing wind angle makes it an exercise in self-abuse to try to sail north, so we’ve opted to go west instead, and make our northing in the Ionian Sea, hoping for less boisterous winds. With a decent weather window forecast for the last day of July, we’ll set a westerly course for Eastern Peloponnisos, and our eventual departure from the Aegean Sea.

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