Cassilda - a Medicane in the mix

Anchored next to Lazareto Island at Vathy

After the events of mid September, it is not hard to fathom why it took the King of Ithaca, Odysseus, so many years to return home. Our near brush with drama there was averted through a healthy dose of luck and some judgement, I would like to think. We were in Vathy, when we saw the low pressure system off Libya develop into Category 1 storm Cassilda (alternately named Ianos) and, as sheltered as our position seemed, we realised that if either of the weather models we were following were correct, this was not the place to be. A subliminal clue too, which I admit to missing at the time, was that the chapel on the islet, Lazareto, next to which we were anchored is named the 'Transfiguration of the Saviour'. Beware of omens, sailor! The German and European weather models diverged as to how far north the eye of the storm would travel, so deciding not to bet either way on that, we headed for the best shelter as far east as we could reach in the time we had available. 

Messolonghi 'Channel' marker

Despite being the place where Lord Byron died, we felt that present-day Messolonghi probably offered better succour than it did him. Getting there was bumpy though as the wind funneling out of the Gulf of Patras proved to be as unpleasant as the swell and waves. We spent a long day outrunning the sense of foreboding if not the storm itself, which was still two days away. By sunset we approached the familiar entrance to Messolonghi, northwards in its narrow channel dredged for two and a half nautical miles in amongst expansive marshlands bordered by mostly derelict fishermen’s houses on precarious looking stilts. 

The channel opens up into a basin that has not suffered from any town-planning. A muddy beach to the east overlooks the industrial town quay where heavy machinery is strewn waiting for a tanker to arrive: while to the west the marina with its run down brutal architecture hardly looks like the safe haven that it purports to be. As we had a day in hand now, we anchored with 5 or 6 boats that looked like they were there for the duration. The holding is fantastic and the bottom is heavy clay that would surely hold in just about any wind. Despite this, we opted to go into the marina the next morning, the prospect of not leaving the boat for a few days to get any respite from the storm and being at constant anchor watch, swaying us.

Banksy's Byron Pilgrimage

By the time we entered the marina there was already a fierce North Easterly fuelling the Medicane and mooring up was a challenge in the cross wind. I reversed in and Catherine took the mooring line to the bow  after which we switched positions and I went forward to pull it in. These ropes are not called slime lines for nothing and it was a task getting it tight in the increasing wind and chop. Someone jumped on board to lend a hand and we tugged at it together.  All secured we looked at each other to shake hands, but we were both covered in thick slimy mud. I introduced myself and thanked him.  'I am Dimitrious', he said, 'but my hands are full of your mud, so call me Mimis, we are friends now'. 

It is not always safer to be tied up, but the Marina Sunset Cafe run by Mimis  just near the pontoons provided welcome relief from the incessant howling of the storm. We secured ourselves to the pontoon with more lines than really necessary and observed the approaching eye of the storm on the weather radar from the comfort of the bar. It hovered over Cephalonia and Ithaca for hours with very high wind speeds and biblical amounts of rain causing havoc. Boats were tossed on their sides and crushed in Argostoli and in Euphemia a number ended their sailing days as they were unceremoniously planted on the town quay. The resulting four casualties were from the flooding in homes and a car buried in rubble -  miraculously no one on a boat. Some of our friends suffered recoverable damage to their yachts, although they remain shaken.

Euphemia

Fiskardo

Argostoli

At anchor in Petelas 

As we drew breath after the storm we headed back into the Ionian via Petelas, which is a little island inhabited only by goats and which provides great shelter from the prevailing winds in an eerie lunar-like setting. The silence there leaves your ears ringing and is the perfect place to escape to. In the night of our third day there, another storm came in from the north and transformed the calm into a cauldron for a few minutes.  Sudden horizontal rain accompanied by high winds and lightning left us with no visibility and in an instant one is completely disorientated.  Our anchor dragged a hundred meters or so and just as I re-anchored it was completely calm again.  That same night in Corfu a number of people ended up with their boats on the beach in the squall measuring over 60 knots.  In the long summer days you are easily lulled into forgetting the forces at play here, but in the space of a week we were provided with some stark reminders.

The next day we gingerly headed back to Vathy and anchored in just over 5 Meters, letting out much more chain than was necessary. We met up with friends for dinner at Nikos' famous restaurant and plotted the end of the season together over hearty fare and average wine.  

Tranquil Kastos

Some friends saw a gap in the weather big enough for the three day passage back to Sicily and promptly left the next day. According to them, they had a “lively” sea, which we were not at all sorry to have missed, our appetite for unpredictable weather being somewhat diminished. 

Late breakfast Kastos

Mid-summer-like conditions invited us to make a brief return visit to Kastos, an island which has taken on the moniker of 'our happy place'. Turquoise water, good company and the odd Monemvasia wine filled our time.  Its protection from the SE is not great though so after a few days we sailed north through the Lefkas canal to the Amvrakikos or Ambracian gulf to enjoy some time in its lagoon-like surroundings while we patiently waited for a good opportunity for our crossing to Sicily.

Fixer-upper opportunity

We stopped a few miles west of Preveza at Vonitsa, a small town of around 5,000 people, which is dominated by a Venetian fortress on the hill above that has presided over nearly a thousand years of occupation by different rulers, most notably the Ottomans and Greeks. The last of the hostilities were towards the end of the Greek war of independence when the Ottomans finally departed in 1828 leaving behind crumbling ruins in an otherwise beautifully verdant setting.  Little information is available after a millennium of history and preservation is obviously not near the top of the application list for EU funding. For such a small place, it has a surfeit of good tavernas and we ate really well for very modest amounts of money. By this time the charter yacht fleets had thinned out and we mostly had familiar neighbours in the anchorage. We had a 'Braai' (South African BBQ) with Saffers we know who were just near to us and tried to avoid too much discussion about storms and weather windows.  We were more or less successful in that regard and wrapped up what felt like being close to the end of the season by leaving for Preveza Marina in the morning.

Remnants of the Garrison's quarters

Looking East to the Vonitsa anchorage

Cleopatra's Thousand Sentinels South of Preveza

Corfu to Italy

Before we left Greece for the season and set sail for Italy, we explored a few places along the most north eastern part of the Greek mainland.  While some places such as the Sivota Islands, where we spent a couple of nights, look idyllic on postcards, they tend to be overrun by tourists, all with a penchant for renting loud and fast motor boats. We opted for a small, unassuming, yet charming place called Platarias next and spent a few days in this all but forgotten part of Greece. The harbour is a base for a well-known budget flotilla company but outside of their turnaround days it is all but deserted. Again we experienced the shift from being in transit to staying on for a few days.	Misty departure from Greece
Wall-to-wall Dinghies at Mourtos Our route onwards took us north along the coast east of Corfu and right to the border of Albania. This is a pretty desolate part of the world with the only intrusion upon the gentle scenery being the fish farms, whose garish buoys and swathes of netting mask a murky industry that produces perfectly sized Sea Bass that are sold as fresh catch of the day. We managed to find an idyllic bay that shares a border with Albania and a home with several guard dogs who barked incessantly through the night.	The locals become more accommodating and what was not possible on day one becomes achievable after a few days, such as asking the local restaurant if we can use their washing machines for our huge pile of laundry. Catherine had to haggle the price up in fact as they only wanted to charge a quarter of the going rate. There is a sizeable Italian community in Platarias who benefit from the lower cost of living and whose presence means the second language here is Italian and more importantly guarantees that the coffee is excellent. Their influence is yet to be felt on the wine supply though, but that could probably be fixed quite easily.   Two full moons last night - or was it the Ouzo?
Fish Farms spoiling the view - Albanian border Being buzzed by Oppies in Corfu bay	The lush Sivota Islands  Mourtos Bay - we managed to find a quiet corner
Our last stop in Greece was the island of Othoni, just a few miles north west of Corfu. This is a popular stop-over for yachts transiting to and from Italy and by the time the sun set the bay where we anchored looked like it was hosting an armada. We had every intention of setting off before dawn to take full advantage of the good winds that were predicted for our course.  A heavy sea that night and ominous clouds put a stop to that though. So, after just over 1,000 nautical miles and over 25 islands we left the very familiar Greek waters and plunged into the unknown, both  figuratively but literally too as the sunrise was accompanied by an impenetrable mist. We sailed into it for the first hour as we made our way almost due West to Porto Otranto in Puglia.   The second skipper got the foghorn out just in case - must be a violinist's instinct at work. We made very good time and the 50 nautical miles were gobbled up in just over 8 hours.The last hour into Otranto was just champagne sailing and perfectly calmed us for the seeming chaos that greeted us upon arrival in the port.  The old town overlooks the port that incongruously shares its crystal waters with hundreds of motor boats, a few beaches, the Coast Guard, and the marina.   Land of the umbrella	Plunging into the mist Italian  flag replaces well-worn Greek one
The beaches were heaving with holiday makers and the sea of umbrellas was a sight to behold. We anchored in amongst the fray to start with until we got our bearings and, more importantly, got hold of the mobile number of the man who sorts out berths - VHF is not a well-used item here it seems.  Andrea is as helpful as he is friendly and in no time he had us squeezed against the quay opposite the fresh water tap and a cable extension's length away from the informal electricity supply.  There is a lesson in this and that is that there is no point in fretting just because your northern European sense of order and process presents a hopeless picture. Everything is negotiable here, but not in an unpleasant haggling sort of way. No doubt Catherine speaking Italian smooths things somewhat. Did I say blonde...	Marina with a view
Otranto Basilica	Our afternoon was spent taking in the new scenery while we savoured Nocciola and Fig Gelato. The marble and sandstone buildings reflect the light so differently here from the white-wash and cobalt blue that we had grown accustomed to in Greece. It is like walking into a Fellini film, set in a 19th century bathing resort. EU funding doesn't harm either and the Basilica is impeccably preserved with the largest mosaic floor you can imagine and a pristine carved ceiling.  So much ice cream - so little time.

There is a backdrop of friendliness and warmth here that has already endeared this place to us despite the first impression which was like the panic of two wide-eyed country folk used to deserted islands hitting the big city.

Otranto - view of the old town from the port

The Brass Edition: Corfu, Paxos, Paleokastritsa

This week is unlike any other in that we had a full house; i.e. being joined by 4 hornists a trumpeter and a trombonist (Louis would argue Trumpets should get mentioned before Horns, though).  Fabian and his friends swapped their normal climbing gear for sea-legs, the occasional ginger tablet, life-vests and lots of sun cream. After a safety briefing and almost every life jacket we have being allocated, we set off for what was to be a fun-filled time.  In fact the greatest risk we faced was a severe shortage of paprika crisps and large enough second portions for the main meals but their outstanding musical talents and steely discipline proved soon very useful as choppers, mashers and washer-uppers. The following words come from the newly intrepid sailors: Helena, Lizzi, Sarah, David, Louis and Fabian. Mandraki Harbour in Corfu Fortress Some Yachts need Helicopters

Musos talking! On Tuesday we left the grey drizzle of England to arrive in the rather sweltering heat of Corfu (despite a 7pm touchdown). A taxi delivered us safely to the yacht, our worries when he appeared to be literally driving through what in England would have been a listed castle totally unwarranted. After a brief tour of our luxurious quarters we set out into the town to find dinner. We sat down in a swanky seaside restaurant that left us feeling rather inadequately dressed, ready for some delicious fresh seafood. we took a trip downstairs where we were shown yesterday's mystery fish (the waiter couldn't enlighten us) and were told today's fish would take 3 1/2 hours to cook. We then discovered that the €95 per kilo steak Peter fancied only came in whole kilos at which point we began to doubt our decision. When it emerged the waiter had no idea what part of the cow the steak came from we decided it was time to take our custom elsewhere and enjoyed a delicious meal at the restaurant at our own rather less extravagant marina. Who needs helipads on their boat anyway?

Wednesday morning, after a hearty swiss breakfast, we set off on the long sail to Paxos. About halfway through, we hit a nice patch of wind between the two islands and decided to break in the virgin sailors after a quick crash course in wind theory and knot dynamics. Each new crew member had a chance to learn the ropes, helm us across the rolling waves and gain a newfound respect for the sea. Lakka Bay was home to the first taste of the Med for these fresh, windswept faces and a welcome break from the trials of the day. Unfortunately, the churning waters of the unprotected bay proved too much for even the most seasoned of stomachs and we resorted to a late night snack and swift bedtime after some quite successful stargazing.

Baklava - no not the Swiss Breakfast

Mongonisi

Today wind was low so we motored the short distance south to Mongonisi, a beautiful bay on Paxos island. Feeling like experts from our sailing the day before, we sniggered at an hour-long parallel parking job from a neighbouring boat which eventually failed. We snorkelled and ate a delicious chilli on board. The heat of the mid-day sun and (for those with sensitive palates) the chilli inspired us to build a sun-protective fort out front out of bed sheets and bulldog clips. An afternoon of battles from the fort (board games) tired some of the party into a siesta. On shore we revisited our climbing instincts and scrambled to the top of a cliff, scouting out beautiful views over neighbouring islands and the deep blue sea. We calmed down with lemon sorbet mojitos and a nighttime swim back to the boat for a bbq. On-deck sleepers experienced lullabies from an onshore wedding, but were unable to contain their dance moves when the DJ span the macarena. 

Going ashore in Lakka - Paxos

Poster couple for the local water company 

Knots

Siesta with hat

The Godfather (book)

After a rather abrupt awakening from the engine coughing into life at 7am, our Friday consisted of a long trundle back towards Corfu. The sail made redundant by the complete lack of wind we were, unfortunately, denied the tranquility of motorless travel. This was quickly drowned out by the bose portable speaker (other brands are available) which invoked much jollity and dancing from Louis and face palming from Helena. After an hour or two of uneventful reading, board games and sun bathing, an excited cry of "Dolphins!" pricked the dozy ears of the crew.

Dolphin Sighting

More Dolphins

We all rushed to the front of the boat in time to watch a school of 10 or so dolphins breaking through the surface with their fins and tails. It was a magical sight and we got so close the binoculars were not required. Skipper-ing forward (you're welcome), we arrived at the port, Paleokastri, after emptying the boat of olives and crisps. After a much needed toilet trip and a short swim in very busy, boat infested waters we were instructed that one of us would have to scale the mast to change a light bulb (jokes on the back of a postcard, please).

Fabian drew the short straw and was hoisted up 63ft above the marina with a GoPro camera strapped to his head and a screwdriver in his pocket (at least that's what he claimed it was!). The view was incredible, just as the sun was setting over the mountains. It certainly gave us butterflies.	Mooring light
Is this really 63 Feet high?	GoPro view of the world
Saturday. After a cracking night's sleep in a sedate, yet crowded bay, we sauntered over to the village to use the glamorous facilities and then headed towards the vehicle hire shop with a hopeful spring in our step. Immediately we were confronted by a passive-aggressive, yet admirably passionately business-minded owner who interrogated us, as if it were the 'Greek' Inquisition, about our level of ability on riding scooters. After explaining, in vain, that although we were all very comprehensive and experienced scooters riders in the UK, we conceded that the riding style was a total juxtaposition to the Greek method, and gave up. The shop owner, with Medusa-like persistence and allure, attempted to persuade us to hire cars or a mini van to look around the island, but we were not deceived by this evil temptress, and avoided her scaly talons. We then hiked in pools of our own perspiration to the monastery that stood on top of the hill, which we found to be closed, and so instead admired the stunning views of the harbour and the sea, which glistened in the sweltering sun. After a refreshing ice tea and general discussion about the hardships of life we descended. The evening took a relaxed turn, with Peter making a monumental vegetable arrabiatta pasta, and the bay being lit up by the fireworks from the beach party close by. We fell asleep under the stars which glistened on the water.	Dramatic coastline of western Corfu Paleokastri

Paleokastri Beach	Diesel on the go.

Muted tones at breakfast

Sunday began with a 7 hour sail to the other side of the island. It was a rather windy morning with signs of a nasty storm brewing, hearing faint thunder in the distance. We anchored in the bay, to find ourselves diving into beautifully warm water. Having tried to ration our photos on our disposable cameras throughout the trip, we found ourselves with about 25 photos left with sadly only two full days to go. This could only mean one thing: today was the day for the family photo shoot. Highlights of the album include lining up in height order (not everyone was a fan of this), dives off the boat and the 'Octopus' with our heads together in the water. This was obviously total chaos to organise, but much fun was had by all. 

To conclude our photoshoot, we wanted to capture the elegance of 'creepy dave' in the dinghy. Whilst stood in said dinghy, the rope was slyly untied and thrown to him in an act of betrayal. Dave drifted out towards Albania oarless and motorless. Luckily, at sea a kind Italian family took pity on 'Creepy Dave' and towed him back to his loving friends.

"Creepy Dave" setting off accidentally

The aforementioned storm finally caught up with us while at dinner later that evening. There were incredible forks of lightning and heavy winds, pushing customers further and further into the restaurant looking for shelter. It was a long wait for the storm to pass, lucky our meals took 2 hours to get to us! We finally made it back to our soggy but homely boat, where Peter and Catherine heroically stayed up all night to make sure there were no serious crashes of boats in the wind.

Synchronised jumping

Conducted Flossing

Nighty Night don't let the bed bugs bite

So a week full of fun and great camaraderie has rushed by and it is left to Peter and Catherine to finish the blog.  Our slight trepidation in having a full crew on board vanished into thin air as we got to know and spend time with 6 great people, who despite being musicians are very entertaining and even have a sense of humour. For any of our Yachtie friends out there, we can highly recommend any of this lot as a comp crew team - although best enjoyed as a six-pack.