Farewell, Amvrakia

 

On the west coast of mainland Greece, less than 100 miles south of the Albanian border, lies the Gulf of Amvrakia.  Entered via a two-mile long channel from the Ionian Sea, its waters extend east for almost 20 miles, and its coastline is dotted with multiple anchorages.

The Gulf of Amvrakia as seen from the space shuttle. Levkas in foreground.

This part of Greece contrasts sharply with the dazzling white-washed houses and craggy islands of the Aegean.  Here, the distant high eroded mountains of the mainland provide a dramatic backdrop to the coastal greenery. On the islands and along the coast are gentler pine-covered slopes, their lower reaches green with fields and farmlands or meadows filled with wildflowers. Olive trees are everywhere, and some of the oldest gnarled specimens date back to the Venetian occupation in the 14th century.

We entered the Gulf at Preveza, a busy harbor with multiple marinas and boatyards,  a pleasant pedestrian walkway along the waterfront, and some tiny charming backstreets and old churches. We dropped the hook for a few days in a quiet cove near the north end of town, then weighed anchor and sailed off to explore the Gulf.  We spent two days anchored off a nearly empty beach in the northeast, and took a long walk ashore, where the rolling hills were covered with farmlands and groves of olive and lemon trees.

We had this little anchorage in Salaora Bay all to ourselves!

We followed that with a sail to tiny Vouvalos Island, where we spent one night, all alone except for several dozen seagulls, who complained loudly at the intrusion. A handful of little nearby islands were all steep-to, and their sheer mud-red sides were topped with thick green foliage, giving them all the appearance of chia pets.

A  smart sailor is conscientious about sun protection!

Before returning to Preveza to prepare for our departure from the Gulf, we anchored for two nights in the lee of little Koukouvitsa Island, near the town of Vonitsa. The pretty islet is connected to the mainland by a little causeway, and boasts a lovely wooded park with a small beach and a freshwater outdoor shower affixed to a tree.  For the first time since we left Missalonghi five and a half weeks ago, SD’s crew luxuriated in our first “full-on, stand-up, all-the-water-you-want” shower!

We had a kick-ass sail back to Preveza, close-hauled in force four conditions under “jib and jigger” (headsail and mizzen). With the wind on our nose, we tacked our way back across the bay, averaging four knots, and sailing 18 miles to make good eight miles. Conditions were glorious, so the extra miles were actually a pleasure.

We have found Preveza’s people to be typical of Greeks in general: smiling and friendly, never in a hurry, always happy to strike up a conversation, and interested to know where we are from. A tiny local fish market caught our eye, and when we stopped to take a photo, the fishmonger eagerly lifted a fish to pose for us, while his assistant chatted with us and told us how anxious she is to see America someday.

Happy fishmonger, lovely fresh catch of the day!

 

As happy as we are to visit Greece, she’s anxious to make a trip to America!

 

Typical produce market with fresh, colorful, delicious seasonal fruits and veggies!

A delightful observation on the Greece that we have visited:  No one texts!  For that matter, it’s only occasionally that we see people talking on cell phones. Instead, taverna tables are occupied by people young and old, teens and seniors, leisurely chatting over minuscule cups of strong Greek coffee, or perhaps an ouzo and a small plate with a few olives. Folks look at each other instead of down at their cell phones. Very refreshing!

Hangin’ at the taverna, where conversation trumps texting!

Our final days in Preveza were occupied with laundry and a bit of provisioning, staging for our departure to our next planned anchorage in Fanari Bay, about 20 miles north along the coast.  From there we will bid adios to the mainland and sail west to Paxoi island, our “jumping off” place for Italy.

Cheers! K&K

 

 

 

 

 

Leaving Levkas

 

Prior to our departure from Nidri, we opted for one more road trip. Having previously motor-biked the perimeter of Levkas, we headed into the mountains to see some of the interior. We were treated to jaw-dropping views as Ken navigated dozens of dizzying switchbacks on the steep mountain roads, our ears popping as we climbed higher and higher. The air was clear and fresh, sweet with the mingled scents of pine, wildflowers, and herbs.

Levkas Town in background

We took a break in the mountain village of Karia, known for traditional weaving and embroidery, before descending into busy Levkas town, as our empty mountain road merged into a deluge of traffic, where one-way-street postings and stop signs seem to be merely suggestions.  We stopped in town for a fantastic lunch of souvlaki, skewered cubes of grilled pork, juicy and delicious.

Summer is upon us now, with bright hot days and water temps perfect for swimming. The sun rises by 0600, and doesn’t set until around 2130 at night. We rigged up our big awning for shade, and we sleep with our hatches open to catch the night breezes. Life is good!

At mid-day on Friday the 13th, we suddenly felt a tremor shake the boat, accompanied by a low rumble.  Earthquake!  Immediately afterward, some chatter over the VHF radio confirmed that others had felt it, too.  But it was just a baby quake, and the only “tsunami” it generated was a series of small swells rolling across the bay.

We’d gone ashore a few evenings for a walk-about or a meal or a cold ouzo, but usually our happy hours were spent relaxing on the bow.  We’re dedicated people-watchers, and our anchorage neighbors provided us with free entertainment, much of it “R”-rated. European cruisers are not shy about swimming or parading on deck “au naturel”, so lily-white butt- cheeks and assorted dangly bits were frequently on display.  Most of this flesh has seen better days (as has our own), and some folks opt to cover up a bit, with the favored item for the gents being the Speedo. As articles of clothing go, the Speedo falls under the heading of “why bother?”.  This man-kini is usually worn two sizes too small, and is frequently accessorized with a hefty “dun-lap”, which is a belly that has “done lapped” over the owner’s lower regions, obscuring said Speedo and its contents. (Thank goodness.) 

Voyeurs we are not, and we avert our gazes from these unappetizing views, preferring instead to watch arriving boats as they drop anchor.  One woman at the bow, ready to release the hook, declined the preferred method of lifting or pushing the anchor over the bow roller, and instead stood a few feet back and used a broom handle to poke the thing into the water. Minding her manicure? We’ll never know, but from this day forward, a broom handle to us will be called an anchor-poker.

In mid-June we weighed anchor for the short trip north to the little village of Ligia, just outside the southern entrance to the Levkas Canal.  We had a glorious sail in a light south-easterly breeze, broad-reaching in a calm sea, and making around 3-4 knots under main and headsail. The passage was so pleasant that Ken was able to work on the foredeck, adding some chain to our ground tackle.  We anchored just north of the tiny harbor’s mole, with its collection of fishing boats, and splurged on a dinner ashore at a waterfront taverna.  The local boats supply the tavernas with fresh fish daily, and Ligia is known for having some of the best on the island.

We were seated on the quay, just inches from the water, and when we asked our host about the fish of the day, he invited us to the kitchen area to take a look. He opened a stainless steel ice chest to reveal an assortment of seafood goodies on a bed of crushed ice, including shrimp, lobster, and several varieties of large and small fin-fish. We selected a healthy-looking hake, a fish whose firm white flesh is similar to that of cod or haddock. (Or Victoria’s Secret models.)

We lingered over our nibbles of fresh bread and olive tapenade, as the setting sun turned the mountain-tops pink to our east. Our fish arrived whole, on a platter, grilled to perfection and looking like a work of art with a pretty garnish of lemon and cucumber slices. It was almost too pretty to eat, but that didn’t stop us from devouring every morsel!

We departed Ligia on a bright hazy morning in a southerly breeze and were able to sail up the narrow Levkas Canal with only our small headsail, making 2.5-3.5 knots as we passed through peaceful marshlands where shore-birds waded in the shallows.  Arriving at the Levkas swing bridge about 30-minutes early, we joined the queue of yachts awaiting its opening, and were pleasantly surprised to run into (not literally) our hard-stand neighbors from Missalonghi marina. Once we’d cleared the bridge, we motor-sailed five miles NE to the mainland city of Preveza,  whose channel is the entrance to the Gulf of Amvrakia, known as “the inland sea”.  This body of water, land-locked save for the channel, has a coastline dotted with ruins and ancient sites, and multiple coves for sheltered anchoring. SD and her crew will definitely be checking out a few!

Cheers! K&K

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Moving on…

 

On Saturday, May 24, we woke to light cloud cover and calm conditions in Port Kastos. As we completed our departure preparations, the soft clanging of bells alerted us to a flock of sheep being herded along the road by a shepherd, who was clad in traditional shepherd’s garb of T-shirt and shorts, assisted by his dog.  The sheep, so bushy with wool that we could barely see their heads, were all bunched up together, looking like one giant grey puffball moving along on dozens of tiny stick legs.

We cast off at 0845, motoring three miles to little Port Kalamos, and “Med-mooring” bow-in to the quay, where a handful of yachts and local fishing boats were tied up.  Once secure, we walked down to a waterfront taverna for a light breakfast of strong Greek coffee and fresh bread with butter and jam. Thus fortified, Ken filled our water jugs at the quay, and we set to work doing a little laundry and washing the cockpit.  At four in the afternoon the charter yachts began dribbling in,  taking berthing instructions via VHF from a “mother ship”, and being greeted at quayside by local taverna owner George with a smile and a hearty “Welcome to Kalamos!”.  By six o’clock the quay was full, and we were all wedged in, shoulder to shoulder. With about two dozen yachts crowding the little harbor, it was no surprise during the following morning’s exodus to find that several boats had fouled each other’s anchor chains, providing us with something to look at as we watched them sort themselves out. We avoid these harbors whenever anchoring out is an option, preferring the music of birdsong and goat bells to the sounds of busy waterfronts.

We departed Kalamos after two days, motoring in a flat calm. We were westbound for the tadpole-shaped island of Meganisi, 14 miles away, whose north shore is indented with several protected little bays and natural harbors. We’d had a quiet and drama-free departure from the quay, but were soon confronted with an embarrassing reminder that we’re not perfect yet.  We arrived at Port Atheni and entered a secluded little cove near the harbor, but when we went to drop the hook, we discovered to our chagrin that it was already in the water. We’d  lowered it a few feet when we tied up back in Kalamos to prevent its banging into the quay, and, seasoned sailors that we are, we’d neglected to snug it back up onto the bow roller when we left. Poor SD had the thing hanging off her nose like a millstone for the whole 14 miles. Good thing we’d had calm conditions!

Our quiet cove had a scenic backdrop of low tree-covered hills and a small pebbly beach. The gin-clear water beckoned for a swim, so in we went, but it turned out to be pretty nippy, and we were grateful that the warm beach was just a short distance away.

In the morning, we left the dinghy on the beach and walked along a little dirt track that skirts the harbor of Port Atheni. From there we turned up onto a small paved road toward the village of Katomeri. The road winds uphill past low stone walls bordering olive groves and a few fruit trees. One lone sheep stood hopefully at a fence gate, looking disappointed when we passed without feeding him or freeing him, grumpily refusing to smile for his photo-op.

Katomeri village itself is quaint and picture-postcard Greek, its homes sporting brightly painted shutters, cascades of colorful flowers, and narrow streets paved with irregular slate-like stones. Old Greek women, dressed all in black, chatted on porches or sat on shady patios working at traditional crafts. We passed one elderly lady busily crocheting or tatting some lacy article,  and down the road, another wove a shawl on an ancient loom. We stopped to admire her work, and she held out the old wooden bobbin to show us her thread, explaining, “Coton” (cotton).

We departed our Atheni cove on Thursday, May 29, westbound again, and three miles later were anchor-down in another miniature scenic cove near Meganisi’s capital city of Vathi. Capital city it may be, but it looks more like a small, colorful village, so we dinghied ashore, only to be chased back to SD 45 minutes later by ominous black clouds, complete with lightning and thunder. We timed our departure perfectly, managing to get caught in the full downpour in the middle of the channel, and arrived home soaked to the skin.

We had a pleasant three-day sojourn in Vathi, watching the parade of charter boats and ferries passing in and out of the harbor, and made a trip ashore one sunny day for a leisurely walk-about through the town.

On June first, a Sunday, we motor-sailed five miles under fair skies to the island of Levkas, passing the private island of Skorpios (once owned by the Onassis family) less than a quarter mile to starboard. The island is now owned by a wealthy Russian, but security is still tight, with armed guards ashore to protect the privacy of owners and guests.  The fame of the previous owners lives on, however, and we heard one yacht crew chatting on VHF with another, describing their location as offshore of “Jackie O’s beach house”.

Aristotle Onassis was a frequent visitor to the tavernas of Nidri, and a statue of the man stands on the quay, as his patronage and renown brought fame and a whole bunch of tourist money to the town. Boy, did it ever, in spades!

“Is that you, Mr. Onassis?”

Nearing our destination at Nidri, we expected to find an active harbor, but were shocked to see more than a hundred boats in the bay and berthed at the docks along the waterfront, which itself is packed with colorful shops and tavernas.  Ferries, private cruisers, fishing boats, and several fleets of charter yachts clogged the quay areas.  We chose a quiet spot to anchor among about a dozen other yachts across the channel from the hubbub, in aptly named Tranquil Bay.

SD (center of photo) at anchor in Tranquil Bay

Looking north from Vlikho up toward Nidri.  Nidri town is at far upper left.

We spent a few sunny days strolling the little streets, although on one cold, rainy, windy day we found ourselves boat-bound by the weather. We woke the next morning to find the dinghy with 10 gallons of muddy water sloshing inside, and a noxious coating of muddy red dirt all over SD and her decks and gear. We found out later from locals that when the wind and rain come from the south, they carry this mess all the way from Africa. It took us hours to clean everything up.

We rented a motorbike one morning to tour the island, roughly rounding the perimeter. Levkas is only an island because of a man-made canal on the NE “corner”  which dates to antiquity, and which separates it from mainland Greece. The bridge to the mainland is actually a floating swing bridge, basically a big barge-like affair that raises a ramp at each end and pivots to allow the passage of transiting vessels. We stopped to watch it in action, as we’ll be one of the parade of yachts when we head north.

Above:  The Levkas Canal swing bridge in action.

Below:  Yachts in transit as the bridge stands by on the east side of the canal.

Continuing our ride, we agreed that Levkas is one of the loveliest islands we’ve seen. Every turn of the winding and often steep road brought fresh vistas of the sparkling Ionian Sea far below us, or of the steep limestone mountains towering above, their slopes carpeted with pine and cypress trees. Thick stands of bright “yellow broom” wildflowers lined the roads and covered the hillsides on the west coast, their subtle sweet scent reminiscent of orange blossoms. In contrast, there were no flowers on the eastern side of the mountains, but the hills were thick with olive trees, and the distinctive fragrances of sun-warmed rosemary and sage filled the air.

Fragrant “yellow broom” flowers

The spectacular Ionian Sea, seen from a mountain road on Levkas’ west coast, Pretty beaches line the shore.

We treated ourselves one evening to a night on the town, heading in at seven o’clock to a quayside taverna for an outstanding pizza (with local anchovies) cooked in a wood-fired oven. That hour is pretty early for dinner by European standards, but by the time we’d finished our meal and were people-watching, relaxing over cold glasses of complimentary ouzo, the tavernas were filling up. We took a stroll along the waterfront, now sparkling with thousands of tiny lights, and along the traffic-free main road. All tavernas were full, and all shops open for business, and the town was in full-on festive mode, with the sounds of Greek music drifting on the breeze.

With lots to see and do (and eat and drink!), we’ll linger a bit longer before heading north. We’ll probably rent a motor-bike for another day of touring, this time sight-seeing a bit in the island’s main town of Levkas, with its museums, ruins, and old churches.  We’ll never be able to sample all the wonderful food that Greece has to offer, but we’re trying to make a dent, and we’ve already got some favorites.  Local feta cheese, yogurt, olives, and pita gyros are regular treats for us, as is the classic Greek yogurt/cucumber/garlic dip called “tzatziki”, but which Ken refers to as “suzuki”.  The ouzo, Greece’s famous anise-flavored cordial, is also a special treat, one which we can only enjoy at a taverna, a it is meant to be served over ice (which we don’t have), with ice water (ditto) added, turning it a cloudy white.  As with France’s “pastis”, it is meant to be sipped slowly while relaxing, chatting, people-watching, or whatever.  We’ll no doubt indulge in a leisurely glass one more time before we bid farewell to Nidri.

Cheers!   K&K

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