After her long winter "on the hard", SD's "splash day" dawned bright and sunny. The boatyard crew arrived mid-morning with a trailer to tow SD to the water, and they began positioning the trailer skids under her hull so that the jack-stands could be removed. Ken had put a fresh coat of paint on her bottom over the past few days, and she was looking pretty darn spiffy, and now he had the opportunity to touch up the bits where she'd perched on the stands. As he hurried from spot to spot with his roller and paint, the yard crew busily worked at positioning the trailer and pulling the jack-stands, amid excited cries to each other of "Opa! Opa!". This Greek word, sometimes a toast, sometimes a cheer, is evidently a multi-purpose exclamation, and we were told by locals that in this case, it meant "slowly", or something similar.
Meanwhile, Katie, still on deck, high above the action, scurried fore and aft, lowering solar panels, hanging fenders, and rigging dock-lines. Despite her best attempts at speed, she was apparently working too "opa" for the crew, as heavily accented Greek voices began calling up, "Lady! Come down!". Ken, watching from the ground, remarked at this point that although a hurry-up approach was indeed desirable, treading lightly on deck was probably a good idea, as the arrangements below were looking none too stable. Hearing this, the lady was only too happy to come down, after which the boarding ladder was removed, and SD was trundled off to water's edge. There, amid a fresh chorus of "Opa! Opa!" from the workers, a crane gently lifted her from her cradle, and into the water she went. Easy peasy. Or, as Ken's friend Mike ("the Puck") says, "Dink, dink,.....and dink.".
We climbed aboard and motored off to an outer pontoon a comfy distance from the crowded marina docks. Ken had scoped out this scenic little spot on a reconnaissance walk, and in the spirit of "it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission", we simply enacted squatter's rights and tied up there. No one ever came to evict us from our berth, and we enjoyed our quiet private spot, with its nice view of the nearby meadow and the Missalonghi channel.
Occasionally a departing yacht would stray beyond the channel and run aground in the mud, thereby suffering the embarrassment of making a VHF radio call for a tow. Chatting up one of these unfortunate captains, who'd returned to the marina following his rescue, Ken found out that such a mishap is more than just embarrassing, it's ridiculously expensive. Evidently, if a boat runs aground in Greece, the Port Police get involved, the boat must be dived on and its bottom inspected (which alone costs 400 Euros, or about $530.00 US), and the whole ordeal runs additional significant fees, a.k.a. "rip-offs". Ouch.
We passed the next 10 days at the dock in a series of boat projects: polishing, cleaning, waxing, sewing, washing, repairing, and provisioning with food, water, and diesel. We serviced the winches, replaced old lines, and climbed into the coffin-like (and incredibly uncomfortable) lazarettes to run coax for our AIS GPS antenna and for Ken to check the prop shaft alignment and to service the steering system. Ken also spent the better part of a morning at the Port Police, sorting out our paperwork and ponying up a painful number of Euros for confusing taxes and fees. Not only was it confusing for Ken, it was evidently just as confusing to the officials, as he'd be directed from one office to another, with the new office asking Ken what the other office wanted. (Katie asked Ken if he'd answered, "It's all Greek to me!", but, alas, he hadn't.) Back and forth he obediently trotted, until one helpful girl took pity on him and wrote something on a Post-It before sending Ken off again to the Office of Cluelessness.
As departure day approached, the weather took a dump, and our warm sunny days deteriorated into cold windy ones, with intermittent showers and thunderstorms. Finally,on Saturday, May 17, we woke to a perfect morning. So with full lockers (and empty pockets) we tossed off the dock-lines and motor-sailed down the three-mile Missalonghi Channel to the Gulf of Patras. After heading west and exiting the Gulf, we turned SD's bows north into the Ionian Sea, and eventually dropped anchor in a little bay behind Nisis Petalas (Island Petalas). We had the bay to ourselves, and the silence of the surrounding scrub-covered hills was broken only by the occasional cry of a sea-bird. We were back in cruising mode, and we celebrated "swizzle time" in the cockpit that evening to cap a glorious day.
The following morning, enjoying our coffee in the cockpit, we could hear the distant bells of goats on the nearby hills and eventually spied a small group with our binoculars. The beauty and serenity of this peaceful little bay moved us to stay another day, but tomorrow we'll weigh anchor and continue north to the fishing town of Astakos, whose name means "lobster".
Til next time, Cheers! K&K
This post is courtesy of the Ham Radio Winlink System www.winlink.org
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