Wednesday 24 May 2017

Distances and Destinations. Trials and Tribulations







“ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin;
his control stops with the shore.”
Lord Byron




Three weeks of bare feet.

Slightly more (Greek) stylish.

---֍---

When we decided to take half a late gap year, six months at sea was an early suggestion, which was hard to match. It didn't take long to start looking for boats and lunch breaks spent on Google maps to work-out distances and destinations for the Med.

A typical bought of 'backpack and bracelets' traveling was of course an option. But the hours in airports, bus stations and searching for a hostel were, we felt, behind us. We wanted a different type of adventure. Sure enough - the ruthless and frustrating hours typically spent in the process of getting from 'backpacker destination' to 'cultural poi' and never ending awareness to avoid being 'mugged off' - were replaced with the responsibility of keeping the boat afloat, in one piece and in working condition - engine, plumbing, electrics and all.

---֍---

The sea makes it difficult to keep things running and the Greek gods have a sense of humour - that I can promise you.

---֍---

After six years of living in London, three weeks of sailing has restored our faith in humanity. 'Sailors' are the most selfless strain of the human race I have been a part of. Perhaps it is a mutual respect/fear of the sea that drives sailors to go above and beyond for their fellow sea dweller. Maybe the immense freedom of having an anchor relieves the mind and inhibits our innate selfishness. Perhaps there is a genetic correlation between the characteristics that attract a person to the unregulated freedom and untameable danger of the sea and a genuine generosity. I have no idea, but let’s start at the end.

---֍---

As I write we have just made it through the Corinth Canal, an impressive 50 meter high man-made routing through the 5 mile stretch of limestone rock that used to connect the Greek mainland to the Greek Peloponese. We’re at least a week later than expected. Yesterday we were hunkered down in Corinth Yacht harbour on the west side of the canal after a long night of wind and swell. A burst fender was the casualty, the boat, with a dent to the side, was the injured soldier. But we survived. The night was a fitting cap for the previous ten days. I would say now though that it was worth it, not just for this morning’s sailing in the Aegean with a Force 4 on the beam, beer in hand. It was worth it for the people we met, who advised, taught and helped us.



---֍---

We left Zakynthos island after a few days of strong winds during which we sorted the boat and ‘provisioned up’. The harbour is friendly and quiet, but not the best protection. Of course it’s free.

Our first heading was for the ferry port of Kyllini on the mainland, about four hours sail, anchoring in a not-so-peaceful bay outside the harbour. The next day we left first thing, noticing that the engine-driven fridge compressor was no longer spinning. We adjusted the belts and eventually added a new one but to no avail. The engine itself seemed ok so we carried on North to Missolonghi – where Lord Byron spent the final years of his life giving the last of his money to the much obliging Greek purse. The small fishing town has a historic and something of an Asian feel to it, with salt marshes creating a rare buffer between the sea and steep Greek mountains. We had read of a marina North of the town quay and hoped to try our luck for a mechanic to give us some advice - our hope was soon dampened by the half-built sorry state of affairs we found there. So the next day we decided to give the town a miss and divert three hours South to Patras, the third largest city in Greece. Within two hours of berthing in the mid-priced marina on a Sunday afternoon we had seen a mechanic and fridge specialist. Two days later after parts and revisits we were good to go. Too good to be true for sure, so the Greek gods gave us a blocked holding tank to fix – probably the least fun job of the trip, in rough sea three miles off land. But we managed to unblock it within the hour. Radio the Rio-Antirrio bridgehere we come!


The fourth stop after leaving Zakynthos was the only inhabited island in the Gulf of Corinth: Trizonia. This place was certainly a destination, not a stop-off as we had previously imagined. The three kilometre square island had a small, sheltered but unmanaged (therefore free) marina and a town which consisted of a hotel, three tavernas and a church. Plus a rocky dirt track to watch Emily struggle around on our fold up city-bikes. But the tick-box nature of the place, despite its adequacy for 'travel blog weekly' paled to invisibility by the people we met there. On arrival we were immediately on the lookout for the local mechanic mentioned in the pilot book for advice on our ‘clicking’ engine. But we laid it to rest for the evening in favour of free wifi and dinner at the local taverna. I challenged a Scottish husband and wife team (Stuart & Anne) to a race after they turned up on their fold-up bikes. Their acquaintance with the waiter suggested familiarisation and sure enough they wintered their Bavaria 44 near to where we had berthed. So the next day we cycled round to ask if they knew where we could find the ‘man with the tools’. Invited aboard we were duly informed that no mechanic had lived on the island for years, the marina was self run by the group that kept boats there and any works were muddled through between them. Half an hour later Stuart set to work on Hodja with his multi-meter, teaching us about our own engine and how the electrics work – he diagnosed a broken alternator - so no hot water, or electricity. He helped us cable our solar panels and introduced us to our local German hero.

Lots of old boats abandoned in Trizonia.
The better part of the dirt track.
No hot water equals showering in the chilly sea!
Solar panels.
---֍---

Reinhard renovated boats in Trizonia 'marina' and new three of everyone on the nearby mainland. He was seventy, and from what I could tell worked seven days a week. He spoke seven languages and had lived in as many countries. He spoke philosophically about these places and the need to travel and learn of other cultures in order to know about your own biases and limitations. Why you think the way you do. He spoke of watching the Rolling Stones in Hyde Park, Pink Floyd, drugs, mods & rockers and the last true freedom of the seven seas. He was genuinely inspiring and his thoughts were eye opening. The Asians talk of lucky number seven right?

---֍---

Reinhard picked up our starter motor and his wife ferried it to and from the mainland to be mended, brought back and fitted. They also picked up some engine belts later in the week, he helped us mend our gear stick, lent us tools and gave us invaluable advice for the months ahead, with the caveat that we pass on the unassuming and selfless help that he showed us. In all it took a week, frustrating at times but a pretty good place to be stranded. It made us slow down and we soon caught up other boats we had passed earlier in the passage.

The next port of call was Galaxidi for a quick stop-off and re-provision before a long day’s passage in tough weather down to Corinth where we grounded the boat, picked-up a few extra engine spares, sheltered from the bad weather for a day and finally made it through the Corinth Canal.


Not always plain sailing in the Med!
Waiting in Corinth harbour for some decent weather.
---֍---

Hey, Agean sea.







Thursday 11 May 2017

Rights of passage

Apologies for the extended intervals between blog postings. Despite very slow speeds of the yacht (circa. 5 knots under motor - circa. 7 pushing 8 knots under a good wind) and long distances between destinations, there still seems too little time to get everything done. I should have kept a paper list of all the jobs I've been doing - then I could show off how hard I've been working versus everyone back home :-0

---֍---

What's the correct term for a chandlery fetish? I could spend all day in a Chandlery and I think I'd just fall deeper in love. We've been to one in almost every port so far. Went to one in Zakynthos that had 25 different sizes of anchor. You can't make a lot from running one though. The money is in marinas.

---֍---

The trip south from Corfu, where we picked up our yacht Hodja, to Zakynthos island, where all our possessions where waiting for us, became something of a 'passage'. An A to B trip rather than a sightseeing tour. We were running on the bare bones with a limited tool kit acquired last minute in Corfu and some meagre provisions.

We also picked up a 'skipper' for the first few days. We hadn't sailed in the Mediterranean before and they do things a little differently to The Solent. Most mooring (parking the boat) is done stern-to (back to the pontoon instead of side on) and a general lack of compliance to standard boating regulation such as rights of way which are drilled into you in training is considered the norm - which works fine once you adopt the same philosophy. So The Skip helped us adjust while we got to know the boat.

The primary detractor on time was the regularly required trips to the chandlers for little things you don't notice are missing until you need them. A couple of shackles here, a snub there, some extra gear for the grab bag etc. I was more than happy to oblige and so far have notched at least six Greek chandlers onto my belt. If you find a really good one it's like going to screwfix but you're allowed over the counter. Often you turn up and it's closed (Greek shops tend to be closed when you need them open) - but if you rattle the front door, peer round the corner, bang a window - someone normally turns up:
"Are you open?"
"No, but we can open"
"Thanks, do you have [list off what you need whilst walking round the shop inspecting random items]"

---֍---

So here's the first leg in cartographic form, short descriptions and subsequent pictures (this is a travel blog after all).




Gouvia Marina, Corfu island.
Very good but expensive marina. To be good, a marina should be sheltered and have plenty of facilities. Tick. You don't tend to get the facilities without the cost. There are currently a couple of big PE backed firms consolidating Greek marinas. They know what they're doing. They know what they can charge for it.

Mourtos Sivota, Mainland.
First stop was the epitome of a little Greek port (which are almost always free). It was April, so at about 20% capacity we had plenty of room to practice our stern-to mornings. It was a hot afternoon and we soon settled with our skill level and had a few local beers accompanied by unlimited crisps and a free ouzo in one of the harbour-side tavernas. Ideal.


On the way to Ligia we stopped off in two rock bay for lunch. I went for a swim which was chilly but worth it after a couple of minutes. I surveyed the bottom of the boat and combed the beach for anything useful. No luck.

We learnt to sail-off-anchor in the rocky bay (learn on a black run and a red is easy). It's a useful skill to have if the worst happens.


Ligia, Mainland
Port was at 0% visitor capacity when we arrived. Great time for some stern-to-rock mooring and side-to practice followed by beers in the hillside taverna. Tick.


The next day we ducked into Preveza to drop off Theo our skipper. Shit was about to get real. We pulled away into the harbour channel and suddenly realised we had absolutely no idea what we were doing. Wah.

Made our way to Lefkas canal which opens every hour on the hour. After treading water for 15 minutes in a small channel the Greek bridge operator decided to give us a lonely introduction to the world of Greek sailing. He only opening the end of the bridge. We squeezed through, knocking our first test of nerves for six. The rest of the canal was easy peasy - make way for Meganisi.


(Little) Vathi - Meganisi island.
We thought Mortos was good. This place is everything you could want from a Greek port. Local tavernas, chiming church bells and a small chandlery to boot.

We ate out for the first time and it was worth the wait. The local wine at €8 per kilo was good stuff too. The restaurant wifi afforded me the first chance to look at some news from home (financials obviously). It was a weird feeling. I'd missed it. Just habit or borderline Stockholm Syndrome?



The next day saw us meet our first bought of serious wind and a proper sea. We were reefed right down (reduced the size of our sails to near minimum) and still struggled to hold the old girl. We were also crossing a shipping channel during which a ferry almost took the paint off the back of our boat (did i mention a lack of regard for rights of way?). Needless to say it was a valuable intro to the world of the sailor and I'm glad to have had it without any serious issues - Hodja did us proud.


Sami, Kefalonia island.
We rode the waves into the little chilled-out town of Sami. The wind shook the boat until dusk but finally calmed. We took the opportunity to re-lay our anchor and add a little more chain before a late evening wander around town. Wine induced chatter and puffs of smoke perforated the air around the second floor balconies of the bars surrounding the town quay. The sea's last few efforts lapped against the lazy boats tied off on the waterfront, enjoyed by their sailors' after a hard day at sea. A great Sunday evening vibe reminding us of why we chose this little corner of the world for our six month foray.


Zakynthos!
The final leg saw us hug the east coast of Kefalonia to its southern tip before making a b-line for the port of Ay Nikolas, Zakynthos island. The two hour crossing saw the winds climb from a Force 2 up to at least a F6. We were in familiar waters so avoided reefing the main sail to test the boat's limits. Big mistake - the wind continued to grow to easily above what we've experienced so far and since. But Hodja held her own and for that I am eternally grateful.

The moment you've been waiting for - the obligatory photo of Zakynthos chandlery in all its glory!

NB. Touching stuff

Thursday 4 May 2017

Note to self

Note to self: Greece is chilly in April.

---֍---

I got some good use out of the only long sleeved T-shirt I brought for our first week’s voyage south through the Greek islands of the Northern Ionian. We were prepared, but as we packed the majority of our possessions in a van headed for Emily’s family house on Zakynthos island, we kept the provisions for the first five day leg from Corfu to a minimum.

We did have our sailing jackets though - some form of Musto clothing is mandatory on a sailing yacht - which came in handy for the cloud covered third day of the voyage and few spots of rain. RAIN!

It’s been seven days. Let’s start at the beginning.

---֍---

This is a picture of Emily on a Monday morning.



This is a picture of Emily on a Monday morning waiting in Jamie’s Italian of Gatwick Airport before flying to Corfu.

NB. Notice the Musto coat in the background
The 5.50am flight was easy. We were on our way to meet our 37ft Jeanneau Sun Oddyssey sailing yacht - aka ‘Hodja’ - berthed in Gouvia Marina, Corfu. The last time we visited was an overnight connecting flight via Athens during a cold January weekend. We had more or less made up our mind to buy her before we flew out, after seeing 18 different yachts in the UK and knowing almost exactly what we wanted. She ticked almost all the boxes and was really well looked after. We arrived, looked, offered, negotiated a little and agreed. Deposit, survey, legals and six weeks later - she was ours.

---֍---

Marinas are expensive. Don’t buy a boat that has to sit in one.

---֍---

We arrived in Corfu just before lunch and sat in one of the Marina cafes while we waited for the yacht broker to turn-up with the keys and paperwork. He seemed to be a talkative fellow, which felt to be eating into the short amount of time we had to setup the boat. We were right on both accounts but didn’t mind much. We learnt a lot from him and as we have six months ahead it seemed odd to be so desperate to be on the water. Finally we escaped his clutched jaws and made way for the yacht, keys in hand.



---֍---

The domestic setup of a yacht is a lot more complicated than a house. Houses have rules and regulations with standard arrangements and conventions. Boats on the other hand are built by different builders that use varying methods and setups. Standardisation is thin. They are also taken on by independent owners who employ independent maintenance companies. Each has their preferred method and as result, simple tasks like running a tap become idiosyncratic.

Boring bit:
For example on Hodja, the taps use a water pressure pump powered by either 12V battery or 240V mains shore-power. It has a pressure release valve via the hot water cylinder which is powered by either 12V, 240V or a hot water flow from the engine. All is managed centrally but with a local switch/stop. So depending on where you are and what you’re using and in combination with which other amenity each is set differently. 

Boring bit over:
You get the point. We didn’t. Which is why we flooded the yacht’s bilges. Won’t happen again.

---֍---

So it took a little longer to get running than anticipated. We also had a few issues outside our control. But by Tuesday and after a few visits to the supermarket, chandlery, boat builders, harbour master and port police we were ready to rig the old girl up – queue Wednesday morning.




Rigging went smoothly and by the afternoon we were circling the local waters: testing points of sail, reefing lines and other sailing guff. We anchored in a local bay to make sure the windless (electric anchor winch), tender (small inflatable boat) and outboard (engine for the small inflatable boat) all worked. Along the way a pod of dolphins rocked up to say hi, which we took as a positive omen for our first sail - although that is yet to be seen.



It all went surprisingly well which we found counter intuitively unnerving - but swiftly moved on to a few evening beers and conversation with neighbouring boats before the big day on Thursday – cast off for the five day trip south to Zakynthos island.


---֍---

There is something about ‘sailors’. By ‘sailor’ I refer here and in all descriptions hereafter, purely to recreational sailors who go about their varying and diverse lives with almost no mutually identifying characteristics but have a single common attribute: they sail, recreationally. From young sailing instructor who ‘just wants to be out on the water’, slumming-it in any old aft cabin to fulfil said wish to FTSE 100 CEO cruising the Solent in a 60ft custom ketch. They open-up, they’re all friendly and just bloody love sailing boats. You don’t have to make an effort because there’s a solid common ground and basis to build a relationship from. You also rarely agree – because everyone has their own way of doing things. But show me a pontoon, dock, jetty or harbour wall where the crew of the moored boat next door don’t get out and offer to take your mooring lines before quizzing you on the belt setup of you Yanmar 29 Diesel and I’ll show you a blind man. And a liar.

There’s also something about being a sailor that affords you the luxury of going unnoticed doing the things that anywhere else would have you sectioned. From pull-ups on the boom in nought but swim shorts berthed outside a restaurant to poking a bent coat hanger taped to a five metre metal rod down the length of the boom to fish out a lost reefing pennant at 7.30am. The postman walks by with a puzzled shrug of his shoulders and you just know – he’s no sailor.

NB. Long sleeved T-shirt
---֍---

First and last selfie - Emily was in bed.


Details of first passage to follow in due course...