They say that whenever there are two boats on the water, there is a race. I’m sure this is a carry-over from the testerone-heavy history of sailing, but today, with Karen at the helm and Theo just ahead and to the lee, we had a race on! We were leaving the Kastos/Kalamos area, bound for the small town of Mitikas on the mainland, just 5 miles to windward. With a short leg, it didn’t matter that winds were light. The tacking duel lasted for about an hour, and I’m proud to say that the New Englanders won! To be fair, Sea Rose has a lighter displacement and therefore manages a steady speed in light winds. In heavy seas in the North Atlantic, I’m sure Paloma would come out on top, if not for speed, at least for sea-kindliness.
At Mitikas, a very small harbor contained a few docks for local fishing boats and a concrete quay for visiting boats. We really wanted to get on the quay, due to a rumor that the town provided free water. We didn’t really need to fill our tanks, but Sea Rose desperately needed a wash-down. We hadn’t fully washed the boat since Crete!
Inside the harbor, maneuvering was tight, but after we let another boat depart, we had a spot to squeeze into, tight between two smaller boats. There was such limited space to drop the anchor and back down, we really only had one shot at it. And with unknown depths in the harbor and wind blowing us into a section with only small boats, we could run aground any minute. You can do a maneuver a thousand times, but as soon as you let your guard down, that’s when mistakes happen. The anchor went overboard, and Karen backed us straight as an arrow towards the quay. Thankfully, boat owners on both sides of us came up topsides to lend a hand and keep fenders in position. You never know what you are going to get for help, so Karen and I prepare to do the entire med mooring maneuver on our own, but when extra hands appear, we gladly take the help.
Before long, we had lines tied to the quay, the anchor rode pulled in tight and the engine off. Next, it was time to get Theo settled. He snagged the last spot on the end of the quay. There was a moment of panic as he threw me a stern line and I had no ring or bollard to attach it to – it was becoming evident why no one had taken this spot yet. But eventually we figured out a solution and he was settled too. There was only room for about eight boats, and maybe because of that, the vibe was very convivial. Hands that had helped us get tied up now were introducing themselves and asking friendly questions. Adding to the fun was the splash of color on all of the different country flags. This was a mini UN! The boat next to us was from Sweden, with a young couple Klara and Dennis onboard. Their dinghy was pulled up on the quay and they were in a conundrum trying to figure out how to re-glue the fabric floor to the tubes. Absent of a floor, it looked like a big inner-tube. Several ideas were considered amongst the boaters, and the couple jumped back into scraping and sanding in the mid-day heat. Ahh, the energy of youth!
Klara and Dennis, just 26 years old, had big plans to sail around the world after they spent the winter here at the quay. We had them over for a drink in our cockpit and then took them out to dinner, as a token effort to help them along on their dreams. I can remember being a young adventuring sailor in my 20’s, meeting older boaters along the way who wanted to help me, at a time when just filling up with fuel was a financial hardship. How soon the tables turn!
Provisioning on the mainland is sure to bring happy returns, and Mitikas was no different in this regard. There were no crates of rotten produce to sift through. There was an actual butcher – who also managed the adjoining wine shop – and the prices were back to more reasonable levels.
With our boats well stocked, it was time to move on. We sailed westward, tacking once again across a light headwind, for the island of Meganisi, the crazy amoeba-shaped land in the middle of this inland sea.
There are so many wonderful protected anchorages on this northern half of Meganisi, one can not go wrong with any of them. We had passed through Meganisi last summer, and while it is comfortable to choose a place you’ve been before, we were ready to strike out on our own. We headed for Elia, with a long, narrow, gently shallowing cove. Two other boats were settled in and looking like they had been here for many days. The water was still and voices travelled over the water easily. It was as quiet as like a library and I tried not to call out too loudly to Karen at the helm, for fear of disturbing the peace and to discourage further scrutiny on our maneuvering, as it seemed like many eyes were watching us. Diving overboard to take the stern lines ashore felt like a gift from above as the heat worked its way under our skin in this windless cove. Earth-toned villas, tucked into the landscape, lent an element of understated wealth. I fully expected to see a celebrity couple stepping out in their long white bath robes to lounge by the infinity pool, reveling in the absence of paparazzi – and hoping the few sailors nearby like us kept their distance. They were likely dining on caviar for dinner, while we were slumming it over a make-shift Mexican-theme night with something that vaguely resembled salsa. To get back on track, the three of us took an evening walk ashore, following signs for anything that might lead to a taverna. After a short period of warming up our climbing legs, we found ourselves at a village on the crest of the island named Katomeri where most island roads seemed to enter and leave. In line with the understated villas, it was a well-appointed but still authentic small Greek village, with quaint houses and a few tavernas playing traditional Greek music for the few pandemic-season patrons remaining on the island.
Like so many other places this season, I could picture this village bustling with locals and tourists alike, out for an evening stroll, a Mythos beer, or a plate of moussaka. But not this year. We stumbled upon a narrow alley with an old, weathered weaving loom just off the street. Had someone tossed this out for scrap? Indeed, no! An elderly woman came out of a nearby shop that was so dark I didn’t realize it was even open. This woman then called out to an even older woman, presumably her mother, to come over. She was clad in all black, and shuffled along determinately in bare feet. She took up a position inside the loom and abruptly started weaving. In a regular summer, she would be surrounded by ogling, camera-toting tourists, yet, lucky for us, this show was just for the fortunate crews of Sea Rose and Paloma. Soon she was giving Karen clear hand gestures to join her at the loom helm. Like clockwork, the daughter emerged from the store with several finished examples of the elder’s work, and we departed with a beautiful, colorful, tightly woven table spread for a mere 20 euros. For sure, there was an element of tourist theater about it, but in retrospect, I’d like to think that both parties got something out of it. Buying something with a story behind it is a lot more fun than grabbing it off of a retail shelf or home computer screen. And, the lovely woman was darling (Karen’s word!).
With time in our favor, we decided to stay another night at Elia. And lest you think that the sailing life is one of only tavernas and tapestries, we set aside the morning for a bunch of boat projects. I tackled a stainless steel barbecue, the stainless of which had turned into mostly rust, making it an eye sore. I had tried last year to just buy a new one, but I concluded that gas barbecues must be an American invention. I could find several outdoor ‘cookers’ with smart European styling, but they relied either on electricity (uggh) or charcoal (yikes). I could import one from the States, but they were priced in the stratosphere. So, it was time for some sweat equity, and after several hours on a rocky uneven shoreline, under mid-summer sun, and a full bottle of stainless polish, I had a masterpiece worthy, once again, for a place on the rail of Sea Rose.
Punching out our time cards, we took Theo up on his dinghy offer to venture around the corner for a snorkel amongst the brilliant pancake layers of rock above and below the water at Fanari Beach.
It’s hard to pick from the many protected anchorage options on this undulating coast of Meganisi, but the next morning we motored slowly around the northern tip to check out each one. We settled on a deeply indented cove at Ormos Kapela, with only a couple of other boats as company. Fancy, flat-roofed contemporary villas surrounded us, in a contrast to the understated style at Elia. A particularly gargantuan structure was under construction on one side of us, and workers drilled and jackhammered and yelled orders back and forth to each other over top of the din. It was enough to make me feel like we had accidentally parked Sea Rose curbside to an urban build site. And there weren’t even any pretend celebrities to gawk at!
Thankfully the dust and the din settled in the evening, and we took another adventurous walk ashore, finally ending up at the town of Vathy. This was clearly the place to come to if you were on a charter boat and wanted like-minded company and a plethora of taverna options. The town quay was a buzz of activity, with stern lines being thrown ashore to helping hands, and cockpits full of chatty friends from neighboring boats in a jovial spirit reminiscent of an extended family reunion. In contrast, Theo was a bit quiet at the waterfront, and I learned later that he had previously docked here with his then-wife on Paloma. I couldn’t fault a guy for being caught in a moment of introspection. Who amongst us has not had the demons of their past poke and prod the present. I once had a guy on my team that was the quintessential ‘favorite uncle’ figure for the rest of his colleagues. He was friendly, easy-going and unassuming. Except that he kept making mistakes with our client data. It was an all-too-easy conversation with my boss and there was plenty of corporate lingo to rely on for his ‘lack of fit’ with the role. I had to escort him to HR and eventually out the door, as he left a literal trail of tears. But I would often come back to that moment and wonder if I had done enough and why I had let myself fall into a trap of insensitivity. It’s best not to over stay your welcome with these irksome memories, but the occasional recall does prove one’s humanity.
Picking out some deliciously ripe, street-side produce on the way back through Vathy seemed like a more powerful means for Theo to escape his past than any words of comfort we could muster. It wasn’t the first time we had used nourishment as a collective escape vehicle, and it wouldn’t be the last!