SV Footprint

Moving on..

2011-11-29T20:45:00.002-05:00

[Maryanne]Hi Folks, I've had a number of requests for more blog entries! While Kyle and I have been busy since we lost Footprint, very little we've done has been Footprint related. I've decided to start a new blog Sailors Ashore where we will continue to update friends and family until we can sail again!

I also have yet another blog Cooking on my travels that I might work on now I have time. The name says it all really...

New Friends and New Horizons

2011-10-27T15:39:00.000-04:00

[Maryanne]So, Footprint is lost and Kyle and I set off on another chapter in our lives. It’s been a shock, and obviously a sudden, and unexpected change, but it’s also given us some opportunities and found us some new and wonderful friends.

Farewell to Footprint, hello to new friends
First of all, Enzo and Pasquale have been fantastic. Enzo has been an enormous help with so many things, but most practically translations (right up to the last hours of my stay); Pasquale brightens up any day with his smile, and his passion for life and food. My last night was spent in a local restaurant, with our two new friends and heros, watching a football (soccer) match with the local team Napoli winning 2-0. A happy evening, but a sad farewell.

I cleared out the apartment today, all food given away, boxes collected by the shipping company – done. I wonder when I might again see our possessions; the understanding so far is vague, but hopefully before Christmas?

Enzo and Pasquale volunteered their help and pretty much adopted us into their circle of family and friends. There are other names that merit mention in the town, most particularly the wonderful Nina, the elderly lady that acts as Mom to all in the apartment building. It was Nina that found us an empty apartment to stay in (when Enzo’s leads ran out) and gave us a wonderfully spacious base while we sorted out the boat and shipping of our items. She would readily chat to me at 100mph in Italian. I’ve no idea what she was saying but she exuded love and compassion, a wonderful lady. When I was trying to tell her my age, I may have mistakenly given her the impression I had 45 children, I could see the shock and confusion on her face but found no way to correct the situation.

At one point, struggling to find shipping company information I reached out to a (relatively) local ExPat (via Couchsurfing) and befriended the wonderful Liz, here in Italy with her husband at the US Navy base north of Naples. She threw herself into ensuring all my needs were met, pointed me to useful sources and even drove 1.5 hours each way to deliver me some boxes and help with shipping some more essential items I had no hope of managing by hand.

Liz assists with one last box, and just ONE of the courses of my last meal with 'the Agropoli guys'
So, my boxes are on their journey, and I too have started the journey ‘home’. Of course we have no real sense of home right now, but we’ll soon have one. I’ve started applying for jobs and amazingly had my first phone interview (which I’m told I passed) while still in Italy. This bodes well for finding work sooner rather than later.

So it’s all good news. I can’t stop the feeling of relief at how smoothly everything has gone, how wonderful everyone has been to us, and how lucky we are that we only lost a boat. Despite the relief, I feel quite disjointed right now, homeless, a little isolated, and un-rooted. I’m looking forward to seeing friends and family the first chance we get, and of course looking forward to seeing Kyle again just as soon as flights allow (hopefully by Saturday evening).

Thank you to everyone who has helped, or reached out with kind words. The world is indeed a wonderful place with many wonderful people; I’ve no doubt about it. And we are two very lucky people.

Here are a few photos of Footprint in various wonderful places she has allowed us to visit.. Farewell.

Day trip to Napoli

2011-10-27T15:05:00.001-04:00

[Maryanne]I’m all packed and nothing to do but wait for the shipping company. With the loss of Footprint, we also lost the chance to visit many of the places we had planned over the last few weeks (and beyond); most immediately this was to have been Salerno, Pompeii, and Naples. There was no way I could now do them all, but I was determined to try and do something. The decision was made easily when I realized I had to get a document notarized at the American Consulate in Naples. I took the early train determined to cram in as much sightseeing as I could. Understanding that many tourist sights are closed on Mondays, I deliberately scheduled my consulate appointment for Tuesday; ha, am I clever or what?

The highlight of Naples according to the guidebooks and the travel guru Rick Steve, is the museum, in particular the top floor which houses all the great mosaics and artifacts discovered in Pompeii, and promptly carted off. This was my #1 priority and I’d see what else I could squeeze in once I got there.

Unfortunately, on reading my guidebook on the train journey there, I discovered the Museum was closed just one day a week, the day I was travelling (so the answer to the question in first paragraph is clearly “what”).

I also discovered that I needed information I didn’t have to complete my document before I could notarize it, AND that it didn’t need completing after all until my shipped items reached the USA. Doh! I needed to research those other Naples sights rapidly, thankfully I had an hour and a half on the train and I made a rough loop of an itinerary, despite the distractions of the stunning mountain and coastal scenery that I was being whisked through.

Napoli Cathedral
It turns out those guidebooks do Naples a disservice, there is plenty to do, and much of it impressively good (or maybe the museum would have truly outshone all of what I did see in the day). It is however all set amid kamikaze traffic, and often crowded by ugly modern needs thoughtlessly installed to ruin the views.

Shops in Napoli's historic district
Just wondering the streets of Naples bombards the senses, especially in the old part of the city where, in narrow cobbled streets, cars amazingly vie for space with pedestrian locals going about their shopping or chatting and gesticulating with friends. Tiny fronted, crammed and exquisitely presented food shops, all specializing in something, were irresistibly picturesque to me.

One area of the historic center in particular is clearly the place to purchase your beautiful hand made nativity scenes (Cribs). Of course they don’t just make nativity scenes any longer, but many 3D scenes of numerous themes: artisans at work, housewives gossiping or doing their laundry, farm animals, and more (anything you can think of no doubt, although generally they seem to be styled in the 1700’s and 1800’s). These are no tacky memento but amazing works of art, beautifully built and stunning to me to view. Way beyond dolls houses! They are also large, centerpieces for a table perhaps, but way to large for a mantelpiece. Naples is the first area to have created the scale down, but realistic, models of the nativity scene (Until then all figures were built life size. I’m not 100% sure, but something to do with the technology that allowed for articulated models at such a scale, providing realistic looking figures; Plus the genius of a Napoli artist of course). As an aside, the first of such scenes I’ve ever seen was one built by our friend Pasquale. A beautiful nativity scene rotates 180 degrees to reveal a 17th century rural village scene – stunning and what talent.

Cribs for sale in this area of Napoli's historic district, and one of many displays of walnut shell scenes
A quirky item I saw a lot of in Naples was miniature scenes set within walnut shells. These included individual saints, or whole villages it seemed, whatever the whim of the artist. I’ve no idea how they worked with so many tiny and intricate pieces.

Yet another oddity was the battered small orange car I found chained to a post, for protection against theft I assume? It was small, but I doubt anyone would really just carry it off, hilarious.

I went to a number of churches (and the cathedral/Duomo), including one (Santa Maria delle Anime del Purgatorio ad Arco) dedicated to those souls in purgatory where the followers pray to old skulls in creepy, darkened, cobweb filled crypts (the pope officially disapproves, but that doesn’t stop anyone; Neapolitans are feisty). The skull of Lucia is a particular favorite of new brides it seems.

The cult of dead at Santa Maria
I went to monasteries and walked beautiful cloisters. I partook in the underground Naples tour, where ancient tuft mining has left large caverns which over the years (from the Greeks, on) have been used as water cisterns for the city, rubbish dumps, bomb shelters, wine stores, and plant growth experiments (among so many other uses).

The subterranean tour includes a walk over about a mile of the cisterns (a small fraction of the network), 40m or more underground, linked by narrow (very, very narrow) passageways, and in some areas the tour uses candle light to proceed. Also under the modern city experts have recently located a giant Roman amphitheater. This has been mostly built within and on top of over the centuries, and now has many of the archways in use as cellars, workshops, B&Bs and more, and until recently without the current owners having any idea that they were using part of such a huge amphitheater. The tour took us to the stage area and some of the seating areas, each a block or so, and a rapid walk through busy town streets, from each other.

Roman city beneath modern Naples and San Lorenzo church
Of course the tourist oriented subterranean tour isn’t the only show on the road with cool stuff underground. The San Lorenzo Maggiore church has an extensive Roman shopping precinct beneath it – all available to amble around and imagine yourself buying your fish and fresh bread from the appropriate stores.

Scenes from atop the hill at San Martino
I took one of the town funiculars up a hill for the views and found myself at the St Elmo Castle (also closed on Tuesdays) and yet another church/monastery (San Martino). Readying myself happily for another church tour, I was stunned to find an impressively grand residence (and views) but also an amazing museum. The rooms of the museum included original royal carriages, a giant royal barge, and a extended display of exquisitely detailed ‘Nativity scenes’ – including one that was large enough to have filled a standard stage and must have included 100’s, if not 1000’s of figures in stunning scenery settings.

Terribly dark photos but I hope you get an idea of the scale and magnificence of these 'cribs' - here are two different areas of the same giant scene
Eventually I walked and bussed back to the train station, exhausted, but in time for dinner with Enzo and Pasquale. Tantalizingly the train passed by both Pompeii and Herculaneum – two different sites overcome by the Pompeii eruption, and since excavated. Oh to have the time to see it all - just two more reasons to add to the many to return to Italy I guess.

And of course you can’t go to Naples, the home of pizza, without sampling the food. At lunchtime I did my duty, I approve!

Eating Italian - Thanksgiving is for Wimps

2011-10-16T15:31:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]We did one thing today: eat lunch (well that took up 90% of our time). Pasquale, Enzo, Maryanne and I joined up with a group of five other friends and family and the nine of us drove up into the mountains in two cars. The other seven went to mass at Getsemani while Maryanne and I walked the beautiful grounds and talked at length about what lay ahead for us.

The Sanctuary and Church in the beautiful mountain setting at Gethsemini
Once that was done, we drove further up into the mountains to a restaurant known for its flavorful mushrooms near the village of Trentinara. It started out the usual way. Pasquale went into the kitchen and told the chef what we wanted. No menu necessary. While we waited for the first course, he roasted chestnuts that we had collected on the grounds on the way in. He did it on their open fire in the middle of the restaurant. He really did.

Kyle cleans the plate of delicious food, and the next course arrives
The first course arrived: two huge platters of polenta, one with a mushroom sauce, one with tomato sauce and sausage. Whew! We were full. Then we were told that was just the starter! Next came the second course: Tagliatelle in mushroom sauce. Really full. Wait! Next was ravioli. Oof! Next Pork cutlets and sausage. Very full, I’ll just have a little taste to be polite. How about a plate of roasted vegetables? Fried potatoes? Steak? Au gratin? Oh, please make it stop! All of this was accompanied by lots of red wine. Oh, and bread. Lots of bread.

Food, more food, and more food!
My own mother working day and night for the week before Thanksgiving has not been able to stuff me so full. What a meal! Nine courses. I’m gonna die! We all sat there stuffed and groaning, fighting off huge food comas. I don’t know how all of the Italians could handle the jiggling of all of their gestures.

Then we heard mention of dessert. Nooo! How? Nooo!

I secretly was hoping for some French looking thing: delectable, but the size of a sugar cube with a sprig of mint sticking out of it. No such luck. They were huge. Maryanne got an enormous puff pastry with chantilly cream and cherries. I got a slightly smaller chocolate volcano with hazelnut ice cream. We each ate half and swapped. In spite of us each being near bursting, they were both still delicious. Then came the coffee. Oh, thank god the coffees here are tiny.

A few of the men then went for grappa. I begged off because 1: I was way to full, and 2: Grappa still tastes to me like it’s been siphoned out of someone’s tank. I even prefer Norwegian aquavit to grappa.

When the bill came around, having already been told it was quite an up-scale restaurant, we all spent time wincing at its impending arrival. It didn’t turn out to be too bad: €260 for a week’s food and wine for nine people. It actually added up to slightly more, but we got a discount because they brought us too much food (what we ordered!). I love that. I’m trying that the next time I’m in New Jersey. “Hey! How do you expect me to eat all of this? You’d better knock some off-a that tab!”

Gathering Chestnuts
After our all-day meal, we collected more chestnuts for later (although who knows when we’ll ever be hungry again), and then were driven into the village to see the view of the surrounding mountains overlooking the gulf of Salerno. We have been taken care of so well since we wrecked in this part of Italy. It’s hard not to think that we would have missed all of this had we only stayed for a day and moved on. I wouldn’t wish what happened happened, but it’s seems we got the best possible outcome thanks to the warmth of the Italian people and especially our friends Enzo and Pasquale.

More beautiful scenery and friends

Agropoli – Day 8 – 14 October

2011-10-15T12:26:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]In the morning, we went out to find a Notary Public to witness signatures for our paperwork. It turns out Italy has no such thing. The very concept seems unheard of. What would have been a quick $10 errand in the U.S. turned into an all-morning affair. Initially, it was thought we meant we needed a Notario, which seems to be either a lawyer or a broker. Either would charge us hundreds of euros. No freakin’ way. We tried City Hall, where as an aside, we got to meet the Mayor. They suggested we go to the U.S. Consulate in Naples. I’m sure everybody there is a Notary, but I was not about to spend all day going all the way up there just to have a signature witnessed. We finally had luck at the Coast Guard. Since our paperwork was boat related and since they had been helping us along the way, we were finally given the equivalent signature and stamp.

We then went down the harbor to Footprint to give Luigi a tour and rundown of all of the systems that weren’t self-evident. We also left a set of keys. Their priority seemed to be to get the engine up and running, which had been partially submerged. Luigi seemed impressed by her systems and the equipment we had installed. We talked a bit (he speaks a little English) about where we had sailed her. He said he was sorry this had happened to us and we responded that we hoped he would do well with the boat. He seemed completely unconcerned with the mess. I suppose seeing a boat in that condition is much more normal for him than us.

As we walked away, we started off at a brisk pace like we always did for our cross-town commute. Then I realized we no longer had reason to return. I always knew it was a possibility, but I really hadn’t expected this when we showed up at the factory with the Big Check. We gave each other a hug, but quickly got moving again. Neither one of us was ready to let the dam break. I decided that even though all of the remaining business was all on paper and not to do with the actual boat, I would swing by one more time before leaving to check on her – the long-standing habits of the sailor.

Agropoli – Day 7 – 13 October

2011-10-15T12:21:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]As we were preparing to go back to the boat and dive again into the mess, we got a call from our insurance man. He had sent someone to take video of Footprint as she came out of the water. We thought this was strange, as we had been emailing him detailed photos and descriptions at every step, and we hadn’t seen anyone taking video. It turns out there had been some technical problem preventing emails from going back and forth (since resolved). He said that based on what they could see of the condition of Footprint as she came out of the water, they had already declared her a total loss.

This apparently had a great deal to do with her location. She was a long way from any good repair facilities. She is too big to transport on Italian roads, so would have to be transported by barge. Once she did get to a yard, the cost of parts and labor in Italy is still very high. Even though the damage, though serious, did not seem too bad, it was not economically feasible to repair her. Had she been completely sunk outside a big yard in a third-world country, they probably would have been willing to practically rebuild her from scratch.

He emailed us the paperwork and said as soon as they got it back, they’d send us a check for everything except our personal belongings. Once the inventory of lost items in the boat was done, they’d send a second check for that. We have been amazed at the speed and calmness associated with our claim. At such a difficult time it would be even more stressful to be worrying about interrogations and arguments about value – Jackline and IMIS have been WONDERFUL, as has the agent they assigned to our case.

It was strange. Less than a week after setting anchor in Agropoli for the night, Footprint was officially gone.

Cataloging the losses, bagging the trash and laundry of what we can keep
We were in a daze of shock as we spent the rest of the day clawing through the wet piles of stuff on our former boat. We quickly gave up the idea of being able to get her cleared out as too daunting. Instead, we focused on taking photos of dripping electronics and stuck together books. Hardest for me were the charts and cruising guides. We had such a huge store of charts from so many places. We had made it to them all safely and now they were mushy and being photographed for evidence on a sand-covered floor. It seemed so unfair, so sudden.

Pasquale went with me to the boat with his car to pick up the last of the things we could salvage. He had a terrible cold, but still insisted on helping. He’s a really good guy.

In the evening, with Enzo acting as translator, our insurance company agreed to give Footprint to Bruno and his partner Luigi as payment for the recovery operation. What’s not cost effective for the insurance company surely will be for them. They can do the work in Agropoli at cost and own the yard space she sits in. They’re not 100% sure yet whether it will be better to strip her for parts or fix her up. She may someday float again, we hope so.

Agropoli – Day 6 – 12 October

2011-10-15T12:06:00.001-04:00

[Kyle]The recovery coordinator Bruno arrived at 9:00am with another man (Niki) and two shovels and started digging out a path so Footprint could be towed into deep enough water for a diver to attach flotation. A much larger gasoline powered pump was brought aboard which emptied both hulls within twenty minutes. Footprint slowly leveled and rose to within a few inches of her normal waterline. The CG and the fishing/towboat arrived. It was a much easier matter to get the towline on with almost no surf to fight, and the fishing boat much closer to shore. With Footprint floating again, it took only the slightest pull to get her off the beach.

Digging out and floating Footprint
A diver attached 1000 kilos of flotation. With the petrol bilge pump running, the towline was shortened and Footprint was towed backwards the short ride into harbor. It’s weird, but I had the thought that it felt good to be at sea again.

The fishing boat tows Footprint away from the beach and into the harbour
Once near the crane, she was detached from the fishing boat and towed with a smaller workboat up to the craning slip. Straps were attached and she was hauled out and blocked. I was really surprised she was still strong enough to handle the stresses of being hauled out, particularly since the crane configuration put the straps far from the usual lifting points and the damage to the hulls at the usual lifting location. Amazingly the diver in charge of the flotation stayed in the water with the boat for the whole journey, only leaving once the buoyancy was removed at the dock on lifting the boat.

Finally Footprint makes it to the crane and out of the water
With Footprint out of the water, and the water out of her, we were able to finally get a good look at the extent of the damage. It didn’t seem to look as bad as I had feared. The port hull has two or three substantial holes caused by the rocks on the beach that first night. The port bow is crushed badly and the port rudder has been essentially broken off and in pieces, dangling by the last unbroken part. No obvious breach of the starboard hull can be seen from the outside, although there is still a huge crack at least half the boat length visible under both floorboards from the inside (with both sides of the crack clearly separated). The starboard rudder is still basically intact minus large chunks that were missing from the case. Both hulls, centerboards and rudders have large gouges in many places and, of course, little bottom paint remains.

Some of the damage up close, heartbreaking
In the interior, the most major damage visible were the long cracks in each hull under the floor. The battery compartment is a fused blob of corrosion. All three water tanks (2 main plus the hot) have come free. Sand is everywhere, particularly in the port bilge and stern lockers.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning out and cataloging all of the wet piles of debris inside and seeing what needs to be claimed for replacement and what might be recoverable to our growing store of things in the apartment.

Once it was too dark to work any more, we carried what we could across town to our apartment. We were all worn out and grubby and it felt like we had hardly made a dent in the mess. Still, our apartment seems to be suddenly full. We have only been able to save perhaps a third of the items in Footprint, but as I look around the apartment, I’m already wondering how it all fit in that little boat. Amazingly we have rescued and recovered all the important stuff, all that is damaged and lost is easily replaceable. We are very lucky indeed.

Agropoli - Day 5 - 11th October

2011-10-12T01:47:00.001-04:00

[Kyle]We heard from the insurance man in the middle of the night, who is a Marine Surveyor. Based on our verbal account alone, he thinks the boat is likely a complete loss. He is planning on traveling to Agropoli as soon as he is able to make a better determination. We then did our best to document the damage photographically in order to give him a more complete idea of the extent of the damage.

Our day was spent recovering nearly everything from inside the boat that has not been obviously ruined. It is hard to move around the boat as so many items have found their way out of bags and cupboards and now float around mixed up together. Cleaning items mix with pens and surgical gloves and moving around the boat it is difficult to even see the floor and gauge correct footing. Once the boat is hauled all this stuff will finally settle and an even bigger clean up will be required. For now I made trips back and forth carrying backpack load after backpack load. Maryanne started on the long process of rinsing and drying everything.

Many of the recovered items were clothing, most of which have been underwater for a several days now. Our apartment has no washing machine but a fantastic giant sink and a selection of washboards to attach (lots of water, too!), with lines off of the balconies for drying. Washing and then hanging a load of laundry is going to be a several times a day ritual for the next week or so. {Maryanne: Enzo of course came to the rescue and allows us to use his machine anytime, there is also a local laudromat for the excess}

In the evening we went down the street with Enzo and Pasquale to Rifugio, their favorite local restaurant, for dinner. It is a one-man business run by their wonderful and friendly friend Alfredo. Half of the space is kitchen fully visible through a glass partition, the other half is taken up by the three tables. Alfredo made us a very large and delicious three-course meal of spaghetti and local seafood. During the meal Pasquale and Enzo would let themselves into the kitchen as necessary. There was lots of great, animated Italian going back and forth between the three chefs about the proper way to cook things. Food is very important to the Italians, we were happy to sit back and be entertained, distracted from the future for a while.

Alfredo serves our first course and Kyle enjoys a 'real' coffee (this is the full glass as presented and there must be enough coffee in there to make 20 Maryanne cups)
After dinner, we had coffee. In Italy, just a plain-old coffee is 2 oz. of super-concentrated coffee syrup; barely more than enough to coat the tongue. It’s taken fifty times a day at every available opportunity. I’ve really taken to it with a packet of sugar. It’s still way too strong for Maryanne’s taste, which is ½ strength instant coffee in the morning in a big mug. As a compromise, she ordered a Café Americano, which is, embarrassingly, a regular coffee watered way down. This took a whole committee of offended Italians to make and still it ended up too strong for Maryanne. I’m sure they’d be mortified at how she really drinks what she still calls coffee.

After dinner, the three of them engaged in a long debate about what is the best for Footprint. It was touching to see even the local restaurateur showing so much care and concern for our plight.

Agropoli - Day 4 -10th October

2011-10-11T18:02:00.002-04:00

The port hull damage extends in the surf
[Kyle]Waves and surf were much worse in the morning. A check on Footprint found her to be stable, but slowly suffering more damage. Wave action continued to sink her further into the sand, raising the water level inside. Cracks on the inside of the damaged port bow have spread all of the way to the bottom of the hull and back up the other side, leaving a large hole little material attached to the main hull, The port rudder could not be seen, but the damaged starboard rudder is no longer aligned with the fore-aft axis of the hull.

We finally get a quick walk around old Agropoli while Footprint still awaits moving
Enzo took us on a long walk of Agropoli to orient us. We bought me an Italian phone so I could keep in touch within the country. So far all Enzo’s leads for an apartment have proved dead-ends, today Enzo put us in touch with a wonderful elderly woman on the first floor who acts as the building’s matriarch. She made a couple of calls to absent tenants, Enzo haggled the price on our behalf and in no time, we were given a furnished apartment on the 5th floor for a month for the price of only a few nights in a hotel. Many of the apartments are currently empty since they are owned by city dwelling families who use them only during the summer own them.

On one of our trips to the boat, we encountered Bruno. He was swinging by to check on her. He told us that flotation had been found and as soon as the weather subsides, they plan to float Footprint and take her into the harbor for haulout.

The weather is predicted to be too bad now for the next couple of days, so it appears that our earliest opportunity for getting Footprint off of the beach will be in two to three days time.

We had lunch with Vincenzo and then gave him back his privacy by moving our little pile of salvaged belongings into a corner of one room of our capacious new apartment.

We returned to the boat to collect as much of the food as we could carry that was still good. I was surprised at how quickly our big kitchen filled up. How did we get all of that on the boat? We have, of course, been invited to yet another delicious dinner at Enzo’s, joined by Pasquale. Pasquale also speaks English, but not as well as Vincenzo. Between the four of us chatting, their English is getting better and we are learning a few new Italian words also. {Maryanne: better still we are learning how to prepare some real Italian dishes!}

Agropoli – Day 3 - 9th October

2011-10-11T17:42:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]Checking on the boat in the morning, we had hoped to empty some water and recover more items to safekeeping. However it was clear that water was still rising in the boat as the boat sinks into the sand. Both hulls and the floor in-between were now flooded, almost to the seat of the sofa area. The batteries were underwater, and many items were floating around loose in both hulls. Water was entering the cockpit area from waves breaking on the side, and it seemed futile to empty water that would just replace itself.

We attempted to raise items out of further water ingress where possible and recovered more essential/critical items (as much as we could manage).

During this exercise several of the key players from the weekend recovery team stopped by and advised us that the owner of the beach property we were now laying outside of had complained that the lines were damaging to the property. Bruno had been passing by in the middle of the night, so he re-lead them all.

The aim for the day was to find accommodation and we are hoping for an apartment for the month (to find out later).

Based on information from the recovery team, the expectation was that the boat was to remain at its current site. On Monday morning a recovery attempt with floating pontoons (or balloons) will be made to the local harbor for haul out of the boat. From here we expect to wait for the surveyor before further decisions on repairs are made.

During the day, our little pile in Enzo’s spare room grew slowly. Enzo showed us pictures and told us stories from his 29 years as ship’s Navigator, most recently on a 240m LPG ship running between Alaska and Japan. He had fun practising his sights with our recovered Sextant, he's an expert since this is one of the many jobs he used to be responsible for in his merchant mariner days. The day ended with a film night at Pasquale’s and a dinner of lovely local takeout pizza from what they assure us is the best pizza place in town.

Agropoli – Day 2 - 8th October

2011-10-11T13:14:00.000-04:00

Footprint close to the rocks, but still relatively dry inside & our new heros Pasquale and Enzo
[Kyle]With Footprint on the beach and us holed up in a local apartment it was already an unusual night for us. At 3:00 am, another thunderstorm passed, bringing in more large waves. Footprint could be seen being pushed much farther up the beach. The first thing on Saturday morning we checked on the boat and it was clear that it had some additional damage was visible from having the port hull dropped onto rocks protruding from the sand she had moved to.

First rescue attempt - the Crane
On visiting the coast guard at the appointed time they were especially helpful and offered to contact a local crane company to haul the boat – we accepted. The nearest access to Footprint was on a very narrow one-way road that would barely accommodate the crane. The crane somehow managed to arrive. Stabilizing arms were extended and lowered onto the adjacent concrete pad. The concrete structure began to crack under the weight of the stabilizing arm (before the boat was connected, this was just form the weight of the crane – even with wooden blocking to spread the load) – Possible claims (??). It was quickly decided the support structure they needed to lift from was hollow and not suitable. At this point the CG and the recovery agents decided to try and tow the boat either to the nearby harbor and haul out, or to an alternative (sandier/safer patch of beach). The boat had minimal water in the starboard hull and port water level was stable at about 2” above the floorboards (roughly equal to the water level outside) and was readily emptied with the manual pump. The boat was hard aground but still appeared to inch closer to shore and rocks on the impact of larger swells/waves.

The towboat used was a local fishing boat, presumably called by the CG or the recovery crew. He insisted we agree a price before he would move his boat to the scene. He asked for €1000 and we negotiated/agreed €900 (still to pay). At this point and throughout the day we were desperately hoping for contact with our insurance company. Without this help we had to make decisions as best we could for the sake of the boat and property and rely on expert advice from the Coast Guard and the recovery crew. Often this advice was at odds and they debated long and hard in Italian. The language issues hampered our understanding, but we had a very helpful translator with Vincenzo, who was selfless with his time for us..

Maryanne was requested to visit the CG to complete a report of extraordinary incident (the boat grounding), in order to authorize the tow. I remained with the recovery crew, who then began attaching straps around the circumference of the boat.

While Maryanne was at the CG, the CG commander reported that the weather was too poor for the tow and he refused permission, saying conditions were too hazardous. Eventually, when he checked subsequent day’s weather, he determined that it was only going to get worse. The boat was in a poor position (near rock and concrete structure), so it was decided it WOULD be best to move ASAP. Permission was granted and preparation was now focused on this.

Preparing the boat for tow, the CoastGuard, tow boat and tender arrive and so many people help get lines to Footprint from the towboat
The fishing boat arrived, which was much larger than we expected and could not get close to our vessel. A smaller open workboat arrived at the fishing vessel and picked up the end of a mile long steel cable on floats being fed out by the fishing boat. Towing the cable to shore was a long process. Once the workboat reached the surf, they were clearly having trouble keeping control against the pull of the heavy line. At one point, the man at the outboard engine was washed overboard, sending the boat spinning out of control until the man handling the cable was able to make his way back, stop the engine and pull the other man back aboard. One of the recovery team, Angelo, who was wearing a dry suit, waded out through the surf to help stabilize the workboat as it approached through the surf.

Once they were close enough, a long line was attached to the cable and it was disconnected from the workboat. Then about a dozen people, including crew, bystanders, us and the CG man in dress whites who kicked off his shoes and waded into the surf in his socks, pitched in pulling on the line until the cable could be attached to Footprint’s towing straps.

First tugs damaged the Port bow, and gave us better visibility of the damage to the hull
Once straps and tow harness were attached, the first pulls to turn Footprint bow to the water damaged the Port bow structure, caving it in badly above the waterline. It was still considered best by the teams involved to proceed and remove the boat from the dangerous area. There was much negotiation between the Coast Guard (supervising the recovery) and the Recovery team about responsibility, public safety, and pollution issues. This process did not go as smoothly as we had anticipated and took some time, all conversations were in animated Italian and we were grateful to be provided with occasional translations.

Should the tow be attempted, or should we wait for extra buoyancy to arrive? It was eventually decided that Footprint would be towed through the surf, and then a determination would be made whether to tow her into harbor or re-beach her (in an area the crane could reach) based on the rate of flooding. Holes in the port hull below the waterline that were accessible were stuffed with cloth (one of Kyle’s t-shirts) and sealant to slow the water ingress. As the boat was towed forward off the beach, both rudders were broken beyond their upper swing limits.

Slowly off the beach and afloat again, but after a long wait she begins to list
Once the boat was removed from the beach and afloat with me and Angelo aboard pumping, there was some time spent to determine if water was coming in faster than could be removed using with our electric pumps, manual pump and an additional electric pump. Eventually, it was agreed water was entering too fast, and the boat would have to be moved to a safer area of beach and grounded there. During this time, the port hull filled to about two feet above the floor. In the high winds, the towboat was having difficulty controlling drift. The configuration of the beach made it impossible to get Footprint to a crane-friendly spot using the mile-long line. Footprint was filling with water. I started Footprint’s engine, abandoned pumping and disconnected the drive leg steering lines. It was amazing it started with the batteries underwater after all three had been used to run the pumps. By using reverse and hanging off the stern manually steering the drive leg with my arm, Footprint was able to have some control against the pull of the slackened tow cable and be directed to a safe patch of beach. Water in the port hull reached the height of the bridge deck and started crossing over to fill the starboard hull. As the beach was approached, the engine was shut down and the drive leg was lifted. The tow cable was disconnected and Footprint was left to once again be driven onto the beach by the surf. It was a much too soon repeat of a bad experience. Lines were waded out and attached from shore. Another man from the recovery team joined us aboard. By bailing with buckets, we were able to get the water level inside to about half while every available hand ashore pulled the boat toward shore and as high up the beach as possible.

We finally secured the boat again with 3 lines to shore. The boat was now full with water in both hulls just below counter top height. The damage to the Port hull had extended.

It seems the entire town has taken us under their wing, particularly Vincenzo and his longtime friend Pasquale, who lives in the same apartment building. They have both been more than generous with their time and energy. We were invited to stay another night at Enzo’s (short for Vincenzo) and were treated constantly to his and Pasquale’s delicious cooking. We were introduced around the neighbourhood as we completed various errands. The boat was a problem to be solved and the reality of the situation probably not really impacting on us at this stage, the Kindness of our hosts and all the officials and strangers that helped today have been overwhelming and Agropoli will always hold a special place in our hearts despite the unfortunate circumstances that found us here for so long.

Agropoli – October 7th - Day 1

2011-10-11T12:45:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]We left Palinuro without need of the engine. We ghosted out of the cove in light winds flying full mainsail and screacher. During the day, the winds gradually picked up. We stowed the screacher and unfurled the genoa, which later needed reefing. We arrived in Agropoli in the early afternoon. I was pleased that we’d had a fast trip. I had wanted to go ashore in Agropoli the last time we passed after anchoring in Paestum, but we were in a great hurry to get to Athens for my commute to work, so we had passed by.

This time, we wanted to anchor stern-to at the free dock in the main harbor. As we arrived, the wind was a difficult crosswind, but we persevered, and a local was there to help with the lines. Twice we set the anchor in the only available spot with significant scope, and both times it just ploughed readily through the soft detritus (seemed to be vegetable matter) – Ooze. As the anchor ploughed through, bubbles could clearly be seen rising – it was not solid enough sediment to set the anchor. Reluctantly we deemed it untenable for us. We looked at mooring options in the adjacent mooring field within the harbor, but all seemed to be for smaller vessels (too close together and flimsy and shallow). A nearby wall was clearly reserved for other boats… grr, no chance to visit now. With no other anchorages nearby, we checked out the cove to the east, which offered some protection from the southeast winds, and managed to get a well-set anchor in about 2.5m of water. We set 30m of chain and additional line for our bridle.

As the evening progressed wind was light but waves increased from the north with an approaching thunderstorm. It was uncomfortable enough that I was on watch for the anchor. The anchorage was rough, but we were well set and still holding well. In a very short time, the thunderstorm arrived, bringing heavy rain and lightning. The wind clocked around from the west, which we had some protection for, to the north, leaving us exposed. The swell turned into surf, breaking firstly behind, but quickly moving ahead of us. Around 10:30pm, the bow was hit with a breaking wave that pulled us sharply up and back. I immediately went outside to see if the anchor had broken free and found that we were quickly approaching the beach. I yelled to Maryanne that we were dragging and ran to the engine to lower our drive leg and start the engine. By the time I reached the key we were already too shallow and on the beach. We were aground on the rudders. There was a cracking sound on the next impact and they were kicked up. We then grounded on the rear hulls. At this point, we were hoping the anchor would reset and would hold us bow to the waves, sparing us any further damage. In a very short time, the surf turned us sideways and we started being dropped repeatedly on the sand on each wave. It was very quick and we were devastated.

We set to check the boat for leaks/damage. There was water in both hulls below the level of the floorboards and a very large crack visible from the inside of the starboard hull running almost its entire length. However, there was more water in the port hull. Given the situation we determined we should allow the boat to reach its highest point on the beach to minimize flooding and wait until the morning. Then we could consider kedging or other help and see if the boat would float in deeper water, and if so move to a haul out location as soon as possible. A few people stopped in their cars, a couple of which tried shouting over to us. We couldn’t understand the Italian over the rain and thunder, but it seemed to be along the lines of “It’s shallow there.”

We reported our situation to Agropoli Radio. Soon locals and officials began arriving, and eventually the Coast Guard insisted we MUST leave the vessel, and report to the office at 8:30am the following day. We secured the boat using three of our 50m lines run to secure points on shore to keep the boat from being washed back out to sea with the help of the CG and locals that had come out to help and left the anchor to aid. A friendly local (Vincenzo), who spoke good English, translated for us. Once the boat was secure, everyone began to leave. We were planning to wander the town looking for a hotel. Vincenzo told us to follow him. We assumed he was going to help with front desk translations, but instead he offered us accommodation in his apartment for the evening for which we were very grateful. We also would be able to keep and eye on the boat from his balcony window.

We contacted our insurance agent at this opportunity, as it was still business hours in the U.S. and were advised to protect the boat as best we could (which obviously we would want to do regardless).

We set up for the night in a spare room with Maryanne sleeping and me looking at Footprint through binoculars. When I got too tired, we switched off or grabbed 20 minutes together. We could hardly sleep at all, even though we were completely exhausted.

Palinuro Revisited

2011-10-11T12:37:00.000-04:00

Leaving Stromboli and back to Palinuro again
[Kyle]On the way back north from Stromboli, we made landfall once again at the pretty cove just to the south of Capo Palinuro. The place had a totally different character from our last visit in July. Although the weather was sunny and still warm, there was only one other boat in the anchorage as opposed to twenty or so the previous time.

The beach that was packed before now only had four or five people, including one woman who sunbathed for the entire duration of sunlight.

We were tired from the overnight passage, so we called it an easy day, which we spent reading, napping, eating and enjoying the view.

Stromboli Island and Volcano

2011-10-07T06:45:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]When we had passed by Stromboli in July, even though it was peak season, the weather had been bad for days. Stromboli doesn’t have a harbor, so visitors are forced to pick up a mooring in the open sea next to the island (or put down an aweful lot of anchor chain). Any swell, even if the weather is calm, makes the place untenable.

This time, the seas had been flat for days. The moorings at Stromboli were chock full of chartered sailboats, each with the maximum number aboard. Ferries dropped off people by the score a couple of times an hour. The island had a real “cruise ship day” feel.

It is illegal to climb Stromboli above 400m without a guide, so we had pre-booked ourselves a guided trip to the viewing area at 918m. We were told to show at 3:30pm, and made it ashore a couple of hours early to get a bite and have a look around. We found a pizza place and sat down. Only then did we find out there was no pizza for lunch. This worried us, as pizza is the only economical food in Italy, but we were hungry, so we had a delicious meal of non-pizza Italian food. It cost us three pizzas.

Around Stromboli
We had our bag packed for the big hike, minus the water. I didn’t want to carry it around all day and I figured we could just buy 3 one and a half liter bottles. Everywhere we went; a great plan but all of the stores were closed for Siesta until 4:00. Damn! We ended up sucking it up and buying three from a restaurant for another pizza.

At 3:30, we went to the hiking shop, where we were told we were checked in, come back at quarter to five. Then the shops opened. Then the town filled up. On Stromboli, there is really only one thing to do: Climb the volcano. Everybody in town was there to climb the volcano. All of the tours were pretty much the same. They left in the afternoon so they could do most of the climb in the daylight, but get you to the crater just after dark, which makes the magma more visible and dramatic. Then you descend in the dark. There were hundreds of people milling around with backpacks, hiking boots, walking sticks and helmets waiting for their mini-group of twenty or so to leave at ten-minute intervals. It felt like being a cow in the first act of a documentary about steak.

[Maryanne]There are numerous 'climb stromboli' companies in Stromboli, and tourism is the only remaining industry really in the town after the grape crops were destroyed by invading insects and 90% of the population emigrated to Australia way back in mid 1900s. We chose MagmaTrek, and soon discovered they had a sensible but strict dress code for the hike. This included 'proper' walking shoes. I've never been able to find a pair of those shoes that don't bruise my ankle and leave me in agnoy within an hour of using, so I simply don't wear them.. that was going to be a problem. Kyle rented a pair of hiking boots from a different store, and eventually I got permission to use the shoes I prefer, but only if I also had long trousers to go with them. I figured my 7/8 length trousers would probably be OK, but didn't want to get in to trouble so checked out the local hiking goods store. Hmmm... minimum price was about €100 for a pair of trousers. Yikes. I found a sale basket, but none of the items there were my size. A little negotiating with the owner found me the 'last pair' of bright fuchsia trousers for just €35. I took them. They went great (?!!?) with my sky blue top (at least Kyle wouldn't lose me!). So off I set for my hike in colourful clothes and anticipatory mood.

[Kyle]Our little group seemed to be mostly Germans and Danes. The climb itself was drudgery. It wasn’t particularly hard since the pace seemed to be set for people less fit than us, but there was none of the opportunity to enjoy it. Maryanne and I probably would have taken about the same amount of time to get to the top, but we would have stopped more to admire the view, look at something interesting or take pictures, hiking faster in between. With a group, this wasn’t possible. The track was single file, which meant if you stopped to take a picture, everybody behind you stopped as well. Everybody then would have to catch up. With ten-minute spacing, it was stressed to us that we all had to keep from getting spread out. Looking around while walking was bad too. Invariably you would trip. For me, the walk ended up being three hours of watching the feet in front of me. Moo.

There was a strange optical illusion on the climb. When I looked around at all of us climbing, we looked like reasonably fit people climbing a big hill. When I looked at Lorenzo, our guide, he was clearly walking at a third of the speed. Climbers: normal, Lorenzo: slow; yet he was always in front. He was so obviously going as slow as he could bear. We were all taking big steps over rocks and panting and sweating and he looked like he was accompanying an elderly hospital patient down the corridor while holding the I.V. pole.

The Hike up Stromboli Volcano (and then down in the dark)
Just after our last stop to change the I.V. bag before the top, we finally got a view of the lava vent below. We came around the corner just as it erupted with a boom, followed by the sounds of the new, semi-cooled rocks raining down on the ground. It sounded like a dump truck unloading rocks onto a concrete slab. We all stopped and fumbled for our buried cameras. Lorenzo said to keep moving, the view was even better from the top, where we could look right down into the crater. Maryanne was quick and just managed to get a photo. I’m pretty sure she was the only one.

At the top, we were all lined up single file along the crater rim. The volcano had been especially active lately. Tours were suspended in July and August. There were still concerns about safety, so instead of the usual hour, tours were only allowed 25 minutes at the top to minimize the danger. The advice we were given in the event of a larger than normal eruption was to keep doing what we were doing. Keep our eyes open, watch the flaming boulders and just duck out of the way if one comes near. Maryanne calls it Whack-a-Mole in reverse.

As we stood there, clouds moved in and mixed with the smoke coming out of the crater. We saw a few feeble flashes of light, accompanied by booms, jet engine and dump truck noises, but never got to see an eruption. The best we got was when the orange part of the cloud got noticeably brighter and louder, then a patch of noxious gas wafted our way. Lorenzo snuck us an extra ten minutes, but it was obvious there would be no clearing soon.

We turned and headed down the mountain on a steeper, faster route using our headlamps to light the way. The path had us sliding down a field of sandy ash in a motion like cross-country skiing that advanced us two steps worth of distance for every one taken. This part would have been very difficult without a guide and a string of lights to follow to make sure we exited the field on the trail and not a cliff.

Further down, below the vegetation line, the trail had worn a groove a meter deep. The sides were so high, we could only see to the next corner. It felt like being a brook winding its way through the reeds.

At length, we stepped onto pavement and descended into the town. We dropped off our helmets and found a place with a really, really nice pizza that we split. In the next room, a very large group of Italians were being led in a sing-along, Irish pub style. It made for a nice end to the day.

[Maryanne]It was terribly disappointing to be looking down into the volcano and hear these great explosions booming so close to us while not being able to see them due to the cloud that rolled in just after we arrived. We had such high hopes for a spectacular show based on the recent high activity and explosive booms our guide said were unusually loud. I briefly considered suggesting to Kyle we hike up the following evening but was glad I dismissed as it seemed just as cloudy the following day. We did have five minutes of clear viewing and saw directly some of the more minor eruptions, and were lucky enough to capture the one bigger eruption on the hike up. At each rest stop the guide, Lorenzo, talked a little about the history of the volcano, the island and its inhabitants. Atop the mountiain as we peered down hoping for the cloud to clear we were joined by the local bats chirping away - now that I didn't expect!

Over the last couple of weeks we've been submersed in volcano expeditions and have seen so much up close that to this point I'd only ever seen on TV documentaries. It really is fantastic to be so close to the quirks and forces of nature unknown in docile, safe England.

We now leave the Aeolian islands and head back to the Italian mainland - I hear they have the odd volcano there too...

Panarea

2011-10-07T06:04:00.000-04:00

Footprint still in the Aeolian Islands - this time Panarea
[Kyle]Panarea once upon a time was a much larger island. Then it exploded, as the islands around here seem to do. Now, what remains is an archipelago with a main island that is the smallest of the inhabited Aeolian Islands. (Maryanne: We are told it is long dormant, but there are still venting pockets so who knows!)

Panarea has for a long time been one of the favored retreats of the rich and famous as a place to unwind and experience a little of la dolche di niente – the sweetness of nothing. {Maryanne: It’s much more polished than Filicudi, a little busier with tourists and ferries, but being out of season still relatively quiet – we loved it}

From the sea, as we pulled up, the island looked trim and tidy. While I’m sure bungalows are listed with millions as the unit – 1.1M, 5.4M – that sort of thing, it didn’t quite look like a movie star hideaway. It’s probably just as well, since it spared Maryanne the awkward situation of having to let down Pierce Brosnan gently and then spend the rest of the day pretending she doesn’t see him as he mopes around town.

What's not to like?
There really didn’t up being much to do on Panarea. It was clearly after the main season. Both dive shops were boarded up for the winter as well as about 2/3rds of the restaurants and cafés. Even so, the island is absolutely enchanting. We walked the main road through the only town. The road was about ten feet wide at most points. It meandered through the town at what was on the large scale a generally north-south direction. On a smaller scale, it seemed to do what we were doing, which was darting around from one interesting place to the next. Panarea is yet another one of those places where every corner, every crested hill, every opening in a gap between buildings seemed even more beautiful than the last. It looked like a little piece of Santorini taken from the hilltop and placed by the sea. The windiness of the road only enhanced the effect. The island has no cars, only motorbikes and the ubiquitous little Piaggio scooter trucks, which made cartoon-like meep-meeps before putting by.

All the island transportation seemed to be motorcycle trucks, scooters or golf carts - that included the mail truck and the police vehicles - we loved it!
We walked the length of the town and finding that satisfying enough, headed to the main ferry terminal, where the last of the island’s remaining open shops seemed to be clustered. We got a couple of comfy seats at a café in view of the harbor’s comings and goings with plans to just linger for a while, as is done here.

Our server, who had clearly had it for the year with tourists, particularly foreign ones, ruined it. We stayed just long enough to recharge and headed back into the island’s rabbit warren of paths and streets. For those fortunate enough to be staying here, the big event of the day in this quiet place would be the ride to the beautiful hotel. After that, there’s nothing left to do but find a good book and a good chair in the shade of the deck, get set up with the perfect view, and then read and nap the day away. Aahhh…

We went back to Footprint, where I was content to spend the rest of the day Panarea style. Maryanne had heard the island had underwater fumaroles somewhere. Neither of us had ever seen underwater fumaroles. After a little research, we figured out they were about a fifteen minute row away in the dinghy. That settled it. Off we went with our snorkel gear. Half a mile or so away, we spotted what appeared to be the right place, but there were no signs of the fumaroles. We landed on the beach to get our bearings and find them. They weren’t underwater after all. They were on the beach. All of the to-do was over a few holes in the ground spewing stinky sulfur gas. What a letdown. {Maryanne: Don't believe a word of it, Kyle loved them, his only complaint really was walking on a rocky bolder beach with no shoes. In fairness we'd had 'bubbles' all around the boat but these were thin slow streams of bubbles and we were really imagining something a little more dramatic}

Fumeroles on the beach and dramatic cliff scenery
We decided to console ourselves with an exploratory row around to the uninhabited western side of the island a little farther on. We were rewarded with views of the most rugged terrain. Perhaps there is more to do on Panarea than enjoy the view.

We returned to the boat, where I was brought a glass of wine with Maryanne’s lovely smile. We then did what you do here, sit out on the deck, which in our case was the cockpit, and admire the view. From where we were, we watched the other islands of the archipelago turn orange in the setting sunlight. Then the shadow of Panarea slowly climbed them to their summits. They turned to shadow and then silhouettes in the light of the half moon. In the distance, every few minutes, a great orange firework would burst forth as Stromboli erupted. Yeah, the view here is pretty good.

The next morning, Maryanne was still not convinced the fumaroles we saw were the fumaroles she’d heard about. They were supposed to be underwater fumaroles. After much digging, which was hard because it appears to be a closely guarded dive shop secret, she found mention of a place near Bottaro, one of the Panarea archipelago’s island’s to the east. As we left Panarea for Stromboli, we took Footprint over there to have a look. Approaching the little islet, we immediately spotted a patch of bubbling water on the smooth sea. Since the area is a marine sanctuary and anchoring is not allowed, we alternated turns hovering overhead in Footprint while the other swam over for a look.

A nearly start and calm water - we soon found a large patch of seabed filled with underwater fumeroles to explore
This is what we were looking for! The whole sea floor emitted bubbles as if the sea were carbonated. Closer up, we found big sulfurous necks spewing bubbles and warm water. The bottom was just at about the depth limit for snorkeling. I stayed down as long as I could on one occasion, snapping pictures with one hand and gripping a warm rock with the other to counter my buoyancy. When it got too much, I shot for the surface, pulling my snorkel out of my mouth along the way so I wouldn’t have to clear it. I broke the surface and gasped for air only to get a lungful of warm sulfur gas. Yuck! Back on board, we rinsed off and headed for Stromboli. The hand that held the rock smelled like sulfur all day. It’s like diesel. It takes twenty washes to get it out.

Quiet Filicudi

2011-10-03T05:42:00.001-04:00

[Kyle]It was Kate (of the witty blog comments) who first suggested we go to Filicudi. She had read something about how it was virtually unspoiled and undeveloped and thought that sounded just like our thing, as if our thing was avoiding the crowds and having lots of trails to climb. Well, I suppose that is at least my thing. I’m not really a fan of overly posh resorts with Rolex and Chanel stores lining the waterfront. As if you can’t get that stuff anywhere anyway. Filicudi didn’t have brand-name anything, not even gasoline.

First views of Filicudi
We arrived after another windless bout of motoring, got secured and then headed out to see what’s to see.

Filicudi would be two islands if the sea were a few meters higher. The main island consists of several dormant volcanoes and is connected by a low, narrow isthmus to the uninhabited cone of Capo Graziano. We first climbed a trail of zigzagging stairs to the site of a prehistoric village high on Capo Graziano. The village consisted of about a dozen or so stone buildings on a leveled-out area near the top of the hill. We were able to pick out several homes, cooking and storage areas based on foundation shapes. There was no information posted, so we were left to our imagination as to what the roofs were made of, where the people came from and why they built so far above the sea.

Filicudi village - Prehistoric and newer
From there, we descended and began traversing the isthmus toward the main island. Along the way, we spotted an information board just off the road. We investigated and found it was the site of a Bronze Age village just set back from the rocky shore. At this site, there was much more information about what each structure was and how it was used. The part of the site that had been excavated was a small portion of the large village known to have existed there. At the time, the island had a larger population than it does today. It’s hard to imagine what life must have been like for those people.

We followed the auto road up the hill into the towns. Town seemed to be an overstatement. There were a few clusters of houses, mostly abandoned, with almost no commerce evident (even the bustling grocery store was simply a mobile van setup for the day). It felt to me a lot like Nisis Thirasia in Greece. Most of the paths in town were narrow footpaths. The road went through, but it was still necessary for residents to traverse long distances on footpaths to get to their houses from the road. We explored the footpaths until we came upon the church that we knew from our approach of the island was pretty much the highest building. On the way back down, we found what seemed to be the only operating hotel on the island (being October, most had closed for the season), where we managed to look pathetic enough after the long climb to get them to allow us to buy a bottle of water and a beer each, even though they explained that the restaurant was for guests only.

A sample of the village paths, and the church bell that requires a local to climb up and get a work out
Feeling we’d done pretty much everything to do on the island, we returned to Footprint for an early night.

Sunrise behind Selina viewed from Filicudi - an early start to climb some hills for the views
[Maryanne]Filicudi does indeed seem less influenced by tourists than many of the other islands. The main incomers seem to be artists seeking out the peace and quiet. Mains electricity did not arrive at the island until 1986 (roads even later), which means if I’d have been raised there, I’d have lived my first two decades without it. It is hard to imagine my contemporaries studying with gas lamps or candles, and living in a 1st world country in such a basic way of life. Such a life seems both romantic and unnecessarily hard. Only the port towns are built on the flat bit of the island, and these are small. Most of the population lives in small clusters of homes embedded in the hills and the ancient footpaths take a primarily direct route; only on the steepest of slopes do they bother to switchback. It is a place for the fit and healthy and I’d imagine you lived a long life in Filicudi provided you managed not to fall off the edge of its many unprotected paths. It’s neighbor Alicudi is even more basic and is still roadless. Amazingly among the hills, the islanders have managed to level a patch of ground to use as a football (soccer) pitch; this is Italy after all and even if the Aeolians barely think of themselves as Italians, football is a national sport! Amazingly we spotted a few bicycles in some of the homes in the rabbit warrens of rough cobbled streets among the slopes and far from the roads – it seems incomprehensible that cycling anywhere on the island is possible or even sensible, but clearly the locals manage it; they must be very fit!

[Kyle]The next day, we decided to do the only obvious thing left to do on the island: climb to the very top. We started early. In spite of this, we were hot and sweaty by the time we had climbed back up to the church. From there, we joined the real trail to the top.

Can you pick out the stairs climbing that hill? Kyle enjoys a flatter section between two peaks
After a tantalizingly easy stroll along a dirt road with a mild grade, we found the trail that made its way up to the intervening ridge where we would join the next trail to the summit. Before us was a well maintained trail that consisted of stairs that went up as far as we could see. I don’t know why the sight of 5000 unbroken steps above me does not daunt me. I especially don’t know why Maryanne goes with me when I start the long climb, but she does.

After a very long way, we came to the ridge, which we would follow to the summit. Every now and then, it would level off a bit from the steep grade. We stated to think of these little breaks as a vacation.

It didn’t last long. Soon we were climbing again on a trail that was slowly becoming less and less improved. In several spots, we were shouldering ourselves through thick growth, following only the slightest hint of trail and being harassed by flies along the way. By the time we were in sight of the top, we were both pretty knackered and ready for it to be over. Maryanne was making noises about packing it in, but I managed to convince her to hang in there for the last few minutes until the cairn marking the summit came into view.

A hike for the views - so relieved to be back down to civilization alive!
Whew! We admired the view for a while, ate and drank most our remaining stores and started down. We took a different path down than we had used to get up for some variety. It turned out to be quite treacherous. For most of the route back the trail was steep and covered in rounded lava stones that acted like ball bearings over the hard rock below. We each had several instances of our feet coming out from underneath us, falling on our butts and sliding to a painful stop on the sharp volcanic stone, {Maryanne: 90% the trail was close (if not on) the edge with a long fall below, we stepped very carefully and it was quite a frightening descent.}

At one point when we were in sight of the paved road, we descended an almost vertical section of trail that terminated at a boulder overhanging 100 feet of air on three sides. After a couple of false leads that got more and more dangerous the further we got, we located the real trail. It was a near-vertical drop between boulders. Had we gone this way, instead of the stair route, we certainly would have lost the trail and given up.

It was with tremendous relief that we stepped onto the steep cobbled pedestrian trail just down the hill from the high church. From here, it was a familiar, if precipitous, descent trough a the narrow, winding paths of a very Greek looking part of the island

We were hoping for a pizza and a beer, but as well as being outside tourist season it was also a Sunday, the pizza place was closed and most likely for the. We did manage to convince one reluctant server at a sleepy cafe to at least sell us a couple of beers, which we enjoyed guilt-free before making the row back to Footprint. We had a nice refreshing bath and a swim before we went inside to relax and wind down. That’s when the exertion of the day caught up to us, and sleep swept over us.

Vulcano - As in Volcano!

2011-09-30T13:40:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]The trip to Vulcano (our first Aeolian Island) from Milazzo was pretty uneventful. The Meltemi here is called the Tramontana and nor’easters are known as the Greca. We experienced neither and were left instead with the still winds of the Motorterranean. With the drone of the engine as constant background noise, we passed the time by reading (Maryanne) and dutifully plotting all shipping on the radar (me).

It wasn’t until we were within a couple of miles of the island that we started having some real fun. I thought I started seeing a lot of foam on the water. I had assumed it was part of the general pollution problem, then I realized what it was: rocks! Pumice was floating in ribbons along the currents flowing past the island. Soon we had the fishing net out and were busily trying to catch the bigger pieces.

Some of the collected pumice stone, and the grander rock spires
We passed north of the island in the gap between Lipari and Volcano and immediately decided to detour to see a couple of tall rock spires jutting out of the water on the Lipari side of the channel with a backdrop of craggy inlets and natural arches ashore. From there we made a bee-line to the anchorage on Volcano at Porto Ponente. The anchorage was a lot more crowded than we anticipated. We quickly identified the party boat and anchored as far away as possible in the shallows by the black sand beach. The anchorage was beautiful; the volcanic rock had eroded away at the base leaving tall spires and steep mounds jutting into the sky. It looked more like the south Pacific or Indonesian than the Mediterranean (at least to one side of the harbour). The south side of the harbor was filled by the smoldering volcano. We enjoyed a dinner with a stunning and ever changing sunset before retiring for an early night. There was just enough residual cloud from the earlier storms to streak the sky with pink, oranges and reds as the sun dipped below the horizon.

A stunning anchorage sunset and a WAY TOO Early start to the next day
Much to Maryanne’s consternation we were up EARLY the next morning. In this case I mean morning purely in the academic sense as practically speaking it was still pitch-black night. I had a plan! We were going to climb the volcano at the first possible minute in the hopes of:
1) Beating the crowds
2) Being done with at least the climbing part before it became too hot.

We succeeded in both cases. We must have been the first people awake on the island when we landed the dinghy at the pier and the look on Maryanne’s face indicated that she still wasn’t fully on board with my plan. Good sport that she is she humored me and came along anyway {Maryanne: Only complaining every 30 seconds or so}. We stepped off the road and onto the steep trail just ahead of a solo climber coming from the other way on the same road. We almost ended up being the first people up – that one guy quickly passed us on the walk up as we stopped to admire the views and snap pictures. Another guy appeared out of nowhere once we reached the rim. The climb started out as a difficult one on lose gravel and ash (much like walking uphill in dry sand), but from about 1/3 of the way up the trail changed to bare clay and leveled compressed ash which made for much faster going. We arrived at the crater rim just as the rays from the rising sun were shining through the plumes of hydrogen-sulfide gas venting from many yellow-rimmed fumaroles. The views from their were spectacular (that word again), we could see the nearest four Aeolian islands as well as Footprint in our anchorage, the crater floor and the entire rim dotted with crusts of yellow sulfur.

First views from the crater
We had intended to take the rim route. The path to clockwise ran right through the heaviest of the smoke and was fronted by an official looking sign in Italian that we took to mean ‘go no further or die’. There was one section of the rim we would not be able to traverse. Now rather than circle the rim we took the path counter clockwise and there met the second guy on his way down from the highest point – he must have been on the mountain very early!

The further we climbed around to the high side of the rim the more beautiful the views became and my vocabulary seemed limited to “Wow” on a regular basis. On the far side at the highest point we could see the crater floor, the vents, Footprint in her anchorage and many of the other Aeolian islands, it was an amazing place to be. Not realizing it would be such a short hike we’d packed lunch and decided to break out our sandwiches and enjoy the view (who cares if it was still breakfast time). I spent some time idly exploring the landscape with the binoculars we’d carried and the site of the crust of sulphur made me decide that I had to continue and descend to get as close as I could to the vents, even though we had planned to just turn around and retrace our steps from the peak.

Maryanne stayed behind at the peak while I trekked down the scree slope as close as I dared to the exhausting gasses. I stayed for a while snapping as many pictures as I could and then started the climb back to the peak towards Maryanne. As I was making my way back up the switchbacks of this steep section of rim I looked back to notice that others had now arrived at the rim and the vents. They stopped at the warning sign as we did, and seemed to debate whether to go on or not (as we did) but then they just marched right through the field of fumes. I was expecting at any moment to hear screams of horror and see collapsed bodies, or at least coughing and gasping as they struggled back into clear air, but apart form a few slight detours to avoid the worst, they just marched on through. Not only that but they didn’t seem to be experienced hikers but a group of colorfully clothed German grannies, with not a back pack nor a bottle of water between them. I made it back up to Maryanne. I was actually still leaning towards backtracking our steps along the rim and missing the steaming section, but it was Maryanne who was showing clear signs of not wanting to miss out. She ended up convicting me {Maryanne: hardly hard!} to continue on through the venting fumes.

Close up to the sulfur vents
We descended back down towards the fumaroles (this time together) but this time armed with the courage (or foolishness) of having seen someone else do it first, we got much closer to the vents, staying up wind to avoid inhaling too many nasty fumes. They were beautiful up close. The white gas came spewing out of the earth at close to boiling kettle steam temperatures and we could watch as delicate yellow crystals formed around the rim of each vent, making each one look like a giant geode. The moment of truth had come, and we lingered for a while admiring the shapes, but eventually it came time to stop stalling we had to push on through our first plume of hydrogen-sulfide gas. I made a plan for where to put each footstep, waited for a thin stop in the cloud and charged on through. It was a lot more frightening than I expected. Firstly, when the smoke engulfs you, you can’t see your feet and so can’t tell where you are about to step, that’s quite disconcerting on the rim of a volcano. Secondly, even though the white smoke looks like steam, it is not, it is (very) slightly acidic and is uncomfortable to breath in, AND it is quite warm; It is not possible to stand there and breath it in while you figure out what to do, you HAVE to keep moving and hope you make it to the other side (which luckily for us was all of a 2 or 3 steps away).

So... this is perfectly safe right???
Maryanne came through behind me and being slightly, oh shall we say, lower to the ground (?) ended up taking a much larger blast in the face than I did. We both unanimously decided at that point that we would not be able to manage the basic route along the crater rim, but would detour just below the fumaroles on a ragged trail descending into the rim (the same trail the German grannies had taken). The landscape was extraordinary with smoke hissing out of the ground from large and small vents and occasionally enveloping us in a stinky haze of sulfur. We found whole boulders of pale yellow sulfur deposits as we made our way back to the rim starting point and the mystery Italian sign. At one point I noticed a strange sound. I reached down to the ground and rapped my knuckles on the rock – it returned a hollow ring – this part of the crater wall was just a think crust and we were scrambling along it. After that I found myself, mostly out of curiosity, tapping on the very ground we walked on like a climber looking for good ice.

Once we had finally completed our navigation of the ring there were perhaps a dozen other hikers who had reached the rim and were making their way along the trails. We were relieved to see that many were Italians and also chose to take the sulfur rim route even after reading the mystery sign – so we were not too crazy!

Yet another scraggly trail led to the crater floor, this time there were no signs but nobody was using so far that day. The crater appeared less obviously active than the sulfur section of the rim, so I decided to be the first for the day to descend to the floor of the crater. The start of the trail was steep and made of loose gravel and ash and in order to keep from sliding it was necessary to very carefully select each step, taking it slowly. Every time I slid and caught myself on my hands I kept thinking back to all of the warning signs we had seen at the trail entrance and one in particular that admonished us NOT to SIT on the ground due to ground layers of poisonous gasses. That kept me moving. The descent trail took me down via two intermediate shelves. Each time I stepped over the edge of a shelf, the trail was steep, loose and scary, gradually reducing to a slight descent on hard crust. Finally at the crater floor I was able to look up and see the entire north wall covered with yellow sulfur deposits and rising columns of gas. It was pretty cool.

With such an early start we found ourselves descending the mountain just as the bulk of the crowds began their ascent in the beginning of the day’s heat. Rather than head directly back to Footprint, we walked into the ferry terminal using the steady stream of walkers to find the source, and soon found ourselves at a comfortable table in Porto di Levante for the obligatory gelato and a beer as reward for our efforts (as if the view wasn’t enough!). We relaxed and watched several ferries disgorge their passengers of what appeared to be mostly day trippers who we then joined as they marched on the flat road across the narrow pinch of the island to the mud bath pool and beyond to the black sand beach of Porto Ponente where we rejoined Footprint for a refreshing swim and a lazy afternoon.

Rocky outcrops all over the island, and the popular mud-bath

Sicily and the town of Milazzo

2011-09-30T08:27:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]As a sort of consolation for not getting to Taormina, we decided to spend a day in the town of Milazzo on the Sicilian mainland. {Maryanne: I was pretty insistent that we HAD to step ashore and spend some time in Sicily}

We left our anchorage in Messina and head to a nearby fuel dock to top up. We had originally intended to top our fuel and water tanks there, but as soon as we tied up, we decided to just fill our jerry cans and go as quickly as we could. The swell at the pier was so bad that we ended up having to throw off the lines given to us in order to keep our cleats from ripping out of the deck. Maryanne and I held Footprint off the best we could while the attendant filled our cans. By the time we pulled away only a couple of minutes later, our rubrail was drooping into the water. About half of it had been stripped off on the side facing the pier as we smashed against it.

As we made our way out of the straits of Messina and into the Tyrrhenian Sea, I was hanging over the side with a hammer banging our rubrail back into place while Maryanne got the sails up and pulling and steered us out of the strait.

Our trip to Milazzo was in a flat sea until about twenty minutes before we arrived, then another thunderstorm arrived and the sea was churned into a froth. At our first marina of arrival, all of the protected inside berths had been taken, leaving only exposed outside spaces. The few boats on the outer berths were busy with occupants engaged in a desperate struggle to adjust their lines in order to keep from being smashed into the dock. Disregarding the encouragement of the attendant, we abandoned that marina and headed for an inside berth at the next one over, where we found slightly more protection. The staff was exceedingly friendly, but when I asked how much it would be, was told they’d figure it out tomorrow. Hmmm…

Since it was our first time setting foot in the country for a while, our first order of business that night was to get our wifi working so we would have "internets". We managed to arrive just as the store was closing, but they let us in anyway and we were assured we'd be back up and running first thing in the morning. On the way back to Footprint, we found a bakery/pizzeria that had a line out of the door. We decided that was a good sign. We got a selection of vegetarian pizza slices that filled us up for just above €5. Takeout pizza seems to be the only way to eat in Italy that’s affordable. Every bakery makes it and there are three or four per block. Picking the place that was full worked for us. Yummy.

The next morning we checked in again with the marina. We were told the rate was €60 per night plus 50% because we were a catamaran. They were going to do us a favor by only charging us €80 since we were little, which they would further decrease to €150 for two days. This just kills us. We know the boat next to us is paying around €500 per month, yet we get charged €150 for two days, and for what, two bollards and €3 worth of electricity? I admit that I don’t understand much about a marina’s business expenses, but I can’t imagine this is less than 90% profit, which seems brutally unfair to me. He assumption seems to be that I have a boat, so I’ve got more money than I’ll ever need. They might as well have some. There’s no room at the inn for the little guy anymore. We toyed with cancelling our second night and leaving, but we'd have to be out by noon (in just 30 minutes) and could not find a plan to stay elsewhere so just paid up.

This cast a terrible pall over us as we went to explore the town. We want to see it, but we seem not to be good enough to be allowed to stay. It’s a good thing pizza is cheap.

Milazzo actually ended up being a pretty interesting town. I loved it and I hated it. We started with the stuff that I ended up hating. We went for a walk to the Spanish Castle, which looks prominently over the city and can be seen from nearly everywhere. It ended up being closed for renovation, but the thing I remember was the walk up. It was terribly depressing. Every available space in this otherwise likeable village had been covered with graffiti. Worse still, behind every cliff, abandoned building and low wall, there were piles and piles of garbage. Why go to the dump if you can just go across the street and throw your trash bags over the wall? Parks looked like dumps. It was so disheartening to see such a beautiful place treated with such callous indifference.

The hike up to the castle was a little grim, but worth it
In spite of this shameful mess, Milazzo still had a certain charm. Mostly this was due to the atmosphere created by the local culture. Milazzo seems like the most Italian place we’ve been. A lot of other places seem to be influenced by neighboring countries or the insidious culture of global television, but Milazzo seemed to exist in it’s own purist Italian bubble. The Sicilians here seem utterly incapable of saying two words without gesturing wildly, like silent film actors playing to the back of the theater, and they could not be more friendly. It is terribly endearing.

‘You have paid for something! Here it is - your change! It’s correct, no?’ ‘I wish you goodbye! Arrivaderci! I will now wave as if you are on the top deck of a departing ship.’

The Sicilians have solved the problem of personal space. You have to stand out of arms reach or you will get inadvertently smacked. The strange exception seems to be when riding scooters. The town seems full of Piaggios driven by remote control with mannequins wired on top.

Kyle practices his Italian and enjoys a lemon gelato
One of our favorite Italian gestures is one where a pointed forefinger is twisted into the cheek, as if to make a little dimple. It means, “This tastes good”. We had heard about it, but had not seen it in action until stopping at a place across the street from the marina called The Cordial Bar. When I ordered a lemon gelato, the round little man behind the counter used it to indicate I had made a good choice. Indeed I had. That was by far the best lemon gelato I’ve tasted. After that, I decided I was going in for one every time I passed by. It didn’t quite work out that way. Sometimes I was in a hurry. Sometimes I was carrying a load. I managed to get in about half of the time though. I’m sure they thought of me as ‘Lemon Gelato Guy” by the time we left. Oh, that stuff is good!

After pouring through the guides, we decided the only thing we had really missed of Milazzo by our second night was a trip to the grand library, so off we went. It didn’t turn out to be much of a library. There were only a few books on one part of one floor. Mostly, it seemed to be a museum dedicated to Garibaldi, who lived there and was responsible for uniting Sicily to Italy in 1848.

Quirky artifacts and elaborate 17th Century decoration at the (now) Town Hall
As we were perusing the second floor, which still had most of the 17th century frescoes ad floor tiles, a nice man came up and asked us in Italian if we would like to know the history of the building. We apologized; saying we would love to, but our Italian probably wasn’t up to it. Stefano insisted, and with obvious difficulty and enormous patience he walked us through the entire place, showing us its treasures and answering our many questions in broken English and Italian. He didn’t have to do that, but we were so glad he did. It was such a privilege to be given a personal tour of such a beautiful place.

As we were leaving, we passed through an exhibition on the main floor of artwork using leather as a medium. Maryanne recognized the artist from one of the newspaper clippings on display and introduced us. We were then ‘adopted’ and given yet another one-on-one tour of the entire collection. At some point, the artist, who we decided was probably French, lapsed from Italian into French. Our French is actually pretty good so it made following his ramblings about his work and his artistic process a bit easier. We left with big smiles on our faces, amazed at our good fortune.

It was getting late by then, so we stopped by a nearby pizzeria, where we ordered a delicious vegetarian pizza and a beer big enough to share, all using the language of giant hand gestures. It’s such a comical way of communicating that you can’t help but smile. Our total was €8.50

Lively fishermans quater with busy fishermen and it's splendid outdoor church
The next morning, we went out to restock some of our fresh food supplies. All along the waterfront, the local fishermen were selling and gutting the day’s catch, right in front of the boat that caught it. They divided their time between animated haggling over the price of this fish or that and carefully mending their long nets. I collected our laundry, while Maryanne stopped at ten different tiny stores and a couple of big ones for the things on our list. We topped it with one last stop to The Cordial Bar for an early lunch before heading out in a windless sea for our next stop, the island of Vulcano.

Passage back to Italy

2011-09-30T07:50:00.001-04:00

A passage with unexpected weather - Is winter here already?
[Kyle]As soon as it was light out, we unthreaded our lines from the big steel mooring rings at Pylos and headed southwest across Navarino bay. We had the sails up as soon as we were finished with our turn away from the quay. The wind was forecast to be less than five knots, so we had full main and screacher flying and were expecting a slow day.

As soon as we were out in the open Ionian Sea, we were struggling to get the screacher rolled up in building winds. By the time we were five miles from shore, we had reefed and reefed until we had one in the mainsail and two in the jib. We also had to go forward on an increasingly heaving deck to pull the screacher down and stuffed into the sail locker when we couldn’t get it to furl properly.

The wind was now up to near 30 knots. The seas were short and steep making the rolling motion of the boat very violent. We repeatedly had to go inside to recover one item or another that had crashed to the floor. I kept thinking of the forecast received that very morning – 3knot. Why can’t they get that right? The entire first day passed in this manner, with uncomfortable seas in which it was impossible to get any real rest in the off watch an we were left to wonder how long the rough conditions might last.

Late into Maryanne’s first night watch, a call came over the radio with a report of a person overboard at a position about forty miles ahead of us. It would have taken us until the next afternoon to get there, so we kept monitoring. Other boats (nearer and/or faster) did respond. Later on my night watch they had changed the nature of the emergency to vessel not under command, indicating either the boat was drifting or nobody aboard knew how to operate it. We were still headed towards the area. A couple of hours later I heard a conversation between a container ship MSC Healy (the primary responder) and a charter yacht Alter Ego that had come to help. The Healy had come as close as he had dared in the rough seas, but nobody aboard the disabled vessel seemed to make any effort to communicate with him, so he asked the yacht if they could get close enough to shout to them and find out exactly what the problem was. Eventually the yacht came back and said it was not possible for him to get close enough in the rough seas.

Olympia Radio (the Greek rescue service) told both vessels to stand by and that they were sending a helicopter (which ended up taking at least 12 hours to arrive). By late the next morning they were still putting out a general call for assistance and we were getting closer. We were now only 12 miles away and could see the container ship’s bridge with the binoculars. We called and offered our assistance, giving our location and an estimated arrival time. Olympia radio requested all our details, but later came back and said they had enough vessels; we were released from any rescue obligation. Of course we continued to hear the various goings on and even relayed a few radio messages that Olympia radio were not hearing. For some reason the area was at the limit of Olympia’s radio range and we ended up relaying messages for about an hour and were happy to do so. Still it wasn’t clear to us what the emergency was, nor the type of vessel involved. Either we were missing some of the communication or vital questions were not being asked.

A few hours later during my afternoon watch I heard a third vessel report to the container ship that they had the wounded man aboard. That seemed to explain the vessel not under command. Within a few minutes, the call came in that there were now two dead men on board. He hadn’t actually said wounded, but “one dead” in the first message, I had misunderstood the message due to the strong accents. The distressed vessel was to be towed by a fourth boat back to Greece. At this point we learned there were still 30 people aboard awaiting rescue. Now we understood why our little boat would not have been of much help.

When things quieted down, I called the container ship and on another channel asked for any details he could share about the incident. He told me that there were 30 people to transfer to another ship and then they were towing the disabled vessel to Greece, but he would not say much else other than he responded to a ‘vessel not under command’ and the deceased were Ukrainian, but he was vague about what happened or how the two men died. {Once we got to Italy we learned that the boat was a 32’ inflatable with 60 migrants – Afghans and Kurds, no mention of Ukrainians, hoping to get to new lives in Greece. It was damaged in the unforecast storm. There was a report of one person overboard and the two deaths.}. Even though we didn’t know them, it was hard not to think about the bad news their poor families would be getting. The day would never be sunny for them.

The next few days were mercifully tranquil for us. The wind died down and the seas flattened, While it was a struggle to keep the boat moving, the rig was at least not enduring any extreme stresses We slept well on our off watches and ate well now that it was so much easier to cook and clean up. I especially enjoyed the evenings, which were warm and clear and allowed me to spend my night watch gazing up at the constellations.

Things continued in this manner until the last full day when a layer of clouds gradually obscured the entire sky; an unstable system had moved in. At first we noticed (at a comfortable distance behind us) several waterspouts (tornadoes at sea) descending from the bottom of the cloud layer. As we neared the Sicilian coast the sky was lit up with continuous lightening flashes, which we seemed to just avoid as we passed by.

Since the passage across the Ionian Sea was originally planned to be against the prevailing winds I had allowed a lot of time for the crossing. In spite of our slow progress we still ended up with a couple of days to spare. We decided to change our original destination from Messina to the medieval town of Taormina on a hilltop a little further south on the Straights of Messina. The storms had created a big swell from the east so our only available anchorage was a little cove called Mazzaro Bay with a funicular up to the town. The bay was a gorgeous little village and Taormina was visible above on the mountaintops sprinkled there like confectioners sugar. The houses and buildings seemed to occupy the most inaccessible places on the steep terrain.

Our cruising guide book (which we are growing increasingly disenchanted with) indicated that it would be possible to anchor in the southern side of the bay – as soon as we arrived this was clearly not so; the entire bay was full of moorings used by small local boats and was so deep that we would have had to string our anchor chain through the entire mooring field AND run a line to a rock ashore to make it work. A few or the moorings were unoccupied and since it was late in the season it probably would have been acceptable to pick one up. However, as we were winding our way through the mooring field, Maryanne expressed concern since all the moorings were in close quarters and none were used for any boats anywhere near the length of Footprint, we could not be sure they were sturdy enough for us (or even available). We had really been looking forward to being done with the passage and having some time together, and once we saw the beautiful bay and town we were even keener to stay. When we realized we would not be able to stay in Mazzaro Bay we decided to continue on to Messina with a heavy heart – another 6 hours before the end of our passage.

Mezzaro had a funicular up to beautiful Taormina, we were so sad we couldn't find place to set the anchor
On the trip North along the Sicilian coast our luck with the storms finally ended and we were dumped on. It rained so hard for most of the journey that even though we were generally around 300m from shore, no land was visible. It rained so hard that there was a haze above the deck where reflected mini-droplets bounced back into the air after striking. After a long period of trying to tuck in the cockpit and keep dry, I decided to give up, embrace it, and went on deck for a good rinse.

We anchored in Messina at almost exactly the same spot as we’d used heading south in July except this time the water front bars were closed and the beach was empty. We had no intention of going ashore. We were ready to crash.

Pylos

2011-09-21T14:26:00.001-04:00

A short passage in choppy seas has us arriving at Pylos around 8am
[Kyle]It was barely light enough to see when we left Methoni harbor in the early morning. The storms of the previous evening had left and the sky was clear with calm winds. As we rounded the corner at the Turkish Tower we found ourselves facing 1.5m seas sent in from a distant storm near the Italian coast. As we followed the coast North we ended up in an uncomfortable slop of reflected waves from the rocky shore intersecting with the swell. There was no pattern nor direction to the chop, it was just miserable. All the while the wind remained light at about 5kt which in most other circumstances would leave us with flat seas and very slow progress under sail (if any at all) so we were doomed to motoring. The trip was to be only 7nm though and after just an hour or so we pulled into Navarone Bay behind the protection of an Sphagila Island to our West.

At the tip of the Sphagila Island lies the dramatic Pylos island with a giant natural archway that looks big enough to sail through (although a quick look at the chart would soon deter you), and topped by a monument and light house.
At the tip of the peninsula lies the dramatic Pylos island with a giant natural archway that looks big enough to sail through (although a quick look at the chart would soon deter you), and topped by a monument and light house.

Once inside the bay the seas became flat. We checked for space in the built but as yet unmanaged marina, we found none, and tied up instead to the town quay with only one other boat. We preferred this anyway as it was closer to the authorities to complete our clearance process out of Greece.

Our water tanks were nearly dry and we had been on serious rations since Methoni. We doubted we had enough water to clean the breakfast dishes by the time we reached Pyros. After clearing in the Port Police advised us to go to the City Hall to organize water at the dock; here a guy came to unlock the water cupboard and allow us to fill our tanks. The port police also gave us phone numbers for a tanker truck to deliver fuel to the boat; Maryanne made the call and the tanker arrived just as we’d finished filling the water tanks. We were both shocked that all the formalities and drudgery for the boat was completed so quickly, this left us the rest of the day to explore Pylos guilt free!

We stepped ashore and turned right (South) heading for the giant fort we’d passed on the way into the harbor, it was an obvious starting point. It was roughly the same size and vintage as the fort in Methoni, but was in much better condition and care (tidier grounds, more information boards and even a leaflet to guide you around the site). This went along with excellent views of both the beautiful bay and distant hills and mountains. This part of Greece is a lot lusher than the lands to the East and the air was filled with the fresh smell of pine forests lining the hills.

The "New" Pylos Castle with its spectacular views
We took the long route through the fort, meandering as we do. We made a point of walking as much of the perimeter wall as we could to enjoy the views (all but one small demolished section). By the end of our fort exploration we were starting to flag. With little sleep, a light breakfast and the heat of the day I was spent so we headed into town to find refreshments and what was to be our last restaurant meal in Greece and blew Maryanne's birthday money she had been saving.

On the way into the main town we spotted a boat equipment store with colorful supplies spilling onto the street, we immediately planned to go in but before we could even express an interest the owner standing in the doorway called us over to chat. “Where are you from”, etc.. He seemed most surprised that we had a boat and actually wanted to come into his store. He chatted happily about his days in the Merchant Marines mostly in South and Central America and the Caribbean for many years. He talked enthusiastically about our travels and listened intently to our tales. Maryanne pulled out her ever ready ‘just in case I find a boat store’ list, and we were dismayed when we could only find €3 worth of stuff in the store (A replacement dinghy plug). We purchased 2 (so we’d have a backup) and the bill came to €5 came with a smile from our new friend and a cold drink too.

We wandered in the direction of the square that forms the center of the town. Most of the restaurants and cafés in town seem to make up its perimeter. We were looking for something off of the beaten path, though. We passed the square and climbed the steps up the hill on the other side. After a couple of blocks, we spotted a place called Grigoris. A quick glance at the menu posted out front confirmed we wouldn’t be paying waterfront prices. It looked really nice inside and they were boasting a garden. The proprietress spotted us looking the place over so once we were caught, we just HAD to go in.

We were searching around for the best place to sit with an eye towards the garden when we were led into the kitchen for the “menu”. “Let me show you what I have” she said as she pulled lids from pots cooking atop a giant stove and pulled out dishes from the oven. We cooed approvingly at each at which she pulled out a notepad and asked us what we wanted. I’ll have this, that, that and some of that please! We then found a place in the beautiful garden in a lovely setting of hanging vines and shady trees; it seemed a much prettier and more peaceful setting than the waterfront. Since the food was already simmering on the stove our meal was ready at the table within a very short time and bread, salad, wine and water delivered too.

After selecting from the days offerings, Kyle tucks in to his last meal in Greece
[Maryanne]My favorite restaurant in Munich (where I worked for 2 years) is a Greek one where you were invited into the kitchen to pick from the days offerings (no menu). I’d talked about this often to Kyle and was SO excited to find the real deal here in Greece. Being mid-afternoon the restaurant was not busy and only had one other couple as customers when we arrived, a German couple from Munich. They were soon talking with us and were amazed that I knew about the restaurant in Munich and sadly advised me that it closed about 3 years ago! Oh well, things change, for now at least I could enjoy a genuine Greek kitchen restaurant.

[Kyle]We ate our fill leisurely and then a little more for good measure, eventually rolling back down to the harbor and Footprint. We needed to do some last minute passage preparations (for Italy) aboard Footprint while it was still daylight. No sooner had we finished the outdoor stuff, when the sky opened up and poured rain. It rained so hard that we probably could have skipped refilling the tanks this morning and caught enough to fill our tanks had we put our rain catcher up. Oh well, at least the salt is again washed off the decks. There was lots of thunder and lightening around and one bolt hit a lamppost in the parking lot beside our pier – that was loud. Several others hit the hills around the harbor.

After the storm ended the sea was still and the air calm and clear, we took one last walk through the town looking for a bakery to supply ourselves with breakfast for the following day and came home with a few extras too. Mostly we wanted an excuse to take one last leisurely stroll in a country we had become so fond of.

Farewell Greece.

Methoni

2011-09-20T12:13:00.002-04:00

[Kyle]As I said earlier, we left Dyros in the middle of the night, taking poor Timmy’s roof {Maryanne: Timmy being the resident octopus we’d acquired}. The passage was totally boring. It was night. There was no wind. We motored the whole way. There was nothing to do but stare at the instruments in the dark and wait for it to be over.

We pulled into Methoni, which is pretty much at the southwestern corner of Greece, just after the fishermen left the harbors to start their day. We pulled way up to the beach as close as our draught would allow and set the anchor. Maryanne had slept for the passage, so it was my turn to crash in the bed for a few hours while she sorted out our growing photo collection.

Once I was up, we took the dinghy ashore for an orientation. The town was lovely. Adobe houses with curvy shapes have been replaced by buildings with red tile roofs like in Italy or Provence. It was clearly after the big tourist season so, once again, we felt like we had the whole place to ourselves. There seemed to be just the right balance between bustle and quiet. All of the cafés were open, but each only had a smattering of customers, so there was no pressure to get moving. I was still on only about half of the sleep I really needed. There was no Meltemi wind here, so it was hot, humid and still. After only an hour or so of walking around I was spent so we headed to a café for coldies and a couple of appetizers to tide us over until dinner.

As we were heading back to Footprint on the dinghy, we made a slight detour to a British boat anchored nearby where we met Steve and Marion. We invited them over and spent most if the rest of the evening swapping sea and cruising stories and advice. As we were all in Footprint’s cockpit having a good time, The Dutch showed up and anchored as close to us as they had in Kimolos – those Dutch – the nudists. The thing about Anchorage TV for cruisers is that you don’t always get to pick your channel.

The next morning, we were a bit more motivated. We were up early (for cruisers). We immediately made our way to the big local attraction: a fort and tower built in stages by every occupying power in Methoni, mostly Venetians and Ottoman Turks. Admission was free, which I like. The large site of the old walled city was in a pretty advanced state of decay but there were pockets of workmen restoring a little corner here and there. The tower, which serves as the most conspicuous landmark for arriving mariners, was in the best state of preservation.

By then, the wind was picking up in the harbor. It was coming from the only direction from which the harbor offered no protection. Every time we got a view of Footprint, we were checking for signs of dragging. She held fast, but the chop in the harbor was getting up to two feet or so. Methoni is home to a Carrefour supermarket, so it immediately became one of our priorities to stock up on hard to find stuff. After the fort tour, my job became to return to Footprint in the dinghy to retrieve backpacks in which to carry home the groceries. While I did that, Maryanne went to the post office to buy stamps. Even though it was the middle of a weekday, the place was locked up. The place had been locked from inside – the keys were still dangling from the lock. She had to knock until someone heard her, then they let her in as if that was just the normal procedure – very odd. There was no way to launch the dinghy in the surf without getting totally drenched in spray. By the time I was back at the beach to rendezvous with Maryanne. I was a walking wet t-shirt contest. We bought so much stuff that the only way to make progress against the wind in the dinghy was to lighten the load. Without hesitation, Maryanne helped me into the water and then swam to the boat so I would have a chance against the wind.

The harbour before and during the rain
I readied the dinghy by putting it in lifeboat mode while Maryanne stowed the groceries. No sooner had I finished than the sky opened up. It rained hard. Lightning could be seen all over striking the hills and thunder was nearly constant. It was the first rain we had since Galaxidi 47 days ago, which was just a drizzle at night. It was the fist time we had even seen clouds since then. Once the rain passed, the wind shifted so that it was coming off of the beach. The seas flattened again. Within fifteen minutes of the rain stopping, we were floating on the surface of a harbor of mercury. The air is cooler and drier. It should be easier to sleep tonight, ready for an early departure tomorrow.

Methoni Castle
[Maryanne]Methoni was yet another face of Greece that we hadn’t seen before. Mentioned by Homer as one of the towns offered to Achilles by Agamemnon (what, not done your homework lately?), it is now a small harbor town dominated by the castle and with a great small beach and a town full of hotels and tavernas and a smattering of basic shops. As we ambled around we heard plenty of British English being spoken in the cafes and tourist spots; we were not sure if these were retired immigrants or holiday makers. A few of the houses in town had a Swiss feel to them with flowered filled balconies and ornate eves; we wondered if that was due to immigrants or some general practicality (hard to believe this area gets heavy snow!). The castle was a really large walled area that once enclosed a whole town, with ocean on 3 sides and a large moat on the one end for access from land. It’s really heavily protected from attack from all directions and we spent our time ambling around mostly ruins imagining the site in its prime.

In some places there are rooms, possibly dungeons or just as likely storage rooms. Within the walls are structures we are led to believe were once Turkish baths, and had clear signs of plumbing within, but also had openings in the domed ceilings that we could not guess the purpose of. There were few notice boards and with free entrance, nobody to offer any guide or tour of any kind so all we could use was our imagination. Basically we liked the town, and arriving outside the tourist season it seemed available to us alone; no pressure to enter a restaurant, or join a tour; we were free to wonder and speculate. Beautiful.

A forgotton land of wonder and plenty?

2011-09-19T04:05:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]The cove at Dyros doesn’t have a village as such, just a few widely scattered buildings and an informal looking caravan park. The village of Dyros itself is at the top of the nearby ridge a couple of kilometers away. The big attraction here is the caves. Dyros has a very long and elaborate network of caves, all beautifully decorated in stalagmites, stalactites and other crystalline structures.
Even though we were tired as a result of having our sleep patterns messed up by the overnight sail, we couldn’t resist taking the dinghy over to see it as soon as we were settled.

Exploring the caves by boat and foot
It was amazing for two reasons. One was that the cave itself was incredible. It was labyrinthine. It went on and on for miles both above and below the water and was covered with the most beautiful structures everywhere we looked. We’ve been in a few caves now, and this one definitely tops the list for being jaw-droppingly beautiful and impressive.

The second amazing thing was the tour. It was terrible. It was the worst tour of the coolest thing I have seen. The tour started with the ticket guy sitting us down in front of a long video and then disappearing. The video had the effect of making us feel the tour would be unnecessary since now we’ve seen it. There were, however, a couple of interesting bits where the film crew left the tour route to follow a team of cave divers into some really cool, remote parts of the cave.

Right in the middle of one of these parts of the video, the guy came back and told us and the other four people there the tour was starting. We were shown to a boat inside the cave and told where to sit. Then the guide boarded at the back and we took off. By using the tip of an oar, our guide skillfully punted the boat along the route through all of the tight twists and turns without bumping the sides of the boat hardly at all. The aggravating thing about it, though, was that he seemed to be going for some kind of record while doing it. With no more commentary than saying the names of four or five places along the way, we positively zinged through the cave. At the largest room of the cave there was a long straightaway. We actually got going fast enough to feel a breeze. By the time everybody readied his or her cameras for a shot, it was gone. The photos probably would have been blurry anyway from the speed. The trick seems to be to go and see it and not worry about photos. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like in the old days. “I say, old boy, slow down. I haven’t had time to even set up my easel!” Other parts of the boat route were narrow and low enough to have us all ducking and breathing in.

At the end of the tour, the boatman banged us up to a dock and left – just vanished. We were still processing the boat tour when we noticed. The remaining 300m of the cave were on foot. We made a point of taking our time and being the last to leave. The cave was gorgeous, but what the hell was with that guy? He must have been trying to do the entire tour during a commercial break. Yeesh!

The next morning, we went ashore again to see the museum and adjacent cave. This cave was inhabited during Neolithic times from around 5200 B.C. until an earthquake in 4 B.C. caused a collapse of the entrance, closing the cave and killing the inhabitants by trapping them inside. The large cave was used as living quarters and storage area. It was the center of the obsidian trade all of the way from Milos in the Cyclades to the southern Ionian. We paid for two tickets and were shown to the small but well done exhibit room displaying artefacts found in the cave. When we were done with that, we were told the cave was closed. That was it. That was the whole thing: one room. That would have been nice to know before we bought the tickets.

Feeling like we had to redeem the trip somehow, we trudged in the unbelievable heat of the windless sun UP the hill to the town to have a look. The Maniot (or Mani) peninsula is a very wild, barren land. Cultivatable land is rare and for centuries was guarded ferociously. Because of this, feuding clans and families built fortified tower houses as protection from raids. These bare stone towers have become the architectural signature of the area, giving a much different look to other parts of Greece. The village of Pyrgos Dirou has a few of these old towers standing, with many newer versions filling out the rest of the town.

Picturesque village with a feuding history - Pyrgos Dirou
Maniot seems like a forgotten place. It’s not on the way to anywhere else (unless you’re on a boat). Tour buses don’t seem to come here. The place is left to itself. We walked the narrow, cobbled, empty streets pleased to have the whole place all to ourselves. Along the way, we grazed happily on an abundance of edible plants. There was more than anybody could eat, so most of it was left to ripen and then rot on the branch. We found and ate plenty of delicious figs, almonds, pomegranates, lemons, grapes and cactus fruit. There were also lots and lots of olives around, but these are not eaten directly off of the tree and must be processed first (and anyway, weren’t ripe yet).

Kyle finds, opens and enjoys Almonds among the bushes

Kyle munches on a ripe cactus fruit and pomegranates sit ripe for picking
The food was great, but wasn’t doing much for our thirst in the heat, so we stooped at one of the two local restaurants for lunch. There we had a good meal that stuffed us to capacity accompanied by a jug of cheap house wine that was tasted like it could also be used to clean engine parts. At least it was cheap.

Scenes from the walk - it's rare to see a cow in Greece
We walked off our lunch by returning to Footprint in the unrelenting afternoon sun. On route we passed a very nice looking hotel designed in keeping with the local villages. We soon realized it was closed, and presumed for the season, but as we took time for a closer look it seemed as if it had been abandoned quickly and some time ago. Wine and water bottles sat on tables, as if evacuated in a fire alarm and not returned for years since. It was sad to imagine the dreams and investments lost with the foresaken hotel.

An lonely, abandoned hotel
The first order of business back at the boat was to jump in for a cooling swim. Out of habit, I followed our chain on its winding path to the anchor. With no wind to speak of, Footprint had just bobbed around basically in the same spot. Our anchor and the first 15m of chain had been completely unnecessary. It was the weight of the second 15m that was keeping us in place as evidenced by the tight swirls of chain tracks in the sand where it first touched the bottom.

At the anchor, I got to see the cutest thing. As I approached, from under the back of the buried anchor blade, a couple of very nervous eyes peered at me over the edge. An octopus had made himself a little burrow there. As I hovered overhead, he tried tucking himself away as far as he could. I dove very slowly. As I approached, he changed color to try to match the silver anchor above and the sand below. By grabbing hold of the other end of the anchor, I was able to counter my buoyancy and stay right there watching him watching me. When the urge to breathe got too much, I surfaced and left the poor little guy alone in his new home. We were planning a middle of the night departure to the next place. I felt bad for taking his roof. When we left, I made a point of pulling up the anchor very slowly so he would be able to leave without getting hurt.

Plenty of sealife to entertain too

Leaving the Aegean

2011-09-19T03:52:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]Around mid-morning we departed our beach anchorage on the south side of Kimolos. The wind had increased steadily all night as forecast and it was swinging us directly away from the beach by sunrise.

We pulled up the anchor and departed under sail alone. As the anchor came up, the bow swung to the east. We picked up enough speed for steerage and made a slow turn to the south and then west rounding the only other nearby boat like a pivot point.

Once we were clear of the protection of Kimolos, we were in the full force of the uninterrupted meltemi winds. We passed to the north of Milos and then made a slight turn just to the south of west for Cape Maleas on the Peloponessian mainland. Away from Milos, the meltemi veered slightly east of north, giving us a nice broad reach across the long, uninterrupted patch of the Aegean.

I had originally planned the passage to be 16 -20 hours, sailed mostly overnight, to the island of Elefenisos, just to the west of the cape, but the forecast was such that it seemed more prudent to carry on all of the way around the next cape, Cape Tainaro, and continue up the west coast of the Maniot peninsula to a little cove at Dyros (or Diros, depending on which book you read).

Passage to the Pelopennese
With the Meltemi pushing us, we made excellent time out of the Aegean. We rounded Cape Maleas just after midnight in the company of a lot of heavy shipping. We passed the anchorage at Elefenisos right at the 15-hour mark.

We were out of the Aegean and back in the Ionian Sea, no longer under the influence of the Meltemi. The winds died down and by the time we passed Cape Tainaro, Mainland Greece’s southernmost point, we had stowed the sails and were motoring along the coast toward Dyros.

Another Greek anchorage
A couple of hours later, we pulled into the bay and set the anchor in 3m of good sand just outside the range of the handful of people swimming on the beach. It was just past the 27 hour mark. Really big mountains that gradually steepened as they rose from the sea backed the horseshoe shaped cove edged by cliffs. We kept thinking that the scenery looked almost exactly like Scotland. The only thing that was different was that it was greener there and, of course, the weather’s not as nice.

Off to Kimolos

2011-09-15T04:09:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]Oh, finally, a short one!

We stayed long enough in Karavostasis on Folegandros to watch the morning programs. The guy who strung his line across the fishing fleet in Sikonos showed up, tried to block everybody in and ended up dragging his anchor all over the harbor. The “Water Boat” came in and kicked off everybody who was moored stern to the mole so it could lie alongside. The boat served as a mobile desalination plant that came in periodically comes in to refill the island’s reserves. We watched a few ferries come and go and then it was time to leave ourselves.

The sailing was pretty uneventful. We tacked back and forth for a while in light headwinds until we got past the chora, then we had to start the engine to make sure we would get to our anchorage by dark. Along the way we passed by many magnificent rocky anchorages that I was dying to live in for a day. Instead, I decided to opt for the more boring sandy beach (with good holding and protection) on the South side of Kimilos. The beach itself was a long pebbly affair, the entire thing offered great holding and protection against the forecast Multemi winds. There was already one boat anchored on one end, so we gave him his privacy and anchored towards the other end of the long beach. The beach would easy allow for four or five boats in-between each with full privacy.

Once we’d settled and dinner was served in the cockpit at sunset two more boats arrived. Rather than spread out as expected they both converged on Footprint and anchored inexplicably just outside of our turning circle. So much for privacy. One boat was a Dutch ketch occupied by a couple a little older than us (Bataver), the other a charter boat with four young guys (party boat). Oh well, I thought, we’ll just pretend it is a small crowded anchorage, I’m not moving. We continued to enjoy our dinner and wine when the Dutch couple decided to bathe – naked, right in full view of us. Soaping every nook and cranny it was hard to avert our eyes as they were in our direct line of sight. Maryanne and I enjoy dinner theatre, but we didn’t know we’d stumbled into the red light district. What an end to our last Cycladic island anchorage.

Views from our anchorage - the island across the channel in the top picture is Milos, where the famous Venus di Milo found by a farmer in rubble he was using to build a wall

Folegandros

2011-09-15T03:56:00.000-04:00

Tortoise Rock? and other outcrops on route
[Kyle]We skipped the usual alarm call and woke when we were ready the next morning for the short journey to the island of Folegandros and Maryanne’s birthday. We roared along the southwest coast of Sikinos, pushed along by strong katabatic winds rushing down the islands steep hills. We crossed the small channel between the two islands, passing by many craggy islets along the way one of which looked very much like a tired giant turtle relieved to have reached shore.

At the port town of Karavostasis we considered mooring stern to the quay but the depths were such that we’d need a LOT of rode and opted instead for anchoring in the shallower bay. It too was a thin layer of sand over rocks but here they were large enough we were eventually able to get a good set on the second try.

We didn’t feel like going through the hassle of deploying the dinghy so we loaded a dry-bag with supplies and swam ashore. We found ourselves just in time for the next bus up the hill to the chora.

Folegandros
At the top we didn’t find the chora to be that interesting, just a regular-ish town plopped onto a plain. The buildings were perfect with their Greek island white walls, but seemed new and inauthentic somehow, just a little too boxy. It wasn’t until we stepped off the bus that we realized what the big draw was, the plain ended abruptly at the edge of the chora in an enormous cliff plunging vertically down into the sea. Eventually we did find the ‘old’ town and it had a very special character, including wooden balconies and unusual passageways meandering from shady square to shady square.

We climbed the smoothed out path up to the monastery for the views overlooking the chora and beyond. We could now see within the walled hotel compounds and spot swimming pools and relaxing tourists sat among the flowers. From there we climbed higher to the top of the tallest cliff on the island and were rewarded with amazing views of the chora and its little cliff below.

Kyle so loves a hill
After our walk we poked into the most attractive looking hotel and asked if it was OK for non-guests to use the outdoor bar. We sat sipping our beers overlooking the crashing ocean water from the cliff-top balcony.

Oh boy, what a life
Afterwards, we had a walk and found an agreeable little restaurant with an irresistibly friendly proprietor. It sat at the edge of a plaza made up of irregular angles. We found a table under a tree backed by a wall of flowers, where we had a selection of every local item on the menu that was vegetarian.

We ate our fill, using the excuse that it was Maryanne’s Birthday to try anything we wanted. Afterwards, we walked off our meal by skipping the bus and walking back down to Karavostasis.

By the end of the swim back to Footprint, we realized we were pretty exhausted, birthday or not, and called it an early night.

Sikinos

2011-09-15T03:34:00.001-04:00

Sikinos Harbour
[Kyle]We awoke in our unexpected new home after our night of adventure to find a beautiful bustling harbor of local fishermen. We took the 10:30am bus up to the main town (Chora) and fell in love all over again with Greece. It was a marvelous, quiet, little town with flowers and pretty views, and occasionally dotted with an eclectic mix of cafes and populated with friendly cats. We had a light lunch (cake and coffee) to fuel ourselves up for the hike up the hill to the monastery where we were fortunate to arrive as the caretaker opened up the site for a special private tour of his own; he was kind enough to welcome us in to explore at our leisure. From there we had views of almost the entire island and spotted our next goal – a ubiquitous hilltop church on the facing summit.

More Sikinos...
As we wandered from site to site about the town we bumped into the same two other tourists we’d seen on the bus. There seemed to be a total of 4 tourists exploring the town to add to the smattering of locals; we really felt like we had the town to ourselves. We were clearly outside of the main tourist season. Humans were outnumbered by cute cats and playful kittens.

Beautiful Sikinos
The climb required us to go through the older, quieter, residential part of the chora filled with dream home after dream home with the occasional fixer upper that became more common as we climbed the hill from the town. This is understandable as the only means of transporting anything from the main road is via handcart or donkey. We managed to resist continuing on to yet the next hill and reversed our course to the main road where we picked up the bus home.

Once back in the harbor we had to select from the handful of restaurants and chose the highest for the best views and sat at a table waiting for it to open as passengers lined the quay ready for the arriving Ferry. We had television with several channels: one was a cruiser being told off by the port police for anchoring in the (undocumented) ferry maneuvering area; another was a macho man with a giant powerboat trying to string a line clear across the harbor and blocking in the entire fishing fleet and causing uproar; and finally among the awaiting ferry passengers a class of art students showing and applauding each other’s work at the end of the course.

As the ferry arrived at full speed we finally understood why the port captain was so adamant about the need for the anchored boat to move. The giant ship came in at what must have been 20kt and headed directly at the anchored boat. He came within 100m or so before finally going into reverse and swinging away so that he could dock. Had I been on that little boat and seen such a ship heading for me at that speed, I would have probably jumped overboard for safety at about the time the ferry started making the turn.

The restaurant opened at 7pm and we ordered our meal along with a carafe of wine and sat contentedly watching the light drain from the day. The restaurant was colorfully decorated with splashes of art and ornaments, relaxing seating, bookshelves and board games, and a great selection of music to add to the ambiance. As we watched the quiet little town go to sleep we could not help but think that it would have been difficult to be more content. It was a really nice night to top a great day.

Ios

2011-09-15T03:18:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]We dropped the lines to the mooring ball at Nisis Thirasia and spent the rest of the morning bashing into direct headwinds to the island of Ios. I’d added the island to our route at the last minute since we had a period of headwinds forecast that would pin us down in a few days, giving us time for a couple of extra stops before it would shift again in our favor. Although the trip to Ios was directly into the wind, it was a short trip and would give us a better angle for subsequent days.

The anchorage we planned to use at Ios was at the south side of the island. It was reputedly pretty and much frequented by nudists on excursions boats. When we arrived it seemed a little run down. It would have been OK for our night’s rest, but we were getting used to spectacular. We had plenty of time and we decided to push forwards to another anchorage giving us even more favorable winds and a shorter trip the following day. We decided if we found anywhere we liked as we meandered along the coast we’d pull in and stop there.

Our 'special' Ios anchorage
A couple of inlets later we spotted a tiny cove with a small deserted sandy beach. The decision was made – just our kind of place. It was apparent on entering the tiny cove that we would either need to set two anchors or run a line ashore to keep the boat from swinging into the cliff walls. The water was clear enough that we could readily see the condition of the bottom as we passed over it. We found a good sandy looking patch, a boat length or two from the beach, dropped the anchor and backed down to set / test it. The anchor dragged. It turned out the bottom was just a thin layer of sand over slippery rock. We tried a couple of alternative spots to no avail and by then I was determined to make the anchorage work as it was getting late and I’d had it with motoring and bashing into the wind for the day. Eventually we found a spot that seemed to work for the main anchor. Our trust in the holding was tenuous though so we decided I’d dive on the anchor before continuing with any of the rest of the process.

Kyle takes the baby anchor for a swim, while Maryanne makes some seabed finds
I found the anchor with just about a centimeter of its tip grabbing onto the corner of a rock, obviously not good. Searching around with my snorkel gear I found an ideal looking sturdy rock with just the right shape to fit the contours of the anchor. The catch was that Maryanne would have to maneuver the boat over the spot and lower the anchor enough so I could then manhandle it into position, but not so much that it was unwieldy with too much chain. I figured ideal would be letting the anchor touch bottom with perhaps 3’ of extra chain. We then went through the same process with our grapnel anchor at the stern, which I physically swam out and wedged into some underwater rocks at the base of the cliffs. We cranked everything down until it was bar tight, keeping us fixed in position. We were now free to snorkel, hike and relax on the beach to our hearts content.

Several hours later, in the middle of the night, Maryanne was up to use the head. I lay there for a while trying to pretend I didn’t, but eventually got up myself. As I was passing the cockpit door Maryanne appeared like a ghost “we have a problem, the stern line is slack”. She scared the crap out of me! I pulled on the stern line and it came up freely with no anchor attached; the line had chafed through. I knew from our experience trying to anchor that there would be no easy way to reset securely in the dark and without physically going into the water again to find a place to set the ground tackle. Even though the moon was nearly full I knew this would not be possible in the dark. I jumped in the water and retrieved our stern anchor from the spot I’d set it before and when I returned to Footprint we made plans to leave immediately. We had been hugely fortunate that there was not a breath of wind in the cove, we lay exactly where we had been when we went to sleep and the wind was gusting down the valley. Without the stern anchor those same winds would surely have put us into the rocks no more than 3m or 4m away.

My initial plan to sail to Sikinos in the morning daylight was now a hasty escape in the night. We had made only the most cursory of preparation for departure and the trip was too short, and the hour too late, to bother setting the sails.

We arrived at Skala in Sikinos at about 2am where we found a short stub mole to tie stern-to. The anchor mercifully set and held the first time and despite the hour we were now so wired we took a walk around the small harbor town in the light of the full moon.

Santorini - Main island of Thira

2011-09-14T13:51:00.001-04:00

[Kyle]After all of the anticipation of Santorini, it turned out to be an enormous disappointment. The entire island smelled like wet donkeys and their waste, even though it hadn’t rained in weeks. The place is infested with vicious biting flies. Shopkeepers were rude and aggressive and any place with a “view” invariably had it blocked off to those who hadn’t paid a fee. When you did get through, the foreground was always filled with a parking lot or overflowing dumpsters. We were so disappointed.

Dirty, trashy, smelly... Yuk!
For Americans, at least, it would have been much quicker and cheaper to go to Las Vegas, stay at the Olympic, and attend the Greek Island Experience. There you can see the whole thing in giant HD IMAX clarity with near 3D detail (like 2D), feel like you’re climbing a hill on a real donkey with their new ReelFeel™ seats with none of the smell or waiting. Afterward, enjoy a buffet of Greek/American fusion cuisine created by their chef Vinnie Pappadopolis and including such delights as Moussaka with fries, Lamb kabab with fries, Spanakopita with fries and everybody’s favorite: Fried ouzo.

Kate, if you’re reading this, you didn’t miss a thing. You must be feeling a bit sleepy. How ‘bout you go get yourself a cup of coffee? We’ll see you next time…
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She’s gone! Here’s what really happened.

At Thirasia in the morning, we saw some activity around eight and decided to head ashore just in case. We got there just in time to see a big, empty boat cast off and steam for Thira. Damn! It was picking up the staff for the restaurants. We waited around hoping for something soon, but by 9:15, knew it was going to be the 9:30 ferry. We spotted the gruff Captain coming through the village on his small horse and followed along as conspicuously as we could. We didn’t want him to leave without us suspecting he may not be expecting customers for the run. He was busy, so we gave him his space as he worked. When it looked like departure was imminent, we asked if it was okay to come aboard. He grunted and motioned us in.

Private Ferry ride
On board, he was busy again, so we made our way to the top deck for the view. Suddenly, we were moving. I became concerned that we had just boarded a boat without paying and that we weren’t even sure exactly where it was going. All we knew was that the day before, it kept leaving and disappearing around the corner only to reappear an hour later. We had no idea which port they went to or even which island.

We tracked down the guy to pay and completed the whole exchange without him saying a word to us. Maryanne got out a piece of paper and pen. With doodling, sign language and broken English, we were able to determine that he was indeed going to Fira, the capital of Thira and the last ferry back was at 5:00, we think. We still weren’t entirely sure he understood us. Apart from four staff, we were the only people on the boat. We stood on the top deck gazing at the view and snapping pictures as we approached Thira. It was Cruise Ship Day. Five big ships were anchored or hovering off the town and scores of little launches were ferrying passengers into Fira.

At Fira, we asked the other three guys on the boat when the last one left Fira. We got a couple of 5:00s and a couple of 5:20s. Well, at least that wasn’t too big a range. We decided to be back by 4:30. As a backup, we stopped at several places offering tourist information and were told there was no direct boat to Thirasia, only crater tours that stop there.

“Yes there is. We just got off that boat. It’s right there.”

“No boat. Only tours.”

It turns out there is no tourist information per se in Santorini, only tour companies touting themselves as such. If it’s not their boat, they don’t know about it. Nobody knew about it and we could find no timetable anywhere. We had to hope 5:00 was right.

With so little available time, we decided to use our new favorite mode of transportation – the scooter – to see the island. We found an agent right at the ferry stop that told us they would have a guy meet us at the top.

First views of Fira
We didn’t take a donkey but instead boarded the gondola funicular with a large group of Spanish cruise ship passengers. Two minutes later, we were at the top.

Funicular - so much easier than walking up!
Wow! What a place! It is hard for words to describe how beautiful it is. Curved adobe buildings covered in wedding cake icing and speckled with blue doors and windows dripped off of the rim of the crater like a layer of toffee. Below them in the distance was an enormous crater filled with deep blue water and centered on a giant mound of cinders. It took the words out of everybody’s mouths. People, including myself, would get off of the funicular, walk over to take their first look and then stand there transfixed for a minute or two, taking it in, jaws agape, rendered speechless by it. We would stare for a while and then sort of come to, realizing we needed to make way for others to have their moment. Then it was time to turn and dive into the bustle of the narrow streets.

The guy from the scooter rental place met us and took us on a long winding walk through the town. When we emerged, we were on the outside of the crater with a view of distant Anafi along a very busy auto road; the first we’d seen so far.

I left my license as deposit and was shown to our scooter. We got a thirty-second briefing on the controls, climbed on and were off.

The congested street was near gridlock for cars and busses, but the scooters threaded their way right through. We headed clockwise around the crescent shaped island in the direction of the ancient Thira archaeological site and the black sand beaches of the south. We had hoped to see the Minoan site at Akrotiri, but it was still closed after a fatal accident at the site six years earlier.

As we approached ancient Thira and saw the road was really steep with switchbacks all the way to the top, we were worried our little rental scooter wasn’t up to it. Seeing the road turn from asphalt to cobblestones caused us to chicken out. {Maryanne: I really encouraged Kyle NOT to go up that hill, I think he was otherwise game for it. It probably helped that with our limited time he wasn’t too bothered about yet another archaeological site that I was trying to get us to}.

Kamari beach and the crazy steep cobbled switchback up to Ancient Thira
We turned and headed back downhill to the beach at Kamari to see for ourselves the black sands. The beach was sparsely filled with vacationers sitting on deck chairs under thatch umbrellas reading paperbacks. White wooden walkways had been put out to protect from the super-hot sand. The trick seemed to be to triple jump from the walkway to the chairs and to the water. A lot of Olympic triple jump training takes place on Santorini.

We weren’t much in the mood to fritter away our precious day in a deck chair so, having seen and felt it, we were back on the bike headed up the shallower hill towards the rim. We got about half a mile before the scooter started losing power. We got slower and slower until we ended up coasting off the road onto the dirt shoulder. The engine was completely dead and would not start. It seemed to be overheating. We pushed it into a shady spot to let it cool off and considered what to do if cooling off didn’t work. We took our time digging out the cell phone and rental agreement (no refunds, our bikes are in perfect condition and should be returned as such, etc) and to avoid making an international phone call via cell phone, agreed to wait 10 minutes and see if it started then.

At the end of our wait we were able to get the bike started (with difficulty) and our immediate plans for that end of the island were abandoned and our new goal became to make it back to the rental store. We took the journey slowly, riding close to the shoulder at no more than 20mph. Every now and then on a steeper hill the engine would die again, we would coast to a stop and repeat the cooling off process; we were relieved when we finally made it into Fira and pulled up to the scooter rental store. The young guy there thought we were done, and we explained to him the bike was broken he looked confused; after all we’d just ridden up on it. We tried to describe the problem, but he started the engine, revved it and looked at us incredulously (what were we talking about, it’s fine). The did issue us another scooter to the obvious consternation of the boss, and were good enough to top it up with fuel (from empty) as we’d just paid to fill the now broken one from ¼ of a tank.

The new scooter sounded like barbed wire in a washing machine but ran all right and we had no problems for the rest of the day. Running out of time, we now decided to head in the other direction to the town of Oia on the Northern end of the island and famed for its beautiful sunsets.

Oia on Santorini's main island
If it was even possible, Oia was even prettier than Fira. A large proportion of pretty little art galleries displaced some of the more traditional touristy souvenir shops. There were throngs of people all recently disgorged off of tour buses, but the place seemed to have a breathtaking view for each one of us. After a couple of hours there, I was actually starting to get overloaded on scenery. I love it, but it was exhausting to always be gasping at yet another gorgeous vista, stopping and taking more photos. It just wouldn’t stop. The curvature of the crater was filled in with gorgeous villas that seemed to be molded into the hill. Each one was unique. Many of the places had infinity pools that were formed to fit the available space where swimmers could lean over the edge to a view of the caldera. Rectangles were very rare. It was sensory overload. What a magnificent place. {There were a couple of VERY splendid hotels in Oia and a few had plaques for ‘Small Luxury hotels of the World’, they were WOW hotels and I plan to look up others and maybe plan a romantic get away at some point – if they are even half as nice as the ones in Oia they will be wonderful.}

Oia
Eventually we headed back south, and managed a stop at two other small and beautiful villages before finally finding our way back to the capital of Fira to return the scooter and leave some time to explore.

The tiny village of Firostefani, Santorini
In Fira we reversed our morning route from busy road to donkey path, meandering this way and that depending on what caught our eye. We ended up at a rooftop restaurant where we had a Santorini snack of bread dipped in warm Fava bean sauce and a bottle of white wine from the island. From up there, we could watch the chaos on the streets while being removed from its tensions.

The bike, Fira, Santorini and a wondeful snack
The view was incredible and the wine was pretty good, too. We felt so full of happiness at being able to see this place.

Afterwards, we descended to the harbor on the funicular. Four of the cruise ships had left. The last, a German boat, was in the final stages of getting everybody back on board. Our car was filled with the last of the stragglers.

The boat to Thirasia wasn’t there waiting for us, nor in sight (arriving or leaving). Five O’clock passed and then 5:20 and the only boats we saw in the harbor were shuttles taking the last of the Germans to their cruise ship, and the sunset schooners departing. I began to get a little nervous which grew with each passing minute. Thira was nice and all but since most non-camping rooms sold between €500 and €1500 a night, we needed to avoid staying their if at all possible.

Waiting for the Ferry home
At just about the time my pacing back and forth had driven Maryanne crazy our boat came into view around the corner; I knew it all along. Four people got off the arriving ferry and we were the only two to get on. The crew gave us the usual grunts but did not express any other recognition (what tars). After being available for boarding for a total of no more than 30 seconds the ramp lifted and the boat backed into the harbor, then it started heading in the wrong direction. We weren’t too concerned since we knew it overnighted in Thirasia (at least we hoped it did every night), so we enjoyed the detour to the main ferry terminal for Santorini, a couple of miles south of Fira at which point the only other four passengers disembarked leaving the boat (as in the morning) four crew and the two of us. On the passage back to Thirasia the ferry skirted by the new central volcanic islands giving us a great view of the mounds of jagged burnt new rock.

Volcanic islands and the ride home
As we arrived in Thirasia we could see the sunset schooner tied up alongside Footprint at the mooring ball. Conditions were a little windier this day so they had a different configuration and this time the mooring ball was taking most of the strain of the large boat. Rather than going straight home we decided to maintain our anonymity and rushed to the only restaurant with customers before it closed. The waiter gave us a slightly withering look, I’m sure he expected us to be requesting our entire meal served before the next boat departed (soon). We did our best to appear nonchalant. At that point there were probably 25 people in the restaurant. A few minutes later, without any obvious signal, and like a flock of ducks taking off in the morning, they all simultaneously hopped out of their chairs, dropped money on the table and left. After they were gone and unlike the night before six people remained (including us). Two of them shortly boarded another boat and two mysteriously remained. The remaining young couple seemed completely unconcerned that they had just missed the last boat off the island. We assumed they must be one of the few people staying on the island at its one hotel at the top of the hill.

We made a point of finishing our meal and paying our tab so the restaurant staff could be on their way home (they looked eager to go) and moved to a table with a better view near the balcony (that also happened to be beside the other couple). We introduced ourselves and soon discovered they were an American couple from Denver: Canute and Molly. We exchanged the secret Colorado handshake a combination of shoveling snow and planting a ski pole. The reason they were in no hurry was that they had their own transport home; Canute The Resourceful had rented an inflatable dinghy with an outboard for the day. He’d rented it from a place on the outer side of the main island by Oia, gone completely around the outside of the Santorini islands and spent the remaining day exploring the inner crater as well, finally ending up eating dinner at Nisis Thirasia where we met them. It seemed like a LONG way to take a dinghy with such small fuel tanks but he assured us he had plenty, this main concern seemed to be that sunset was approaching and he wanted to be out of the bay for the best views by then, a treat for Molly’s birthday. He was just winging it. Canute the Impulsive.

We both left the restaurant at the same time, and we made our way back to Footprint and hoisted the dinghy into its davits for the passage the following day. Canute and Molly however had conspicuously not left by the time we’d completed this and settled down for our evening glass of wine. It was definitely getting dark by then and we were concerned for them and curious as to what the problem (or change of plan) might be. After a long while they still hadn’t left and were back in the restaurant, we figured they must have decided not to chance the return journey so late and were somehow planning on staying in Thirasia for the night. I couldn’t imagine this was going to go over well with Molly who potentially was going from a nice Oia hotel room to a night on a pile of fishermen’s nets. Canute the Available.

A half an hour or so later a small powerboat zipped into the now dark harbor and stopped by the restaurant and after a short while sped away back towards Thira with two dinghies following close behind. We assumed at least one of these was Canute the Saved and Molly and were glad to think of them having a nice bed for the night. In the absence of any real facts, we imagined they had run out of fuel after all (or were otherwise unable to start the dinghy) and were rescued by their rental company; I can only imagine the after hours call out charges, yikes. Canute the Broke.

Santorini - Thirasia Outpost

2011-09-14T12:57:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]We’ve seen Santorini referred to as Santorini/Thira in almost every guide we have. It took us a while to surmise that Santorini is the name of the enormous volcano and thus the greater archipelago, Thira is the island forming the biggest remnant of the crater.

Santorini is probably the best known of the Greek islands. It is beautiful, but for sailors, it can be a bit of a headache. There are two main reasons for this: One is that everything is very steep, so by the time you’re two or three boat lengths from shore, it’s too deep to anchor (100m+). The other is that Santorini is composed of very new rock - boulders that haven’t had time to wear out into sand or mud. Santorini does have beaches, but most of them are terribly exposed. This leaves almost nowhere suitable to go. There is a marina on the southeast corner of the island. It is reputed to silt up badly. When we passed, it was so full that they were berthing boats on the outside of the breakwater. Not good. The main harbor at Fira has a giant mooring ball that serves as the hub of wheel from which boats tie stern-to the local pier with lines acting as spokes. This requires that someone be left aboard at all times to rearrange lines as others come and go. All this is fine for crewed mega-yachts, but not so good for us. We decided to go for the anchorage at the village of Corfos in Nisis Thirasia, the second largest island of the group.

We pulled into bay below the village and it quickly became clear that we had been duped. A tour boat on a private mooring took the only spot it would have been possible to anchor as its guests snorkeled on the shallow water. We tried looking at a couple of other dodgy spots, but did not like them at all. We noticed that a lot of the restaurants seemed to have unoccupied mooring rings on the outsides of their balconies and decided to ask around about that as a possibility. On the way, we found one of the big tour schooners and when he offered that we could tie up to him (not suitable as we wanted somewhere for 2 nights, not just half an hour) we asked if he had any ideas. He told us we could use one of two free mooring balls in the harbour. One was a huge, sharp, rusty can and the other was a big plastic ball. We went for the ball.

Now that we were all safe and secure, our next order of business was to do a bit of snorkeling and see what all of the tour boat fuss was about. Sea life was still sparse, as in other places in the Med, but we were pleased to see that it seemed to be doing better here than many other places, particularly considering the popularity of the island. The water was amazingly clear, but the real attraction wasn’t so much the sea life as the topography, which was dominated by overhanging ledges disappearing into the blue depths.

Thirasia
Eventually, we took the dinghy to shore and climbed the path to the chora at the top of the hill. We were willing and prepared to rent a donkey in order to help out with the local economy, but after all our distractions, the previously jammed donkey parking lot was now empty so we walked up (dodging the obvious deposits). Our quest was to find out the ferry times to Thira the next day.

At the top, we wandered along the donkey-width street that follows the ridge. We were somehow expecting more of a proper village, but this place was little more than a collection of pretty houses with a great view. As the only ones walking the street who didn’t live in the town, we felt like we were taking a stroll through people’s gardens, like we were being overly invasive of the privacy they usually have. We seemed to be the only tourists.

Scenes from Thirasia, Santorini, although there is a road upto the main town, the streets are donkey wide and the shop has an interesting system to deliver goods
From one end of town I spotted a survey marker past the other side in the direction from which we came. It was marking the high point of a prominent cliff. It didn’t look too far so that became our new goal.

As we were walking along the caldera ridge, we were looking down at the harbor with our little boat moored there. Two big schooners full of people were coming in, refilling the island’s supply of tourists. It was so pretty there.

The schooners came closer. We were mortified when we realized they were heading for the two moorings: the big, rusty can and, gulp, ours. The bigger ship of the two paused for a second and then came alongside, presumably to call to us and figure out who took their ball. We were way up at the top of the cliff probably at least an hour away, so we couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly and feel horribly embarrassed. What were we going to say to the guy? The schooner who had offered us the ball was nowhere in sight. Maybe he didn’t even know it was somebody’s ball.

Oops, that moorign ball we were told we can use, we probably should not have!
We decided that since it was too late now, we would continue to the point, see the sunset view of the whole caldera and then return to face the music. We had wanted to eat out. I had pretty much decided on a restaurant overlooking the crater, but now it was pretty obvious we’d have to eat at the harbor after being dressed down by the schooner captain. We’d play really nice and hope one of the restaurants would let us tie up to them. We just HAD to figure out how to stay, or there would be no way we would be able to go to Thira the next day.

As we walked along, we noticed that the giant schooner had rafted up to Footprint and was disgorging guests for a swim. Footprint was the only boat tied to the mooring, and the Footprint/schooner combination was looking very lopsided. That boat must have been 200 times the weight and windage, and all of that force was potentially being borne by our little cleats. Well, I guess we were asking for it. Fortunately it was flat calm so the forces were slight.

Climbing up for the views
Walking back from the point, we saw the two big boats untie and steam back off for Thira. They turned out to be doing a sunset cruise, one that was advertised as stopping at all of the islands. They only used the moorings for half an hour per day. Footprint was left lying to the mooring as she had been before. If that was all it was, maybe it was okay to stay there.

The Panorama restaurant at the rim looked a little deserted so we decided to eat at a place in the harbor that caught our eye when we arrived. By then, all of the ferries and tour boats were steaming back across to Thira. Maryanne was concerned that the restaurants would be closed. I was hoping not, since the place was so busy before. When we arrived at the waterfront, we found it was a ghost town. It seems the boats took not only the customers, but also most of the staff with them. We resigned ourselves to eating at home.

As we were most of the way back to the dinghy from the hill path, we found a small family settling in for the night. We still hadn’t found out anything about ferry times so, figuring the whole island must know it by heart, we interrupted them and asked. “9:30”, came the answer with a friendly smile. We were hoping for earlier than that. There were so many boats coming and going that we decided to get up early just in case we see some activity before then.

Back at Footprint, we expected chaos, or at least a nasty note. Instead, there was not a mark on her and our dock lines were neatly coiled on deck. We had no other place to go, so we redid them and laid them across our lifelines so they would be easier to grab next time, hoping to make the inconvenience as minor as possible for them for just one more day when we were to visit the main island of Santorini.

Astypalaia, and on to Anafi

2011-09-11T00:36:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]After lengthy formalities, we finally managed to get out of Kalymnos by late morning. I toyed with the idea of making Maryanne put the anchor down a few times to make her feel at home, but then decided to spoil her and only make her do it once. After all, she did put the anchor down, and then up again each time the night before, so she really didn’t get away with anything.

After having all of our trouble with anchoring, we did a quick search on the internet tubes and found LOTS of people complaining about the holding there. Apparently, the harbor is hard rock covered in axle grease and topped with a thin layer of ball bearings. The hope is that someday, this will decay into an especially sticky mud but, so far, no dice.

We had a fast run down the coast, turned the corner and then spent the next hour bobbing around in the wind shadow. The very minute I was getting ready to throw in the towel and motor over to the wind I could see just a few hundred meters away, an eddy broke off and pushed us over to the real wind.

In short order, we were going a couple of knots faster than the engine would push us, which we really needed as the gap between Kalymnos and our next stop, The island of Astypalaia, was over thirty miles, making it an all day sail. After missing out on any real chance of sightseeing on Kalymnos, I was really hoping for at least half the afternoon on Astypalaia.

The wind picked up. We reefed. It picked up some more and we reefed again. By the time we rounded the point at Astypalaia, we had been sailing in the full-blown Meltemi for a couple of hours – the same kind we had a couple of weeks before with Kate and Mark. It was a really wet slog and the only thing on either of our minds was to get it over with.

Around the point, the 2-3 meter seas suddenly went flat, but the wind kept blowing at around 30 knots with the direction swinging all over the place in the lee of the hills. We motored up to the head of the longest inlet and set the anchor down a few boat lengths from the beach. When I put the boat in reverse, we started drifting towards the rocks on the lee shore. I hadn’t even added power. Three more attempts in different places yielded the same result. It was as if the anchor wasn’t even touching the bottom.

Fed up with wasting time and sick of dropping and pulling up the anchor, we left that accursed cove altogether, looking for somewhere better. The next cove over to the west, ringed by high hills, had a strong wind coming down to the water but otherwise seemed OK. We dropped anchor so close to the beach that if the wind reversed we would have ended up on it, backed down and with FULL power, during a 30kt gust didn’t budge an inch; now that is the anchor we know and love. Even though it howled all night we slept soundly knowing we weren’t going anywhere.

Astypalaia, a pretty island, unfortunately we didn't make it to the beautiful town
It still seemed alarmingly windy by morning so I wasn’t relishing going back out into the mess we’d seen the day before. We left our cove and sailed along in light conditions on a flat sea in the lee of the island. Once out of the cove we were dismayed to see that the island was beautiful and we had missed a wonderful opportunity to stay at the main village blended seamlessly with a cora (hilltop town) spilling down into the harbor. The whole view backed by high rugged hills, rocky cliffs and perfect blue skies. If we’d only known we’d have just gone to town the night before rather than searching for passable anchorages, unfortunately the guidebook did not paint the town in such glowing colours. What’s done is done.

We passed out of the lee of the island and into the open sea and were immediately faced with more flat sea. The forecast was for slightly worse weather than the prior day, improving slightly over the day, and this is what we’d planned for with sailed reefed ready for the strong winds. Instead we shook our all our sails and ended up barely drifting along under full sail. After doing this for a while I realized we had no chance of making our destination by dark so we’d reluctantly start the engine for some motor sailing to bring up our average speed.

In the course of the day the wind would pick up, blow as forecast for 20 minutes and then remain almost still for another hour. Thus we alternated between starting the engine in resignation that we were not going to manage to sail the distance, and shutting it down again excited that the forecast winds were finally here.

About 15 miles before our next waypoint (at the south-eastern tip of the island of Anafi) I was peering into the distance and hoping to catch a glimpse of the island through the haze when I noticed an enormous cliff vaulting out of the sea. I’d only given Anafi a cursory glance when planning, and thought of it only as a suitable stop to break up the long distance between Astypalaia and Santorini. We were approaching the highest rock formation in the Mediterranean at 461m, higher still that mighty Gibraltar.

Arriving at Anafi
As we approached Anafi, the cliff loomed higher and higher above us until we finally sailed beneath it, mouths agape, amazed at its rugged inaccessibility. It wasn’t completely inaccessible as it was home to the ubiquitous church, in this case a monastery. The Greeks do this a lot it seems, they find a remote and isolated precipice and haul up materials for a complete church. This one is certainly one of the most impressive for isolation.

The 'main' town, and the remote Church
As we approached the town we could see that while it looked very inviting it’s harbor was small and seemed somewhat derelict, so we decided instead to anchor at one of the many beaches in the shelter of the great rock. The decision aided with the knowledge we had no time to go ashore anyway. It was not until we were in our final preparations for maneuvering to anchor that we noticed that the handful of people on the 3 small adjacent beaches were completely nude (and not at all shy). One woman seemed to be running for cover as we approached, but we soon realized she was just concerned for her swimmer friend and wanting to see they were not in danger from our boat. We dropped the anchor and were hugely relieved and celebratory to find it held first time. Just to be sure I dove in and swam over to check (in the manner according to local custom) and was gratified to find our anchor chain disappearing completely into the sand a dozen feet of so later our anchor trip line emerged from a short trench – now that is what I like to see! As night descended the nudists packed up and left the beaches, the rocks of the cliff burnt orange with the sunset, and the stars slowly turned on one by one in the clear night.

Sunset and Sunrise at Anafi

A Long, Frustrating Day

2011-09-11T00:14:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]At Yalikavak, we were the first boat out of the marina in the pre-dawn light. The weather was forecast to be much better before Noon. I also wanted to allow enough time to clear out of Turkey and then be in Greece before their Customs closed for the day, which has typically been whenever business thins out in the afternoon.

An early start to reach Turgutreis for customs
We motored around the coast to Turgutreis for the Turkish side of the formalities. We tucked ourselves into a corner of their fuel dock out of reach of the pump hoses. It was 8:30am. The guys who came out to meet us in the RIB confirmed (probably reluctantly) that we were OK to stay at the dock to clear customs. They seemed to be worried we were obstructing the remaining 300 feet of empty dock space.

We went to the Port Police, where the only representative told us we would have to wait until 10:00 for the Harbormaster to arrive. We returned to the boat and did our best to stay busy and awake until then. At one point, the guys in the RIB showed up and asked us to move so that another catamaran could come in. I looked at it, saw that it was less than 300 feet long, was a bit confused but asked them where they would like us to move. After much fretting, they decided we were okay where we were, but were still clearly impatient with us because we hadn’t left yet.

At 10:00, we proceeded to the Harbormaster’s office where we were ignored for 20 minutes as he conducted some other mysterious business. He then looked at our papers for about a minute and then told us we had to go to the marina office to have them complete it before he could stamp it (strange). The marina office was not nearby. The walk required an indirect route around the yard and through a shopping center. At the marina office, we were told the guy who does customs paperwork for them wasn’t in so we’d have to go to a Yacht agency just a little further for paperwork completion. Thirty minutes and a bill of 65 Turkish Lira (about $65) later our paperwork was ready for the Harbormaster. We gave her a 100TL note. She said she didn’t have change and didn’t take cards. Hmm, a cash-only business that doesn’t have change?

Maryanne went on a hunt for change. The kindly agent decided we were trustworthy so I was allowed to have the paperwork in the meantime. Walking back to the Harbormaster’s office, I couldn’t help but wish I had known we would have to go through all of this at 8:30. Then we could have spent THAT hour and a half on this.

The Harbormaster again looked at our papers for a minute, gave them an officious stamp and sent me to the Port Police. One more stamp and it was over to Customs. At Customs, I stood behind the glass at the desk, behind which three men sat having morning tea and reading the paper. They were far enough behind the glass that I would have had to pound hard to be heard. I wasn’t ready to be that guy – the impatient American, so I did my best to look conspicuous and eager. Over at the Port Police counter about twenty minutes later, a woman with a huge sheaf of papers was getting them all stamped. She was clearly an agent working on behalf of a charter company or a crewed yacht. When she was done, before she got to the Customs desk, she opened the door to their office, went in and plopped the papers on one of their desks. The men dispersed from their tea break and returned to their respective stations. At this point, the man doing the bulk of the stamping looked up at me and waved for me to come in with a look that said I was an idiot for not knowing that. So... it wasn’t one-way glass..

I’m sorry, buddy, but I am NEVER going to assume it is okay to walk by the counter and let myself into the back office of Customs. I imagine that if I did that in Newark on my next trip to work, I would end up with a whole room of guns pointed at me. You’d hear from me again three to five years after that.

Stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp again. A little more stamping and we were finally free to leave Turkey. I met Maryanne at the fuel dock, where she was spending our last Turkish Lira on a jerry can of fuel and a couple of well received ice-cream bars.

The weather hadn’t quite turned on us yet, but by the time we were about a third of the way to Kalymnos, we were beating into increasing headwinds. It wasn’t too bad. We only needed one short tack that cost us half an hour before we could make directly for the harbor.

Back in Greece
We managed to arrive mid afternoon and I was still hopeful that we could complete formalities that day and enjoy the town. We found a spot along the wall, dropped anchor and backed up to about a boat length of the wall to snub and set the anchor. It dragged. One more attempt had the same result. Now we know why that space was available. We moved to the next open space and the anchor again would not set, twice. On pulling it up the second time at this location we found dangling from our anchor another, we were mortified, a real faux pas had been committed, but we were still within our lines for our space. It turned out not to be from either boat beside the space we were hoping for but from one 2 boats away (although we didn’t know that at the time). We attempted to make contact with the likely boat ashore, where the captain appeared on the foredeck watching us and not too happy. We still had his anchor up (hooked on our own), and felt the best thing was to keep tension on it (to stop him drifting backwards into the dock) and try and communicate. We yelled, used all the sign language we could to try and persuade him to communicate with us on the radio, but he just kept staring at us. Eventually we dropped the anchor and motored in to offer any assistance necessary. Here he stated the obvious (you pulled up my anchor) and here too we learned it was not his anchor but the boat the other side of him. We offered help and suggested the other guy crank on his line and check to see if it would re-set. No worries, it’s fine he assured us.

We picked a third spot even further along. Two attempts there failed. We decided to try a completely different patch of harbor on the south side. We had been avoiding it partly because it wasn’t as pretty, but mostly because it would require laying the chain down in a strong crosswind. It is very hard to back up straight in a crosswind until the anchor is there to help, but you can’t set it until most of the backing up is done.

On our second attempt, we finally got the anchor to hold. It has never taken us that many attempts to set the anchor. The whole process took us over two hours. We did a quick search on the internet tubes later and found LOTS of people complaining about the holding on Kalymnos. Apparently, the harbor was built as a smooth concrete basin with a layer of axle grease topped by a thin layer of ball bearings. The thinking was that this was to decay into a super sticky mud but, so far, no dice.

We hastily rushed to the Port Police, where we were charged €15 for a receipt for €15. We were then told we had to go to the regular Police in the middle of town since we had just entered the country. The directions were long and vague at the same time. We found it with the help of a couple of friendly locals on the way, who steered us back onto the right path.

It was an awful walk. We were thirsty, hungry and exhausted from the long day, the sail and especially hauling the anchor chain up and down so many times. We desperately ached to plop down in one of the many restaurant seats on the way and order a couple of cold ones and a pile of food, but formalities must come first, so we trudged the hot streets, squinting into the late day sun.

The Police were mercifully efficient. Soon we were trudging the other way. At least we were spared from the sun.

Back at the Port Police, we were told everything else we had to do would have to wait until tomorrow after Customs opens at 8:00. We had a long gap between islands the next day and I had really been hoping to see Kalymnos smartly receding over the horizon by then. I guess not.

Still, now we could do nothing but enjoy a Greek meal at one of the many waterfront restaurants and relax.

Two More Days in Turkey

2011-09-05T14:24:00.001-04:00

Two very different anchorages along the coast
[Kyle]There wasn’t a whole lot going on over the next couple of days. Having run out of Aegean Sea to the east, our course followed the Turkish coast southwards. With the Meltemi behind us, we had easy sailing. Our first anchorage after St Nikolo was at Çukurcuk. On the chart, it looked like it would be pretty interesting, but once we got there, it was pretty dull; just a low marshland interrupted by half finished construction and a parking lot. The good thing was that the bottom was good uniform sand over the whole deserted bay, which allowed us enough room to sail on and off the anchor.

For day two, we crossed the Güllük Bay to Yalikavak on the other side. Once again, we had big mountains as a backdrop. This was to be our last night in Turkey so we put into a marina in the hopes of going into town and finding something Turkish to experience.

At the office, the man took our paperwork and helpfully filled out the Marina contract for us, all I had to do was sign the printed copy. I checked over the information and noticed he’d listed the address as Delaware (!!!). Well I never. I guess Delaware covers 95% of the ‘American’ boats here. Then they charged us €60 for the night (ouch) making it the most expensive marina we’ve stayed in since Monaco, that put a sour taste in our mouths. We were going to make a point of using all the water and showers we needed without guilt at that price.

Yalikavak - we think that fancy brass contraption is a coffee machine
We took a walk into town searching for an inexpensive restaurant recommended by Lonely planet as a true Turkish eating establishment not to be missed. We ordered 3 of the items from its 4 food item menu. The food was OK, but nothing special, and we regretted walking by all the nice smells and sights of food we’d passed by on the way to seek out this particular restaurant. After eating we continued to walk around the waterfront shops but it was clear the town was mostly occupied with and for foreign tourists; there did not seem to be much of a Turkish experience to be had on the main drag.

The one thing I did like was that all the water front bars seemed to have very comfy seating with chairs and couches filled with overstuffed cushions. We meandered around until we got board of it and returned to the boat feeling let down and ripped off. The place was nice but just too up-scale and sanitized for us to really relax and enjoy it (one web site describes it as the St Tropez of Turkey). It would have been much nicer to visit when it was just a fishing and sponge diving port of old.

Yalikavak is also the furthest East that Footprint is going to be for a very long time. It is time for us to turn and head (generally) west to return to our home port of Portland Oregon.

More Yalikavak
[Maryanne]There was actually a whole lot more of interest to Yalikavak than Kyle mentions, but I think the price of the dock just unnecessarily soured the taste of it. That and the continued presence of the biting flies for the last 2 days. Looking back on the pictures alone it is clear that there is plenty to appreciate here... Next time we'd simply anchor in the bay and avoid the silly marina charge.

Throughout Turkey we have seen the nazar (or lucky eye), a symbol to ward of the Evil Eye; it’s everywhere (embedded in side-walks, hanging in cars, in jewellery and as table decorations). We both find it beautiful and each of us managed to pick up some nazar jewellery to remind ourselves of Turkey as we head away, back off to Greece again.

The American Ex-pat Community in Turkey?

2011-09-05T14:06:00.000-04:00

Delaware USA flagged boats - all over Turkey
[Kyle]When we arrived in Kuşadasi, we found out there was a large American ex-pat community there. Nearly a third of all of the boats in the marina were flying American flags. Even stranger, 90% of those had a hailing port of Delaware. Just plain Delaware. What are the odds? The U.S. Coast Guard, when documenting boats, requires a vessel to have the hailing port city and state clearly marked below the vessel’s name. Footprint’s is Portland, Oregon. It is a little known fact that there is a stand-alone city called Delaware in the U.S. They even have a professional sports franchise: The Delaware Fibbers. As a fellow American, I have made a point of going up, introducing myself, and asking what part of the city of Delaware they’re from. I’ve been getting a lot of blank stares. Usually this is because I am not funny, but lately it seems to be that none of the occupants speaks English. Now, I realize there are Americans who don’t speak English, like teenagers, but virtually the rest of us do to the exclusion of every other language in the world. This is very suspicious indeed.

Of course, the real story here is that it is a tax dodge. For $60, you can incorporate in Delaware, which then allows you to document a boat as American for what must be lots cheaper than the Turkish government allows. As a result, there are a lot of medium-sized powerboats available for charter over here that are not fit for the open sea and whose 100-gallon tanks wouldn’t get them a tenth of the way from “Delaware” to the next gas station in Bermuda.

This has really ruined it for us. We sailed here from America, thank you very much. It was a long damn way. Over 12,000 nautical miles has been put on our log since we left three years ago. We used to get automatic credit for knowing how to sail when we pulled into a harbor. Now, nobody seems to give us a second glance. The French, the Germans and the Brits, who have all come a very long way themselves, look at us with derision as yet more idiot charterers on one of those “Delaware” boats. No wonder they’re cutting our knots off and telling us how to cleat a line. They all seem shocked when they learn we actually sailed her here, particularly given her size.

There is one upside, though. On the sail from Tinos to Ikaria, we lost our flag. The little plastic clips that held it to the pole just broke sometime in the night, sending it fluttering into the sea. The Meltemi of Kate and Mark’s visit was too much for them. We replaced the flag with one of our worn out spares (we have spares for nearly everything) and attached it with some spare string, but were worried about finding a proper replacement. Well, you guessed it; the boat store in Kuşadasi sold enough of them to have plenty in stock.

Ephesus and heading south

2011-09-05T13:59:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]Morning arrived much too soon, but there was fun to be had so after a quick breakfast we were riding along the windy coast road in our rented scooter, stopping every now and then to snap photographs. The trip was punctuated by the occasional yelp and squeeze from Maryanne at corners taken too fast or stops taken too abruptly. It seemed we had the whole country to ourselves in the cool morning air. The roads were deserted until we joined the main highway and we noticed the first tour buses headed in the same direction. It seemed we would at least beat most of the crowds, but certainly not all of them.

We climbed the mountain pass and descended into a valley and after the turn off began to notice lots of the tour buses parked at a carpet store. “My brother’s store, he gives you a very good price”. When we arrived at the entrance for Ephesus we were pleased to find no parking fee for mopeds/scooters and found a spot in the shade to park the bike (taking the lead from the moped ahead of us). By now the parking lot had a dozen or so giant tour coaches parked, but no signs of milling crowds of tourists – strange! The gauntlet of stores between the lot and the park entrance were in the process of opening and some were alert enough to call out and offer us guidebooks, but most were still unprepared for the early arrivals. We bought out tickets and an audio guide and entered the site officially, the site was practically unknown for centuries and 150 years of excavation so far have reveled so many great buildings, many well preserved by their years of burial.

Lower entrance starts with scattered debris, but soon we find ourselves in the large Theatre
Our lonely planet guidebook had hinted that the best way to see the site was starting at the East entrance and walk downhill to the west entrance; as we had to return to the motorbike, and simply followed the signs to any entrance, we had started at the lower western entrance. At first there was not much to see (debris fields of columns and blocks and a few building foundations), but as we got further in we came upon the enormous “Great Theatre” a semicircle capable of housing 24,000 people and we mysteriously had it all to ourselves. So glad we arrived early. I was able to stand center stage and test the excellent acoustics that amplified my voice to all areas of the theatre stands.

At first we are amazed to have the site practically to ourselves, and then we see the crowds descend from the upper entrance
From there we walked along “Marble Street” towards the Celsus library and it was here that we met the wall of people; tourists from those same tour buses, presumably dropped off at the upper entrance were now on their way down to meet with those empty coaches we saw on the way in. Almost all were wearing coloured stickers with numbers on them (indicating which tour group they belonged to) mostly we assumed from cruise ships docked at Kuşadasi, and almost all led by a guide carrying an umbrella or prominent “follow me” prop. The library was probably our favorite building at the site, it’s architecture beautifully ornate and covered with inscriptions.

The library was our favourite Site
As we poked through the ruins and encountered one tour group after another we would find ourselves suddenly immersed in a crowd poking over people’s heads to find each other, then there would be a gap between groups and we’d have a site to ourselves for a short while. This cycle repeated every three or four minutes until by about 10am the place was just plane full. We appreciated the snippets of tour guide information we gleaned along with our (mediocre) audio guide. The site was splendid.

At one point we came across The Terrace Houses, a glass roofed covered portion of the site that required an additional entrance fee of 15 Turkish Lira, almost as much again as the entrance for the site (20TL). This site seemed neglected by tourists and was clearly not part of the standard ‘bus trip’ tour, so much so that the ticket collectors were happily out back having a long term cigarette break. Figuring we’d only be here once we forked over the extra fee and went in (with only one other couple to share the site with). We were so glad we did, it was just wonderful. The site consisted of several grand (and smaller) houses very well preserved with frescos on walls, and mosaics in the floors. It was also actively still under archaeologist reconstruction and investigation, but the extensive things to view were well described by frequent signage. Again we were amazed at the level of luxury and quality of life that people managed to achieve so long ago (1000’s of years ago). There were marble tiled rooms, central heating systems, hot and cold running water, fountains, bathing rooms with bath tubs and pools, dining rooms, etc. I would love to have had a chance to relax in any of these houses in their day.

We were so glad we paid the extra to view the Terrace houses still under active investigation - note the big jig-saw puzzle
Maryanne was particularly taken with a giant jig-saw puzzle of fragments being reconstructed for a decorative wall or floor of one of the buildings. It really was a shame for the site that the tourists didn’t better patronize it, but we certainly felt lucky to both see it and to have it practically to ourselves on the day.

From there we returned to the crowds to view the rest of the site slowing heading up hill, against the stream of tourists. What impressed me about Ephesus was not the vastness of the site, nor the grandeur of the buildings, so much as the wealth of detail available to be seen. Unlike Paestum or Delphi it was possible to get a real feel for what life must have been like for the people who lived here; we could see the floors they walked on, the paintings on the walls of the rooms they dined in, and the sculptures and fountains of their gardens. The library and market place they would have visited and for the lower ranks, the fountains they would have collected water from. Once again cheers to Maryanne for her brilliant scooter idea.

The wind was beginning to build in the afternoon (for once good for us) and it was nice to be able to hop back on the scooter and ride home without having to locate and wait for public transport. We took the opportunity to make a couple of detours on the coast road on the way home, according to our whims. Maryanne returned the scooter while I got Footprint ready and we were able to depart less than an hour after I had originally intended, pretty good considering all we had managed to achieve.

We sailed back the way we came, retracing our path towards Samos, engaging in a neck and neck race with a British mono-hull, finally passing them just before they lowered their sails to enter the harbour at Pythagorion. We hugged the Turkish coast and continued south for a few more miles until we came across our anchorage at St Nikolo – another remote and quiet anchorage to ourselves. Here we settled down for dinner and a night long fight with the biting flies that drove us crazy and probably won the battle. I really think science should make eradication of horrible biting flies a priority. I don’t care if it turns out their dung holds the mountains together or some such thing, it should not be hard, my understanding is that all I need to do is to start getting people to re-post it as their Facebook status and we can eliminate the problem for good, just like cancer and bullying.

Beautiful Coastlines and pretty sunsets - but insanity causing flies joined us all the way
Still, the view was nice, and we had plenty of wind for the batteries and our computer. A big plus was that we were also able to connect using our Greek wifi card to the world at large and get almost up to date with the blog, accounts and other internet needs (while swatting flies with the other hand).

From Greece to Turkey

2011-09-04T05:40:00.000-04:00

Castle guarding the entrance to Kusadasi
[Kyle]As soon as it was light enough to leave, we departed Pythagorion harbour for a long leg in light headwinds, expecting to motor all the way to Kuşadasi our first Turkish port. We’d heard little attractive about Kuşadasi from any source (including our lonely planet guide), but it was the most convenient port of entry for us from Samos and required only a slight detour to the North to complete our arrival formalities. The journey from Pythagorion to Kuşadasi had us going in and out of Turkish waters several times as the ownership of the islands on route swap between the two countries.

At the large marina a RIB was sent out to direct us to our dock and assist with the laid lines. We pulled up bow-to the dock (our preferred method with laid lines) and the guy in the rib handed me a laid line insisting I attach it in the middle of the boat. We have no suitable cleat in the middle of the stern of the boat, and worse still this is where a prop is – not a good place to be working with lines at any time. We were expecting two laid lines, one for each side, but with only one presented, I wanted to make a bridle to the cleats at each stern. The “Help” didn’t understand this and insisted I attach his line somewhere in the center of our boat; frustrated he and his partner (now climbed aboard) started to setup the bridle themselves, exactly what I wanted so I left them to do it. We have quite small horns on the factory installed cleats and In the French canals we found cleated lines sometimes slip off so our four dock lines are attached to the cleats with a loop through the center of the each cleat and a bowline, giving more space on the horns for the line to return and be over-cleated. The ‘helper’ wanted to attach their very thick line to our small horned cleat (normally we would tie our existing dock line to their mooring line). When he could not untie our bowline with one had, he just reached for his knife and cut off our dockline before I could even yell “don’t do that”. This was completely un-called for, there was no emergency, the boat was under control and in no danger, he didn’t even ask for help or permission. The “helpers” kept wanting to hang around as they could see I was unhappy, but we could not wait for them to leave so we could adjust the boat our own way, and undo the damage they had done. I guess they may have been waiting for a tip. Once they did finally leave us alone, our Marina experience improved dramatically after that.

The immigration procedure was handled entirely by the friendly crew at the office (quick and painless), they were very helpful with all of Maryanne’s questions about the town. The marina itself is very well equipped (showers, laundry, repair facilities of all types, restaurants and even a supermarket alongside – boater heaven).

We had been told that the one thing we didn’t want to miss at any cost was a trip to nearby Ephesus, apparently the best-preserved Greco-Roman ruins in Europe and just 20km away. Maryanne had been pushing for us to make time for the visit for months. The problem was that in such a well equipped marina, and with so much that could be done for Footprint (opportunities not to be missed). With fresh water, laundry, and repair facilities so convenient it seemed foolish to pass them up. (We had the same problem in Piraeus). I was of the view that we should essentially drop everything and head directly to Ephesus during the remainder of the day so as to make sure it was done; in the morning we could do as many jobs as we could in the time we had before sailing, leaving the least important jobs undone. Maryanne liked the idea except for the excellent point that some of our jobs needed lead time. (Laundry could be dropped off but might not be available same day?, and a steel bracket needed welding and might take some time). She thought it better to get all these jobs started today (but still wanted to go to Ephesus).

I had to concede it was a very important and critical point, but I was worried that any attempt to get to Ephesus and back in the morning would be foiled by inefficiencies in bus schedules and us not knowing where to wait; potentially getting us back to the boat much later than we wanted and arriving at the next unknown anchorage in the dark. This is when Maryanne came up with the gold star, all-time best idea of the day. Rent a scooter. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. A couple of blocks from the Marina we find a place that let us have one for €20 for 24 hours. The rental staff were especially impressed with Maryanne’s UK driving license which allows her to be the driver of cars, trucks, buses, trailers and motorbikes (about 7 different categories), the whole staff seemed to want to ask her questions about her great driving skills, and were little impressed with my single category USA license.

Now we could get to Ephesus in time for when they opened, and come directly back once we’d finished without regard for bus schedules or expensive cab fares. The problem was now we had our own cheap and reliable transportation there were more jobs to add to the list. The first was to fill the scooter tanks that were nearly empty when we rented it. As the light faded out of the day I made four round trips with a jerry can each time to replenish Footprint’s fuel supplies and reserves, and another trip with a propane cylinder to the auto-gas station with our trusty adaptor. Once again I got to go through the process of being told “no-way” before they reluctantly agreed to fill our cylinder. At the laundry our choices were self-service wash only at about $4 a load (and then find somewhere to hang our laundry to dry), or they could wash, dry, iron and fold for just under $8 a load. We selected the latter and after a few hours the laundry was returned to us in fresh smelling blocks, neatly folded and stacked. The boat was hosed down and clean again of the weeks of salt acretion, all felt clean and good.

On the terrible passage to Tinos, one of the welds on our check-stay attachment points failed. This is not a critical part, but we were pleased to have the opportunity to fix it so quickly. We removed the bracket and I took it to the shop where the guy had the fix finished with reinforcements as I watched for just $10 (we happily gave him a big tip).

After officially arriving in Turkey, and with a host of boat jobs, we were able to enjoy a fantastic meal at the harbour
By the end of a long afternoon of jobs we were both grubby and exhausted, so we made good use of the marina’s large, clean, powerful showers and then went out for a really nice dinner at one of the many restaurants around the Marina. The food was more continental than Turkish but it was delicious and beautifully presented, and cost about half of what it might in the USA. We did ensure one Turkish item was ordered, a tip from Kate, the Turkish yogurt drink of Ayran (also called laban), the waiter seemed confused when we ordered it, and it was made especially for us (only later did we discover that it was not even on the menu). The only downside was the waiter who, while not unfriendly, didn’t seem to be available much to take or order for food or drinks (a great job in avoiding eye contact) – maybe he was worried Maryanne would try to order something not on the menu again!

Samos

2011-09-04T02:54:00.001-04:00

[Kyle]At first light we pulled up the anchor along with several other local fishing boats that had appeared mysteriously in the night, and sailed out of the bay at the south end of Fouroni. In the warm light of the cool morning we made for the island of Samos in a building crosswind.

Leaving Fouroni at sunrise, and one of many engine sessions on route to Samos
Several hours later as we sailed into the lee of Samos the wind died to the point that the engine was required. After a few minutes it seemed the engine just didn’t sound right. Our engine, like most boat engines, has a water-cooled exhaust; this also muffles the engine noise to some extent. Our engine was sounding a little louder and growlier than normal (the same thing that happened in the French canals when we had a blocked intake). The first thing I suspected was that water wasn’t getting through and a look over the stern at the tail pipe confirmed a reduced flow. The engine temperature was normal so I toyed with the idea of ignoring it until we got to port (not 100% sure I wasn’t imagining it), but once I started thinking about it I realized that it would be a lot easier to troubleshoot at sea than in the harbor. If I had to dive under the boat to clear the intake open sea is MUCH cleaner than harbor water.

We checked the raw water strainer: clean. I put on fins and mask and dove under the boat to inspect the intake: I could find nothing there either. We restarted the engine. It still ran normally but seemed no better. After thinking about it for ½ mile or so we decided to check the impeller (the paddle wheel that aids the pumping of the water and the next point upstream in the water intake). The impeller did indeed have one of its blades broken off. Maryanne found a spare from our stores, I installed it and we soon had the engine running again. Unfortunately with no improvement, it just wasn’t right.

When we took out the old impeller we couldn’t find the broken off blade, and Maryanne was worried it had been carried further into the heat exchanger or otherwise blocking the system. I dismissed her, thinking it small enough to be carried through to the exhaust and out overboard. Maryanne was adamant we had to find the broken part and dismantled the heat exchanger to look (oh yes, I know she is a keeper!). We found nothing and again put the engine back together and tried our hardest to convince ourselves that any strange symptoms remaining were just our imagination. At our normal cruising RPM of 2800, water should have been chugging out of the exhaust, but instead it was not much more than a trickle. Maryanne decided it must be in the hose between the impeller and the heat exchanger so once again we shut down the engine while the current drifted us backwards and dismantled everything. It turns out there was something blocking the impeller outlet hose. We dug the offending obstruction out and it turned out to be not only our missing impeller blade (which we matched like a jigsaw piece with the old impeller) but a previous broken blade also (been there for who knows how long). So it turned out that the blades did not get flushed out of the exhaust system; I was wrong and she was right – It happens all of the time so I should be getting used to it, but I just keep trying. That little adventure cost us about 1.5 hours, time we were planning on exploring Samos once we arrived. Doh!

An hour or so later we entered the harbor of Pythagorion (renamed in 1955 after some mathy guy who was born there {Maryanne - that's Sacrilege Kyle!}) on the Island of Samos. We found a spot, dropped anchor and pulled up to the wall with the help of a waiter from an adjacent restaurant, who took our lines. We were itching to do some sightseeing, but formalities must come first (Samos was to be our last harbor in Greece and we needed to clear out of the country, and the EU, officially, before leaving for Turkey).

Pytagorion, on the Island of Samos
At each port in Greece where Port Police have an office we are required to check in and out and receive official stamps; we were getting quite used to the process by now. We headed for the Port Police, but I spotted the customs sign first and went in that office; the woman there advised us we needed to visit the local (normal) Police station first, and gave us excellent but lengthy directions. At the Police station we were helped by a man with a strong resemblance to Sting (the musician), he kept leaving to go into another room for advice on the procedure and after a few times it seems the supervisor gave up and just came out to take over our process. We were asked repeatedly where we had come from and where we were going. We explained that we wanted to check in for arrival at Samos (we’d been in Greece for about a month), and then also (hopefully at the same time) check out of Greece for a trip to Turkey first thing in the morning. Initially we were told we could check in now, but we’d have to return at 11pm to clear out for our morning departure. Most places we’ve been too accept a 24-hour rule (you can clear out any time within 24 hours of departure, so if you are only staying for a short while you can check in and out at the same visit). I was hoping to be asleep by 11pm, so we asked a couple of different times and finally the supervisor, after a heated conversation with Officer Sting, told us it would be OK – all the paperwork in just the one visit. Our passports were stamped and we were sent from there to the Port Police.

At the Port Police office the woman examined our documentation and looked very confused. “You came from Turkey today and are leaving for Turkey tomorrow?” She asked. “No, we’ve been in Greece for a while but are leaving for Turkey tomorrow”. She explained that the police had just cleared us into the country and then back out again. She made a couple of phone calls and I was informed I would have to take the passports the several blocks back to the Police station to be corrected. Once at the local police station again the supervisor who had stamped my passport initially was visibly annoyed at having to search for the correct stamps among the many in my extended but almost full passport. He seemed to be thinking ‘why the hell does this guy have to travel so much’, but eventually all was found and corrected.

[Maryanne] Meantime I was left to finish the paperwork with the port police as best we could with the missing forms. Eventually I was presented with the bill €8.

“Er, no, that is not right, we have to pay for our Transit log when we leave, it should be more like €200”, I said, but was told I had to pay customs the extra amount. Just then the customs lady walked in and asked to take our paperwork so she could get a head start.

“Ah, is the is the lady I pay?”, I asked. The customs lady looked blank,

“No, you pay on entry, not exit, you should have your receipt”.

I knew we hadn’t paid on entry, we were explicitly told to pay on exit and had held aside sufficient cash for the job. They joked that Greece could certainly do with the money right now, but insisted I must have already paid and sent me to go and check my receipts aboard.

About the time I was on the boat searching for receipts I knew I didn’t have, Kyle returned so we walked back to the customs office together, assuming we could pay for the Transit log now. But no, a different region was supposed to collect the money. Samos can’t collect on their behalf. Nobody would take the fee. We agreed to spend the money on Samos somehow (After all, we “owed” it and the Greek economy did need it) so we would have a cracking meal and go shopping for clothes and goodies paying our fee one way or another. Officially at least, all was ready to set sail and leave Greece in the morning.

[Kyle] I did not wholeheartedly share Maryanne’s insistence on adding to the Greek economy whether through fees or shopping. I was all for saying we’d saved a bit of money and could treat ourselves to something or another, but she seemed determined to match penny for penny the saved customs fees. We eventually settled somewhere in the middle. I got a nice, thin cotton pullover shirt – perfect for a sunny, hot climate. She got two, plus some shorts. We both got a new bathmat. I’m pretty sure it’s the same shopping spree Paris Hilton has in a new town.

My big concern during the engine repair earlier in the day, custom snafu’s and shopping was that we were losing out on precious tourism time (not to mention day light). A quick review of our guides showed that by then most things in the town had closed (museums and such); mercifully preventing us from a Maryanne style itinerary of touring the entire island! It did leave us with the castle, just a short walk from the Marina and an exploratory hike for the aqueduct, the Tunnel of Eupalinos (one of the 3 great Greek engineering feats according to Herodotus, the “Father of History” (and lies)). The other two sites he mentioned were ALSO on Samos: the harbor Mole at Pythagorion and the other the temple to Hera in Ireon, the next town to the west.

More Pytagorion - note a new shirt, who knows how long it will remain white?
Just as we were stepping off of Footprint, the woman at the boat beside us rather snottily said that we had laid our anchor chain across theirs and that we would have to reset it. We were almost positive this couldn’t be true. We had deliberately set our anchor down a little on the wide side from where theirs was likely to be. Our rode was cranked bar-tight and was pointing away from theirs.

I asked when they were leaving.

“Not tomorrow, or even the next day”, came the response.

“Oh, we’re leaving first thing tomorrow, so it shouldn’t be a problem anyway”. We started to head off.

“You’ll have to wait here until the Captain arrives. He’ll deal with you.”

I looked at my watch. Testily, “Well where the hell is he?”

“I’ve called him. He’ll be here shortly.”

You have got to be freakin’ kidding me.

After ten minutes or so, the Captain did show up on a scooter. He took a quick look at the situation and declared everything okay. As we hastily headed off with our late appointment with tourism, we figured out from the conversation between her and the Captain that she was his extremely snooty charter guest, that she knew next to nothing about boats, and that she had taken it upon herself to be Honorary Captain in his absence. She didn’t say as much, but I was beginning to suspect she was using the anchor chain thing as a ruse to get our grotty little catamaran out of her view of the waterfront.

Okay, so on to the castle. Wait! Not so fast. We had taken only two or three steps when we noticed a 4m wide boat backing up into the 3m space between us and the boat on the other side. Despite our protests as well as those on the boat on the other side and a few bystanders for good measure, he pushed his way in. We jumped back aboard to fend him off as did the opposite boat and his own crew. We loosened our stern line on that side, opening up some room at the expense of most of the gap on the other, charter boat side. All the while, he was completely ignoring everybody around him in that way that gate agents do. The only communication with us was shooting us a dirty look when he noticed our stern line rubbing around the corner of the boat he just wedged in. Several different people suggested that he pull his boat forward six inches, all of whom he ignored. In the end, the rest of us all looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, decided he was a jerk and left. Great! Both of our neighbors hate us.

Castle at Pythagorion
So…the Castle. Ah, I don’t care anymore. It was old and falling down. We got a few nice pictures. Enjoy.

We also managed to find the tunnel. It was constructed to ensure a constant supply of water to the city. From the entrance we found (not the official one) a lot of it was caved in and grown over, but I still managed to follow much of its path. It’s pretty amazing that people were able to tunnel through a mountain over 2000 years ago. {Maryanne: Really, how much more advanced are we?}

Tunnels and Caves abound (along with lots of spiky seed that pierce through my flip flops - ouch!
We were pretty beat and dusty by the time we rolled back into town for dinner. We decided that rather than cook and clean up, we would eat at the restaurant just astern Footprint as thanks to the guy who took our lines. He actually served us. We impressed him by asking for the three most Greek things on the menu: Giant bean soup, Spinach and rice and Briam. We got two of them, but he said they hadn’t sold any spinach and rice for a while. People wanted pizza and burgers. We settled for a Greek salad instead. To wash it all down, we ordered a ½ liter carafe of traditional Samos sweet wine. We were expecting sweeter than normal wine. We like sweet wines, but this stuff is by far the sweetest wine we have ever had. It didn’t have the syrupy consistency of Port or some of the sweeter liqueurs, but it tasted exactly like drinking a glass of honey. This is something that would be good sipped slowly from half-full shot glasses after dinner, but whole wine glasses were way too much. It was like eating a whole cheesecake; too much of a good thing. It was a short walk to Footprint, where we cleared the wine off of our palates by sharing a shot glass of ouzo under the stereo glare of our neighbors. Oh, if only we weren’t too beat to have overly noisy sex. {Maryanne: Kyle!!!!!}

The guy did move his boat forward six inches.

Guest Post: Kate and Mark in Greece

2011-09-04T02:25:00.001-04:00

Kate and Mark report on Greece
[KateR]Maryanne and Kyle first suggested that Mark and I meet up with them and enjoy life aboard Footprint back when they were cruising the balmy, temperate Caribbean. We foolishly ignored this generous invitation. Then, this year, when they began to talk about their plans to visit France, Italy and then Greece, I found myself thinking that it just might be possible to join them. I didn’t ask if the offer still stood – I’m not completely stupid yet – so I boldly announced to Kyle and Maryanne via email that I’d applied for a passport. They very kindly reacted without panic or regret. In fact, they enthusiastically offered information and suggestions, provided food for thought, and asked me questions about dates, travel details, and even what our favorite alcoholic beverages were! Kyle threw himself into planning an itinerary that he thought we might enjoy, inclusive of not two or three but FIVE different islands, and allowing time for both sightseeing and leisure.

While the blog describes in sometimes alarming detail (wow! did we really sail in those conditions?!) the Meltemi winds that made our island-to-island journeys a bit treacherous, Mark and I never felt any loss of confidence in the abilities of Kyle and Maryanne to sail Footprint and reach each of our destinations safely. They took tremendous care of us – from making us as comfortable as possible in our sleeping quarters, to stocking the fridge with fresh produce and cheese (and chocolaty nibbles!), to providing us snorkel gear. There wasn’t a single moment when either of us went wanting. You can, of course, purchase an expensive Mediterranean cruise or spend a week clubbing on glamorous Mykonos, but personally I wouldn't have enjoyed it half as much as the opportunity to spend quality time with good friends. Without Kyle and Maryanne and their unique way of seeing the world (you know, actually seing it!), Mark and I would have ended up sitting on a beach and being served ridiculous looking drinks until we passed out in our recliners. I know, because that’s the kind of vacation I used to think was ideal. Instead, we toured the Acropolis and the Ancient Agora on our very first day in Athens, we explored each of the islands to which we sailed - sometimes a short climb to the top of the hill to investigate an impossibly picturesque church, sometimes an hour trek following the goat trails to the little town two coves over. And you know what? As long as I have legs that work, that's the kind of vacation I want to take from now on.

Sure, we had the Meltemi winds to deal with as well, but as a result we had an adventure, not just a vacation. Thank you, Kyle and Maryanne, for the trip of a lifetime - we’re forever grateful to have had the chance to experience the delights of the beautiful Cyclades Islands with you. (P.S. I hear Spain is pretty awesome this time of year!)

Greek islands of Ikaria and Fournoi

2011-08-31T15:45:00.000-04:00

[Kyle]It was sunrise when we sailed into the lee of Ikaria and the wind died to a flat calm. Calm! I couldn’t believe it. Poor Kate and Mark. It was so calm that the sails became pointless so we stowed them and motored the length of the island towards he capital Agios Kirykos. We were now out of the Cyclades and into the Eastern Sporades.

Ikaria and the neighboring islands are former hideouts for pirates of the Byzantine and Ottoman times. More recently this is where communist sympathizers were sent (during the civil war of the 1940’s). Ikaria is named after Icarus who both attempted to escape from King Minos on wings of wax and feathers built by his father Daedalus. When Icarus ignored his father’s warnings to keep away from the sun, his wings melted and he crashed into the sea, supposedly creating the island of Ikaria. Ikaria is also (according to our trusty Lonely planet guide) the birthplace of Dionysos, God of Wine. Homer attested that the first-ever wine makers were from Ikaria.

At Agios Kirykos we found the harbor to have too much swell for our liking and only one obvious place to dock (another med-mooring), we decided to move on 2km up the coast to Thermia. The tiny harbor there was full of elderly swimmers who we gently picked our way through to tie up alongside the concrete pier in the center. Our guidebook suggested we could anchor, but it was so small it is hard to see how the local boats could get in or out if we did. There was not much to Thermia a few derelict looking buildings and a hand full of cafes. The main attraction? Spas built on thermal springs which draw an international elderly clientele to relieve their arthritis and other ailments which these thermal springs like almost all others are reputed to cure so many problems. To me it seemed the people going out were just as hunched over as the people going in but I’m sure it feels good at least while you are in there. These were extra special “radioenergic” thermal springs (i.e. radioactive) was this safe?

After tying up, we asked around the town and found that the pier was used for a ferry service expected at 5pm that afternoon – so we’d have to be clear by then. We were pretty sure we could see the whole town twice over by then. Our next planned day was a short 12nm trip so we decided to leave Ikaria by 5pm and head to our next anchorage a day early, we’d get our proper rest in then.

In the tiny harbor in the tiny town, suddenly Footprint was THE attraction. It was like pitching a circus tent in the middle of the town square, we were hard to miss, and plenty of locals and visitors came to greet us and attempt discussions in a mix of sign language and smiles.

Ikeria, with a mixed messages of high end spa and communist decay
We selected the busiest restaurant for a big meal of two giant table appetizers accompanied, of course, by a jug of the local wine (which was good, and inexpensive). We walked off our lunch by traversing the 25 steps to Footprint to collect our swim and shower gear for a visit to the town’s spa.

For €4.50 we got 20 minutes in a Jacuzzi pool bubbling with the healing thermal waters, for €3.00 I added a 20 minute stint in a natural steam sauna, built into a side cave. (Further up the coast you can do almost the same for free at a local beach, but Maryanne was happy to pay the €4.50 for the fresh water shower alone after the Jacuzzi). I started with the sauna while Maryanne found a shady spot to read her book. Even after experiencing it, I’m not sure I understand the appeal of a humid room heated to 150°F in Greece in the summer!

Ikatia
After spending the first half of my allotted time in the sauna alone carefully keeping track of the time for the moment when I could finally burst out into the cool air of the Greek summer I was joined by several more people. There were three women who I wish were wearing more than bikinis, happily chatting away to each other in Greek. Behind them came 4 gentlemen (complete with speedos). After a while I thought I heard a couple of words of French and one of the men asked if anyone spoke English as he was trying to find out what the time limit was. I answered 20 minutes in French at which point he asked me where I was from. I told him I was American and he immediately lit up. “You are the boat in the harbor?”. We then proceeded to have a lively conversation, all in French about our travels until Maryanne came to fetch me, concerned I was over my 20 minute stay and ready for her Jacuzzi. After a quick cold shower I was ready for the hot bath, which seemed surprisingly mild. We once again were joined by the Frenchmen where Maryanne was able to also join in with mixed French and English. They were really nice guys.

We took a final soap and water shower and returned to Footprint for our departure. The Big Top was being stowed away, our new French friends waved us off enthusiastically from the beach, wishing us “Bon Voyage”.

The wind was so light (sorry Kate and Mark) that we motored all the way to our next anchorage at the south end of Nisis Fournoi where we now had the luxury of two nights in a row to relax, sleep, and get caught up with the blog. We also set aside some time for exploring, the highlights of which were spotting not one, but two separate octopuses (octopi is not the correct plural since the octopus is NOT of Latin origin, but Greek) and a sunset walk along the road lining the bay.

Exploring another new island anchorage

Octopus hunting on Fournoi

Sunset from Fournoi

Tinos

2011-08-31T15:22:00.004-04:00

[Kyle]We finally did get a good night’s rest (mostly). About 1:30 in the morning Maryanne woke me to tell me she’d heard a bang and felt like we’d hit the boat beside us. I was asleep and couldn’t understand what she was talking about but she insisted on getting up to check. It turned out one of our stern lines had come un-cleated and we had indeed drifted into the boat alongside us (thank goodness for fenders). In order to get ashore to retrieve the lines I first had to take some of the slack out of the anchor chain (allowing Footprint to get closer to the wall), Maryanne jumped ashore and fed the line through the ring and tossed it back to me. We then cranked everything back into place and went back to bed. An hour or so later I heard banging and on investigating found that the wind had blown our passerelle into the boat and was now dangling lopsided and crashing into things (no doubt also waking Kate and Mark who were berthed directly below it).

Kate and Mark start the long journey home
We all got up early to share breakfast together before the mid-morning ferry departure back to Athens for Kate and Mark. Even though we must all have still been full from the previous night’s dinner we managed an assortment of Greek pastries that Kate and Mark had bought at a local bakery after dinner the evening before. We walked with Kate and Mark to the ferry terminal. Maryanne stayed with Mark and the bags while Kate and I went to the port Police to check Footprint in for the previous night’s arrival and to remove Kate and Mark from our official passenger list. Clearing in was uneventful, I asked if the port was closed due to the weather but the woman just chuckled and said “you’ve been to Athens? We never close”. I then asked her if they were open 24 hours in the event we would need to clear out that night – she said “yes, 24 hours, but not after midnight”.

On the walk to the port police Kate lobbied to have an extra day in Tinos for Maryanne’s sake. After the bashing we took the previous night I was also exhausted and could have used a rest day myself, but Turkey is still a long way away and we have very few extra days to throw around. If the weather was at all similar to the previous night I agreed there was no way we were going out in that, but if it really did turn out to be OK, then we would need to be on our way. Kate gave me a look that showed she didn’t really like my plan but once I explained I had no intention of leaving if the weather was bad, we sort of agreed to disagree. At the time of our walk it was still howling like crazy and the harbor continued to be buffeted and full of whitecaps, so it looked like there would be no chance we would actually leave that day and Kate would at least win by default. She is a good friend and wants to make sure we are safe and not subjected to any more misery than necessary; I appreciate her looking out for us.

After a short wait their ferry arrived, a gigantic catamaran perched high in the water we followed alongside behind the fence as they boarded and waved as their boat tore off into roaring winds, making it look surprisingly smooth.

They really were great to have aboard. The cruising world is filled with many stories of couples that come together for a vacation aboard and end up separating under bad terms. Kate and Mark were easy to get along with and in spite of horrible sea conditions always emerged at the other end of a rough sail with smiles and an eagerness to explore the next new place. I was very glad that they didn’t cut their visit short in Kythnos and had made it all the way to Tinos.

The boat felt surprisingly empty as we prepared Footprint for a possible departure that night without them. We hope their ferry journey back to Athens and their last night there would be a good one.

[Maryanne]With our friends gone, the guest room was again 'free' and our boat stowage could be rearranged to make access more convenient, we had lots to do before our next passage. I tried desperately to persuade Kyle we should take a lazy day and an extra night in Tinos to recover and get a good night’s sleep (the next passage was to be 60 miles and an overnight one). However the forecast was good, time pressure strong, and Kyle was keen to get going. Compromise? We’d prepare the boat as if to leave and if the forecast suggested we should stay we’d take the rest time after that, but we should be ready just in case. One of our big needs was water. Tinos is reputed to have the best water in Greece. I tried the hoses, but they didn’t work. I walked to the Port Police office, where I was told they didn’t handle that. Look for a woman in a sky blue shirt. There was no woman in a blue shirt. After much investigation, I found a phone number to call. I got a guy who said he’d be there at five. He wasn’t, but a woman with a blue shirt showed up at 6:30. Provisions, boat spares, and general rearrangement complete. Weather checked, harbor and distant seas looking calm – we were going! Doh!

[Kyle]Just about the time that we were going to resign ourselves to another night on Tinos the weather calmed down, really calmed down. There were no more whitecaps in the harbor and the wind was down into the teens (the forecast was correct?). It was also supposed to swing to the Northwest giving us a good tail wind for the long next leg to Ikaria.

The long climb up the the church, especially if you are on your knees
With the boat finally ready for passage we had a couple of hours before departure. We made a point of going to see Tinos’ main attraction The Church of Panagia Evangelistria. This relatively new church (built after 1822 when the icon was found on the site) is a Greek Orthodox version of the Catholic’s Lourdes, people from all over come to be cured of their ailments, it’s a big deal. Along one side of the main road from the harbor to the church is a carpeted strip to ease the journey for the pilgrims to supplicate themselves on hands and knees while pushing a candle up to the church. {Maryanne: They certainly deserve to be cured for the effort involved, I was puffing from the walk.}. The church is very simple on the outside with picturesque courtyards and stairways all painted in white or using the local Tinos Marble. The inside is very ornate, crammed full with silver chandeliers and votives brought by pilgrims for curing of their various ailments. We arrived just as a service was ending and popped in a side door to hear the last of the chanting in Greek. Once everyone had left we freely explored inside the church more thoroughly, regarding the silver decorations and half lit ambience of the church.

Tinos Church of the virgin Mary
We stayed until sunset and walked to the port police one last time to officially clear out. Again we had a Greek port police moment. There was only one man in the office and I feared that even though it wasn’t he might consider it officially past midnight, so to speak. We told him we wanted to clear out and presented our paperwork, he inspected it, and it seemed this is the first time he’d ever seen such paperwork. He advised we should come back at 8am. “But we want to leave now”, we pressed… Feeling bullied, he relented and resorted to a phone call where he was talked through the steps to take to clear us out, stamp here, write there, etc… Whew, we were free to leave now.

We departed just after sunset and were not the only boat to cast off her lines at that time. We had a fast trip down the coast of Tinos to the southern end where the wind just died in the lea of the island. We bobbed around for a couple of hours rolling back and forth in the left-over waves. I was thinking the horrible winds of Tinos would return at any moment and this was just a momentary lull in the lee of a local mountain, but the wind took a long time to materialize. Once we finally drifted into open water again, the wind did return, mercifully not in full force but remaining quite mild and we had a nice fast downwind reach to Ikaria in mild and comfortable seas (this is more like it). I had two thoughts: one was that I was glad it was not worse and therefore in big trouble with Maryanne (and even Kate); the other was that it was such a shame that Kate and Mark had not seen fine sailing like this during the entire time they were with us. Those mixed feelings would rise often over the next couple of days.

On to Siros and Tinos

2011-08-31T15:02:00.000-04:00

Exploring and relaxing in Siros
[Kyle]Since we’d arrived in Siros in the black of night, none of us had yet seen it fully until we emerged groggy from our berths the following morning. Wow, it was spectacular; the whole bay was ringed by steep high cliffs of tan rock and scrub-covered hill. Our cove was rock walls on two sides, with sandy beach on the third. We were all eager to make haste towards our next island of Tinos but this place was too good to pass up so we made time for some leisurely swimming. I was able to sneak away long enough to get to the top of the nearest high thing – an outcrop of rock with a cairn placed atop as a signal to me to stop climbing. I made my way back down to Footprint where we all had a good rinse before leaving for Tinos.

I explained to Kate and Mark that our 16nm passage would require the first 2.6nm to be upwind to round the island, but after that it should be a fast, cross-wind passage, with conditions improving as we near the protection of Tinos. That is not what happened.

The closer we got to Tinos the worse things got. After we rounded Ak Trimeson at the North end of Siros winds were in the low teens (great), with slightly sloppy seas, “this isn’t so bad” we thought. Kate was even sitting out on deck enjoying the views. The further we got though the worse things became. Eventually it became apparent that Kate would get a thorough drenching if she stayed there so she went inside. By about ½ way across the 19kt forecast winds were steady in the high 30’s and we were taking a real pounding again. I felt terrible for our poor friends but had the reassurance of knowing that we only had single digit miles to go and we would shortly be in the shelter of the island.

Those last 8nm ended up being about the longest I’d sailed in my life. By the time we were within 2nm of the harbor entrance the seas were no calmer, and the wind was gusting into the 40’s. I was steering while Maryanne would call out wind speeds (Mark later reported that he heard her calling out speeds of 26/27kt and thought that was what we must be sailing through. In reality Maryanne was reassuring me that the latest gust had died back down.). One gust hit us that was so bad I had to abandon our course altogether and sail straight down wind to try and minimize the forces on the sail and rig, during the worst of the wind indicator reported 48kt relative wind, and we were travelling 12.1kt in the same direction of the wind – making the true wind 60kt (that is 69mph – hurricane force winds). This is the strongest wind we have ever had underway in Footprint, it was truly terrifying, we longed to reach that safe harbour and felt terrible for our friends we'd convinced to continue the journey.

By the next appreciable lull (wind down into the 30s) we had been blown a couple of miles downwind of the harbor, I rounded up and Maryanne quickly went forward to dump our double reefed mainsail. We started the engine and began the long upwind bash the 2nm remaining to the harbor. The wind was so strong that going into it even with full cruising rpm we were only able to make a knot or 2 over the bottom and in some gusts it was impossible to keep the boat pointing straight against the force of the wind. Things didn’t actually improve until we were inside the concrete breakwater of the harbor at Tinos. The wind was still in the mid 30’s but it was smooth enough that we could set fenders and prepare to Med-moor at the dock in the inner harbor.

Tinos
We were anxious about the whole med-mooring procedure in those conditions but the wind was straight off the dock which made for easier manoeuvring and the inner harbour was more protected. Quite a few people were on hand to watch our arrival as we were the only boat moving about the harbour and conditions were still rough. It required all 4 of us to get safely berthed. I was at the wheel, Maryanne at the bow with the anchor, and Kate and Mark each had a stern line. Conspicuously people on several of the other docked sailboats were happy to sit and watch but offered no help (this seems incompressible in those conditions), this required Mark to take a leap of death to shore to help attach our lines through the rings. By the time we attached our stern lines to the wall our wind indicator was showing just 13kts, unbelievable. There was little sign from the square behind our boat of the violence that was occurring just outside the harbour entrance.

We encouraged Kate and Mark to escape ashore and confirm their ferry arrangements for the following day, while Maryanne and I cleaned up the mess inside the boat and completed our ‘done sailing’ check list. The med-mooring system makes a boat pretty lurchy if there’s any swell in the harbor as the boat jerks to the end of her lines. On one particularly bad lurch from a ferry wake, Maryanne fell, sending a bucket of bilge water she was heading out with all over the interior. Some of it landed on her computer. As far as we can tell, it still works with the exception of the screen. It’s a good thing we have two. She swapped her hard drive into my machine, so we’re back up and running with the blog until she can get hers fixed and I can have my hard drive back. With tasks completed, we were all ready for a grand-finale meal and big drinks ashore. We selected a waterfront restaurant from the many and were seated by an adorable waitress. As we were perusing our menu Maryanne noticed another boat arriving with crew all in foul weather gear and attempting to berth in the space beside us and sent me to help collect their lines. Every person on that boat had the same look on their faces that I imagine we all had a couple of hours before - wide eyes, wild hair and complete exhaustion. When I tossed the line back to the woman at the stern she looked like it had been the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, but she was too exhausted to say anything, so she just gave me a weak and very grateful smile.

A farewell dinner in Tinos
Back to dinner! In Greece food in restaurants is served differently than in the USA and the UK. Usually you find something on the menu you like and order it for yourself. Since we were all hungry we each ordered a main course and with 3 more starters to share. I had a feeling this might be a bad idea since most of the restaurants we’ve encountered in Greece (except Athens) seem to prepare main courses to share. When the appetizers arrived on huge platters we knew we were in trouble. Then the main courses showed up and suddenly there was almost more food than would fit on the table. But this was to be our last dinner together with our friends in Greece, and we’d all just been through hell, so we were more than happy to make a long evening of it and enjoy. We washed our food down with a large carafe of pretty good local wine, and the ubiquitous bottle of chilled water. It was a great time; we were glad to finally be on shore and had a relieved sense of accomplishment from having been through the worst period of rough weather that we had seen on Footprint while not on an extended ocean passage.

Last night in Tinos
This hadn’t been exactly the experience we had hoped to share with our friends but they were amazingly good natured and happy to stress the good times on each island, and insisted they were glad they had not left Footprint at Kythnos (I’m not sure I was glad that I hadn’t left Footprint at Kythnos!). For this attitude and their great friendship we are amazingly lucky. We somehow miraculously managed to eat almost all the food presented to us that evening and even managed to top it off with a shared bottle of ouzo to toast the trip and our friends. As we were about to settle the bill and leave the restaurant the proprietor came up and placed a dish with a tiny carafe of Rakomena (Raki with honey) and 4 shot glasses – an excuse for more toasting – wonderful. Oh boy! It’s a good thing Footprint was only across the street and we’d had plenty to eat. We managed more than that though, we walked off our dinner by joining all of Tinos in the traditional evening stroll enjoying the sights and sounds of the bustling little town before finally retiring for a good night’s rest.

An extra day in Kythnos

2011-08-31T14:38:00.000-04:00

Dinghy ashore and Hike to the nearby village
[Kyle]In the morning over breakfast and a new forecast we decided our plan for the day was to figure out how to get Kate and Mark home from Kythnos if the afternoon forecast was not significantly better for our passage to Syros. This started with a row to shore (this time taking two trips so everyone could stay dry), and then joined the goat trails across a series of hills for the 40 minute walk to the nearest town of Stefanos (unfortunately its harbor had been full the previous night).

Pretty village of Stefanos
Stefanos was another pretty collection of about two dozen buildings centered on a little bay. We explored and took pictures at a meandering pace. At the far end of the town, in the ‘burbs, we found a tavern and settled in for lunch and to try and get some information on how to get across the island to the ferry port (the town of Merikha). We had a delicious lunch in a beautiful setting; we all agreed the best Greek food so far. Maryanne heard someone at a nearby table speaking English and went over to ask them if they knew anything about the ferries and transport across the island. It turned out they lived there for part of the year and were a great source of information. We sorted out escape plans for Kate and Mark, and set off back to the boat for a last check of the weather (and retrieve bags as necessary).

A lovely meal in the taverna of Kynthos
It was sad for me thinking that they would be leaving a couple of days earlier than planned and expected. One particularly tough moment for me was when Kate found a picked a ripe fig from a tree (she has a fig tree at home and we’ve been gleaning information from her regarding how to tell when they are ripe etc.). She seemed so pleased and I realized that there was soon to be no more shared experiences for the four of us. I tried my best but my heart was heavy for the journey back to Footprint. We had asked around at Stefanos to see if we could find someone to act as water-taxi back to Footprint and thus saving us the walk, but we’d had no luck; we trudged back home via the familiar goat path route.

To save the two long trips, once we reached the dinghy Mark hiked along the shoreline while I rowed Kate and Maryanne towards Footprint. With me rowing in the dinghy and Mark picking his way across rocks and prickly bushes we were about equal in progress towards Footprint until I suddenly spotted a turtle surfacing for air. I stopped our rowing and waited for it to surface so Maryanne and Kate could also see the old mariner; eventually he did surface but just briefly until their squeals of delight caused him to dive back below the surface.

As we were making plans to take Footprint around to Stefanos to drop off Kate and Mark with their bags, I checked the latest forecast. It seemed much better, but I was still wary of trusting it. I had so little faith in the forecasts, but also wanted to believe it so we could continue on with our friends. I was worried that if it did end up being bad again and they missed their chance for a way out, everyone would think it was my fault and so I was reluctant to discuss the new improved forecast. It felt like everyone else was already on the path of getting our friends off Footprint and I no longer felt a right to a say in the matter. It was heartbreaking watching them pack. I could not take it, so I busied myself on deck trying to distract myself but it didn’t work.

After I’d taken too long over a minor task Maryanne sought me out and asked me what was wrong. I told her I really did think the forecast was acceptable and I hated the idea of our friends leaving only to hear reported in the blog that we had had a wonderful time in the places they were supposed to have been sharing with us. Maryanne grabbed me by the hand and took me to the cockpit where she sat me down and insisted I explain all this to them. They listened attentively and to my surprise and great relief agreed that we should at least try the passage to Siros; if it didn’t work we could always return and drop them off at Stafanos the following day. We promised to give them vito power to turn Footprint around if either of them didn’t want to continue. After so many rough passages and anchorages, we were amazed that they were willing to expose themselves to more rather than jump ship early and have a leisurely last few days in Greece free from the dictates of the winds.

We left at sunset to ensure the passage to Siros was in the lowest of the forecast winds. It turned out all right; for once the winds were as forecast. We had a fast and not too uncomfortable reach and were pulling into the anchorage at Siros after only 3½ hours. The anchorage I’d selected, Ormos Aetou, turned out to be less populated than I expected. The entire bay was just a black wall obscuring the stars. We felt our way in with radar and spotlights. I had originally planned to anchor in the North cove, which our guide advised required a line ashore as there was no swinging room. We inched our way in to check it out and confirmed that the rocks were far too close to allow for any swinging room. I wasn’t in the mood to swim in the dark so we backed out and headed to the larger but less protected cove to the East. Inside the cove the wind was completely blocked by the surrounding cliffs, but the large swell was still making its way in. We set the anchor in good sand and toasted our arrival before another night of terrible rolling and more fitful sleep.

Greek Island of Kythnos

2011-08-31T14:22:00.001-04:00

Our remote Kythonos cove, where Kate finds a hammock to relax in
[Kyle]We had an unstructured morning of snorkeling and hiking around the local hills. This included a visit to the most conspicuous landmark in the bay – a small and well kept church. Despite being small, it still seemed large for the number of people it could serve (two elderly farmers?). We poked our heads inside and found it tidy and well kept and with candles lit for the day (presumably by the goat herder) so it was clearly still in regular use.

Mark was a good sport and joined me in my trek up to the highest point I could find. The farm by the beach had many more signs of life in the morning, as we landed with our fins and were changing to shoes a herd of goats past us pushed along by an elderly goat herder who greeted us in incomprehensible (to us) Greek; we responded with our basic Greek greetings (Kalimera, and Yassas) and smiles all around, before parting ways! Beyond the beach wall another man was unloading packs from a donkey having just walked down to the farm from the road high above. It was clear from the roads and trails around that donkeys were the only viable means of transport on this part of the island; we had stumbled back in time. So we find ourselves in a bay on a remote part of a remote Mediterranean island, with no obvious signs of modern day civilization in sight (no roads, no power cables, no televisions) and yet we still could access internet using our Greek wifi card – amazing. By now we had learned not only of an earthquake hitting Virginia (where our visitors Kate and Mark lived) but also that a hurricane was on its way to directly hit their town – Yikes. Kate and Mark’s house being sturdily built in the days before particleboard had seen many hurricanes so their main threat was potential flooding and certain electricity loss. There was nothing we could do but enjoy where we were.

On our walk to the top of the hill Mark and I did find what appeared to be a vehicle road, although we both agreed it would be terrifying to drive and probably more terrifying to be driven along it. It was very steep and narrow, covered with loose gravel, and had regular hairpin turns over high drop offs. It terminated in a padlocked gate and quite some distance remaining for the donkeys to haul any load.

Views from the hills and of the hills
We met back at Footprint for lunch and as we were preparing for departure another boat arrived which through the binoculars we could see had a shredded mainsail. They anchored beside us in the small cove and after giving them some time to get settled we chatted over the radio – they were two Belgian men in a charter boat and had sailed from the North of the island (the town of Loutra) just 10nm of downwind sailing away. They reported big seas and strong gusts but could not give us any specifics, as they were not equipped with any wind indicator. Our forecast led us to expect strong winds all morning 9am-3pm and reduced winds after that (when we planned to leave). Their reports seemed to coincide with the morning forecast and we continued with our plans to depart after 3pm (still rough, but not unreasonably so). They had contacted their charter company and were advised the winds were expected to be lighter in the afternoon and would send them a new mainsail the next day. They wished us luck as we pulled up anchor and headed out into the mess they had just escaped from.

We cleared the cove and turned for Siros. The wind was strong (mid-20s and just forward of the beam) but the seas were no worse than we’d seen so far. We’d need to sail up wind and it was not going to be a pleasant day sail, it looked like another day of wishing we were already there. The leg from Kythnos to Siros was the longest stretch of open water we had planned during Kate and Mark’s visit. Unlike previous days the entire journey was to be just a stretch of open water. As we got further and further from Kythnos, both the wind and seas continued to build. Kythnos has the unfortunate position of being downwind of Kafirevs Sound, a large gap between Evvoia and Andros that lets the Meltemi blow in unimpeded from the northern Aegean. The seas also come through this gap, where they part around the protected island of Yaros before meeting again on the southern side in a mess of pyramid shaped cross-seas. The winds didn’t relax but grew from the forecast low 20’s into the upper 30’s bringing with it waves of 3m (even the occasional 5m wave). It was miserable and slow progress and a strong current also worked against us, forcing us to point even further into the strong winds. The boat pounded and objected. After an hour or so, we were beating into the heaviest seas and winds that we’ve ever experienced on an upwind sail, and no obvious signs of improvement (quite the opposite). The conditions meant that what we’d intended to be a 5 hour passage would take more like 13hours. It seemed none of us, including the boat, would want to tolerate for that long. A rough sail had deteriorated into near survival conditions and we made the decision to aboard the passage and return to our Kythnos anchorage.

Because of the current and winds, the return journey was also a miserable upwind sail (just slightly less so), and as we returned to Kythnos the wind and seas died down to normal levels. Realizing we would be here for an extra day, we tried a couple of different coves for variety, each of which had some issue that made it unsuitable for anchoring. We finally pulled up to our old spot near the Belgians, dropped the anchor, and to add to our misery it would not set. Another attempt, the same thing. We tried a slightly different spot, same problem. After a few more tries I finally donned a snorkel and mask and jumped in to find a decent sandy spot in which to dig the anchor. Maryanne drove the boat and Mark dropped the anchor. The whole process took us over an hour. Afterwards we were all feeling exhausted and shell-shocked.

Not much was said about the days attempted sail, we were all too tired. We just shook heads and shared the misery, we didn’t want to talk about it. The forecast for the next day was for a slight improvement but by then we had become very mistrustful of the forecasts. We discussed alternatives for Kate and Mark’s passage home? Was it better for them to have a nice few days on an island while we pressed on without them? Or should we trust the forecast and stick with the plan? We all went to bed to lick our wounds while the wind howled into the anchorage from the valley, buffeting the boat for another poor night of sleep.

Greek island of Kea

2011-08-31T14:12:00.001-04:00

Kea
[Kyle]The diurnally backwards Meltemi made for another restless night aboard, I kept waking up in the high gusts worrying that we hadn’t applied enough backwards force to set the anchor under sail (never a problem under engine). After a second night of fitfulness we all deserved the extra sleep and we all popped our heads out of our respective cabins quite a bit after sunrise. After a quick breakfast I rowed ashore with Kate and Mark while Maryanne swam alongside us. Our dinghy is perfect for two, and designed for 3 adults max, 4 would be too much and the ideal swim conditions made it not an issue for Maryanne to follow along (rather than me make two trips).

Our plan for the brief time we had ashore was to locate a tavern that is reputed to make an excellent ouzo on site, and to buy some fresh provisions at a local store. We achieved neither! Instead we were distracted by the islands many windmills. These seem to be no longer working windmills like the wind farms that power many of the islands, but older, traditional style, classic round buildings with spoked sails, almost all of which had been converted to houses or cottages. We walked in the direction of the one visible from the anchorage, knowing from our arrival the previous night that there were several more behind. At the first we crested a hill to a view of an absolutely perfect little bay below dotted with white houses, most with the traditional Mediterranean blue shutters. Down by the water our favourite was a converted windmill below which was a clear blue pool and below that the even more tantalizing water of the bay. Along the way we continued to peer into peoples yards and homes just imagining what wonderful sites they were to live in.

More Kea
We spotted a sign, indicating a tavern just 100m ahead, enticing us to march on in the day’s heat. What I’m sure was 100m (or more) further there was still no evidence of a taverna but how could we know for sure we’d actually gone 100m? So we continued on. We rounded a bend and found another sign (this time with no distance indicated); figuring we must almost be there we trudged further. It was fine, this gave us an excuse to descend into the pretty little bay village where we happily occupied ourselves pointing out and taking pictures of scene after scene just to pretty to be believable. At the far end of the village, on the point, at what must have been 1000m from the original sign, we eventually found our taverna. Then we figured it out; 100m was just enough to get you committed and by the time you’d walked another 100m or 2, there was no way we were turning back.

It turned out to be an excellent location, with views of the whole picture-postcard village on one side and the open Aegean on the other. The food and drink were a bit pricey (just a bit. Not too bad), but by then, we were all tired, thirsty and hungry, so they were going to get what they asked.

But with departure time imminent we really needed to get back to Footprint so we started to make our way back in that general direction. Of course this took us on a detour down to the bay, under the windmill house, where it was very refreshing to cool off by wading in the water and in such a beautiful place. Kate decided it was too good to pass up and went for the full swim; after all how often do you get such an idyllic opportunity?

Still more Kea - kate finds the perfect pool
We arrived back at Footprint a little later than planned (and with out fresh groceries or Ouzo); everyone was great in pitching in so we could depart in time to arrive at our next anchorage by dusk.

Once again we pulled up the anchor without needing to fire up the engine, we had a beautiful fast sail down the west coast of Kea before turning cross-wind to transit the gap towards the island of Kythnos.

The sailing stated out fine (no worse than the usual rough) but as we approached Ak Kefalos at the North end of Kythnos a strong counter current required us to point further and further into both wind and seas making the ride slower and much more miserable than we would like (for ourselves and our guests!). As we neared the island it became clear the current would not allow us to clear the point on our current tack, we did an experimental tack to see if we had any chance of overcoming the current and found that we were only able to make 20° to our reciprocal course. This would have made for a very long miserable night and require sailing miles and miles in the water to clear the island. Since we were all pretty much fed up with the weather anyway, and darkness was approaching, it was time to start the motor to push us around the point.

By the time we got to the east side of Kythnos it was late enough that we kept both engine and sail for a really fast downwind segment along the coastline to our planned anchorage, and found ourselves still in increasingly windy conditions.

We finally exited the big swell into the protection of Ormos Ioannou and found ourselves the only boat anchored in a deserted cove at the head of the bay. There were no seas of any kind within the bay, but the wind was howling down the valley leading to it ensuring that the wind generator would keep the batteries topped up all night. There were a couple of farm houses ashore in which we couldn’t see any activity; apart from us the place seemed deserted. Once night fell we could see a couple of candles lighting one of the farmhouses ashore; it was the only artificial light we could see (apart from our anchor light). After dinner we all went forward and lay on the deck to enjoy the full expanse of the moonless night sky and a particularly vivid swath of the Milky Way. Sights that most people in cities are not fortunate to see very often. We retired contented with being in such a remote and special place and with good friends.

Off to the Greek Cyclades Islands at last

2011-08-31T13:57:00.000-04:00

Leaving the Greek mainland
[Kyle]We had originally planned an early start to arrive at a new island location by noon each day giving time to explore each new neighborhood in the afternoons and evenings. We were aware of occasional nasty winds in the region, the Meltemi winds. Very strong they can die out after a day or blow hard for a week. The latest forecast for the next week showed not only a persistent Meltemi but also indicated a reversal of the normal diurnal pattern. Typically the Meltemi (when it blows) is lighter in the morning and stronger in the afternoon, but our forecasts indicated that the strong winds that buffeted the boat the night before and gave us all a disturbed night would not die off until after noon; because of that we decided to depart later in the day allowing us this morning to explore the current anchorage.

The wind was still strong when we woke. We had breakfast and Kate and Mark swam ashore to explore while Maryanne and I prepared Footprint for departure. If the wind had started to die down in the afternoon, it was not enough to be noticeable; we left anyway expecting (hoping) for the forecast reduction.

The sailing was nice in the lee in the last of the Attic peninsular where were conservatively sailing with only a double-reefed main. The water was flat as we deliberately hugged the coast passing several very nice looking homes and a couple of small villages before leaving the mainland at the Temple to Poseidon at Ak Sounion. Once into the open Agean Sea the gusty wind coming off the land stabilized and although it was still blowing hard we unrolled the Jib to its double reefed position and had a fast sail across the gap to the island of Kea.

In spite of the strong conditions the ride was much more comfortable than the previous day; rather than short chop that had us rolling wildly with hulls mismatched on trough and crest. These waves, which had been rolling and building unimpeded since the Island of Evvoia 20nm to the North, were larger and spaced more kindly for Footprint, giving us a slower, gentler, rolling motion.

At Kea we pulled into the anchorage at the back of Ormos Kavia which was completely protected from the swell, although still very windy. The anchorage was quite full apart from Footprint’s favorite spot close to the beach, in the zone too shallow for most boats. The thing is we had managed the whole day so far without using the engine and I was determined to keep it that way, so we anchored on the outside of the boats in deeper water with plenty of scope. It was pretty cool. We managed to tack our way to our chosen spot, lower the anchor and back down all under sail. Total engine time for the day 0.0hours. This location also had the benefit of offering clear departure under sail the following day. The downside of course was that we were furthest from the beach, and building Meltemi winds and a long row made us dismiss our plans for dinner ashore.

Arriving in time for sunset on the island of Kea

Goodbye Athens (hello misery)

2011-08-24T08:32:00.001-04:00

[Kyle]In order to take Kate and Mark with us aboard Footprint, we needed to add their names as passengers to our crew list. Since we’re allowed to check out of a port 24 hours in advance, we thought we’d pop into the Port Police office and sort it all out the night before, so that we could leave early. When we arrived, the young lady there, who was standing in front of the open doors of the darkened office, said we would have to do it the next day. Maryanne asked when they were open. “Twenty-four hours. Not now.” Um, uh…nevermind. We tried again later that night after showers. There were more of them, but we got the same answer. Why do something now that could be put off for the day shift?

When we checked out the next morning, the guy started suspiciously asking about our boat and hinting that they were thinking of closing the port due to the weather. They are technically allowed to do this, our guidebook suggests they often threaten this but rarely do it. We found it a bit surprising as the forecast was not that bad and we had seen several small fishing boats headed out. After many assurances that Footprint could handle most weather, he let me leave after signing a statement that I understood the forecast, which he translated for me from Greek, and was departing at my own risk (we were also told this could well happen in our trusty cruising guide).

Well, we had a great fast sail southeastwards along the Attic coast, at least for a while. Then the wind rose up to double the forecast (even the Greek forecast) and stayed there. It then became pretty horrible. By the time we reached our intended anchorage at Ák Sounion, we all just wanted it to be over.

Except that it wasn’t. Our anchorage was full. It took us another two hours of poking our way along the coast before we found a spot that was secure, although it was still blowing like crazy. Shell-shocked, we all tried to make the best of the remainder of the evening. We were pretty tired from the beating we took, so we all went to bed earlier than usual, where we slept fitfully. In the morning, over breakfast, we all confessed to having spent our respective night dreaming about storms, grounding and anchor dragging.

[Maryanne]As Kyle explained, it was a miserable sailing day especially considering it was the first day of the Greek sailing experience for Kate and Mark and all we showed them was misery (oops!). Kyle had checked the weather forecast both in his preferred way (grib files with raw forecast data) and by checking the local official marine forecasts; neither gave him cause for concern. Our guidebooks were clear that local officials didn't like to take much responsibility for the many inexperienced charter sailors, and regularly threatened closed ports and bad weather unnecessarily, this knowledge added to our confidence in ignoring their concerns. Finally the winds were much stronger than even forecast. Should we have taken the Piraeus Port Police warnings more seriously? Who knows - we keep moving west and hope for better days ahead. The sun keeps shining and the forecasts look reasonable. ;-)

Athens

2011-08-24T06:28:00.000-04:00

First sights of Athens - the Evzoni Guard (Greece's elite infantry unit) with their fancy and historically significant uniform
[Kyle]We rode the convenient bus to the airport to meet Kate and Mark from their arriving flight and then took the very clean subway into the town center where we just made it to see the once weekly extra-impressive changing of the guard at Syntagma square. Luckily the the square coincided with the most convenient metro stop for our hotel and soon afterwards we were checked into our respective (sister) hotels. Neither of the rooms was ready, so we left our luggage and headed to the Acropolis museum, and then up to the Acropolis itself.

We made it to the (windy) Acropolis, to ponder the stories of it's various buildings
I had seen pictures of the Acropolis, which are usually taken from the site itself with Athens behind. That always gave me the impression the Acropolis was on a mound. It is not. It is at the top of huge, towering cliffs way above the surrounding city. It was a long, hot walk to get up there during the warmest part of the day, but it was well worth the effort. It was surreal. There we were in a new city after yet another climb up a steep hill, like we always seem to do, except this time, we were standing next to the Parthenon. THE Parthenon. Super cool!

Amazingly we still had time to visit the Agora (ancient town center too), more ruins, and a great little museum which included ancient jury duty selection systems and other original machines of democracy.

The Agora is mostly piles of rubble, but the reconstructed Stoa and various guides help the imagine understand the scenes of ancient times
Tired, but happy with the satisfaction of a good day, we wandered around the town, stopping for several dinners at outdoor cafés before heading to our hotels for several showers and a good night’s sleep.

Athens Day 2

Determined to make the most of our last few hours in Athens the morning was a walking tour of the city guided by Maryanne herself, who, to be fair, was cheating by having Rick Steves Guide to Athens playing over her iPhone headsets. It was the best of both worlds: Rick Steves information and Maryanne’s delivery.

So many aspects to enjoy - yes, those are pairs mysteriously left in the park just waiting to be photographed
From there, we took a long walk through a rather rough part of town to the Archeological Museum, where Rick/Maryanne took us through the development of Egyptian, Greek Classical and Roman art.

Bushed and ready for a rest, we all boarded the subway for Piraeus and Footprint to start our island journey.

Lots of new memories

[Maryanne]We witnessed modern day stone masons carving marble to repair ancient monuments, dogs and cats hunting for the shade of the day, more of the Greek guard, and so many little snippets of Athenian life - wonderful!

Athenian Medley

On to Athens

2011-08-24T05:33:00.000-04:00

Sunsets and views on route to Athens
[Kyle]We pulled up anchor at Kalamaki during the normal morning calm, and then began to drift in the direction of Athens. During the course of the day, the wind picked up until we were chugging right along.

In order to break up the trip, we anchored in the cove on the southwest corner of Salamina Island, about 2/3rd of the way to Athens. It took us several attempts to get the anchor to set in the thick weed, but once we were secure, we had a pretty uneventful night of watching Greek families cooling themselves off at the beach.

In the morning, I had the satisfaction of sailing off of the anchor. We did this really cool manoeuvre where sailed backwards into deep water, did a turn to straighten ourselves out, and then headed out forwards as if we had backed out of a driveway. {Kyle had a suitably smug smile on his face for at least an hour!}

The subsequent trip into Piraeus (the most convenient port for us to Athens) was windy, fast and increasingly congested with fast ferries and big cargo ships of all kinds.

We pulled into Marina Kea, where a young guy in an aluminum tender directed us to our med mooring. It wasn’t until we got settled in that we realized how desperately we had needed to recharge with the abundant services of a big marina. We spent the next couple of days running around at full speed trying to get everything done before the arrival of our friends, Kate and Mark. It had the feel of a haulout without the actual haulout.

We used their power to charge everything we could think of until it was full, full, full. I cleaned, flushed and refilled our water tanks and then gave Footprint a good scrubbing in and out. I hadn’t realized how filthy she had become until seeing the streams of brown water running off of the much whiter decks underneath. The marina didn’t have laundry, but with our hose hooked up, I was able to do bucket loads of laundry, which dried in the Greek heat faster than it would have in a tumble dryer.

A loaded cart for refilling tanks! Marina Zea - boats of all kind

We rented a car. We did this primarily so that we could drive from one LPG station to another begging the attendant to fill our propane tanks. What an experience that was! Maryanne often blithely tells me she filled the tanks while leaving out the actual agony of the process. Since we have American tanks made out of see-through fiberglass that are bristling with adapters, she often has a hard time getting them filled. A lot of filling station attendants look at our tanks with a great deal of suspicion and send her off a couple of times before reluctantly agreeing to top the tanks up. Having a chance to observe this first hand, to me, the experience seems to resemble buying a car. They start off with “Absolutely No Way!” Then, when we turned to leave with hangdog looks on our faces, an attendant ran up and told us to return the next day. When we explained that we only had the car for one day, we were sent away again. This process repeated itself over and over again until we were finally told to back the car up to the pump. Whew! It still wasn’t over. Every time we had to go through the time consuming process of changing our adapters from one cylinder to the next, the attendant, which had grown to the entire staff, clearly wanted us to call it quits and leave. We then had to go through a slightly abbreviated version of the procedure above for each of our three tanks. When we finally pulled out of the station with all of the tanks full, we could hardly believe our luck. We spent the rest of the day on a high from having successfully accomplished the near impossible.

While we still had a car and while I was scrubbing down Footprint, Maryanne went to a five-story Carrefour supermarket, where she stocked up on everything that’s been hard to find since Preston. She ended up spending four or five hours there and bought three carts of stuff. I went with her on her last trip. The security guards were definitely keeping their eyes on us. Most Greeks go to the store every day or two and buy small amounts. They must have thought our changing cartloads were a ruse so we could case the joint.

We had time to eat and explore too!
In the end, Footprint ended up clean and shiny and sitting low in the water from being fully restocked. We were ready for our friends to arrive.

My Wonderful Greek Experience

2011-08-18T13:58:00.000-04:00

[Maryanne]After a terrible two days to get my laundry done, I was pleased to take a day off to relax; I had Greek visitors planned for the day aboard Footprint. My favourite social network Couchsurfing enables me to locate interesting people nearby wherever I happen to be, and I’d invited Nantia to join me aboard Footprint. She would bring another Greek friend with her (I never could pronounce his name, and was too shy to keep asking – oops).

The day was hot and sunny, perfect for chatting with repeated dips into the water to cool off.

We updated ourselves on each others’ lives and goals, but soon were discussing food. I expressed frustration at the lack of ‘real’ Greek food available in the restaurants etc, and my new friends showered me with traditional Greek recipes to add to my repertoire – perfect. The primary herbs of Greek cooking are Parsley, and dill, here are some of the dishes they suggested I could cook:-

• Spanakorizo - Spinach and Rice dish
• Fasolakia – Green bean casserole.
• Briam – a Greek version of ratatouille
• Greek Vegetable Balls

I must have scared them off with even the though of English Cooking; they cried off “not hungry” when I offered them lunch, and once dinner was discussed they insisted I should just drive back with them to Nantia’s home (where her parents live in the apartment below her) and Nantia’s Mum would cook for us all – I was to have real Greek food at last.

The drive to Nantia’s home town of Korfos was spectacular, climbing up the mountain roads with the sea to our left providing fantastic views, and eventually leaving the main road to descend back down to sea level and arrive (on the only road into) Korfos. The small town is really a beautiful fishing harbor, fringed with fishing boats and taverns, and on the other side of the road, grocery stores, ice cream stores, fast food kiosks and bars – so much for a small and remote town (and much more than I was used to in Kalimaki). Her home was further inland, but built into the slope of a hill, so commanding a fantastic view of the beautifully protected harbor.

Nantia’s family were all there, including her sister’s family visiting from Athens for the holiday. All were very generous with their time and friendship, I was humbled.

But the food! We were served Tiropitakia (mini-cheese pies) as snacks, followed by an amazing roast lamb dish (cooked for 12 hours, beautifully tender) served with salad and roasted potatoes.

I was lucky enough to stay overnight with plans for an early bus back to the boat the following day; but during my stay the family continued to fuss over me and look after me. I was presented with a real aloe leaf to help ease my sunburn, some home remedy (honey-bee wax mixed with butter) to help heal any wound, and some Briam to feed Kyle with once he came home the following day. Amazing generosity, a wonderful family, I’m a very lucky lady! A million thank-yous to Nantia and her family.

Laundry day (or boat-wife torture)

2011-08-17T14:19:00.001-04:00

[Maryanne]Laundry was well overdue aboard Footprint. I should have been keeping up with the small stuff in a bucket, but convicted we’d be in civilization I’d left it, and now had at least 3 loads, and sheets and towels. We were also running low on water with no way to fill up Footprint, and it was TIME to crack the laundry issue.
After searching, asking and begging all Friday in the tiny town of Kalimaki with no luck, and with rumours of a laundry in Corinth, I asked around for the mysterious bus times and realized I had to get the 8am bus in to Corinth and hope I could find the laundry by asking around...

Naturally the bus didn't arrive until 8:50, but standing out in the sun waiting for a bus is fun, so I didn't mind. While waiting I had a friendly sign language lesson on how to stop the bus from driving past me from a local waiting for the bus on the other side of the street.

Made it to Corinth and started wandering around with my giant bag of laundry in tow - street after street hoping to stumble on they mysterious laundry. Eventually I found a police station and asked - and got some very sketchy directions, only to discover a dry cleaning store that practically threw me out when he saw my bag of laundry - in the process he yelled Loutraki (the town just to the North of the Canal from Corinth) as the only place I could go.

Oh but I wouldn't give up that easily - I walked to the marina thinking there may be something there - nothing so much as a toilet block. I was already getting tired and frustrated and just as I wondered back into town to start researching buses to Loutraki, my shoe (flip flop) broke. I soon realized I'd have to purchase a new pair of shoes if I was to make any progress, so €10 later I had a pair of shoes that seemed fine; a few blocks later than that I was already forming a blister. Grrrr!

Already feeling exhausted and defeated, I decided to reject the bus ( I don't think there is a direct one anyway) and went to the find the taxi line I’d seen earlier in the day. Just my luck I get the taxi guy that hardly speaks English and doesn't seem to know where there is a laundry in Loutraki either, but insists he does and I have no choice but to get in HIS cab or give up. He said about €10 for the journey - but on route determines that the bridge is down (for the west end of the canal) and now he has to go over the main road-bridge (where Kyle previously bungeed) and that it would now cost €20. I was already feeling pretty overwhelmed and frustrated by the day, and knew he'd be going by the main bus station now - so I asked him to drop me off there - He pretended not to understand me and drove right by the entrance, then miraculously understood me... but there was nowhere for him to turn. Luckily we then found ourselves on the road to Loutraki where a bus stop was overflowing with people - and I made him let me out there before the meter got any higher - clearly there was a bus due any minute.

Within 10 minutes I was in Loutraki - whew, now wheeling my laundry with my blister about the streets looking for anything that looked like a laundry and asking anyone that looked like they might be able to help. Hours later I find somewhere, it looks like a dry cleaning place but the very friendly and smiley assistant is immediately on the phone and steals my laundry away with no hint of a price... (won't know until it is done). Gives me a time to return. So I'm free, I have a few hours to kill and I don't want to walk too far.

Loutraki turns out to be a nice little sea-side resort. Kind of like a Virginia Beach but with a pebble beach and mostly old folk. There are supposedly spa waters there, so there is a nifty indoor pool with waterfalls, Jacuzzi(s) and the like - full of the elderly (including one 80+ year old guy with a shower cap on). Quite entertaining. With time to kill I finally got my hair cut and was suitably chastised by the very friendly and chatty hairdresser (with great English), and then went looking for the waterfalls she told me about - but I couldn't find them, nor be bothered to walk any further with my new shoes and blister.

I found a great little restaurant where I got stuffed tomatoes and peppers for under €5 - real Greek food, no chips.

Eventually I hobbled back to the laundry only to be told it would be longer (they took my phone number); there was more than they expected it seems!

So I hung out in the park reading my book for another couple of hours.. I'd already researched the buses and knew that I'd missed the early afternoon bus, next one 'home' was not until 6:30pm (so who knows what time I’d actually get back to the boat). I felt ever more exhausted. I still had the boat to tidy, the bed to make, and possibly had a visitor on Sunday so I really was feeling overwhelmed.

Eventually my laundry is ready (€35 - about $50) and it seemed the family were driving my laundry from Isthmous - I mistook that for Isthmia (i.e. the next town down) and asked if they could give me a ride back to Kalimaki (I'd pay, obviously). But it wasn't quite the right town - they did say they would drive me to the bus station though, and from there, there may be more bus options or a taxi. No buses for the next 2 hours - so I grabbed another cab (again, no English and only a vague idea of what I was talking about - but we made it).

Relieved, Laundry done. Lesson learned? Probably not. I hate to add up the total cost.

Paradise today was not!