The Southern Ionian Islands

Greece was not quite what I had imagined.  Glossy tourist brochures had seduced me into thinking that clusters of white-washed houses with cerulean rooftops would be typical of the island villages, and although this is the case on some of the islands in the Aegean (Santorini, at right) the architecture is quite different elsewhere. 

Although I like to think I don’t have preconceived  notions about the places I travel to for the first time, this is mostly due to not having done any homework.  Unlike the serious travelers who do their research in advance (and probably get a lot more out of their experience), I am happy to make my discoveries as I go.    

But although I had to slightly readjust my vision of Greece, or at least this southern Ionian part of the country. there was much to be appreciated.     

 

  Leaving the port of Lefkas, we passed through a channel that had originally been dug under the reign and direction of Cleopatra.  The story goes that a major skirmish was fought over Lefkas and that when Cleopatra’s troops went down in defeat, their commander abandoned them to run off with his lover, the Queen herself.  The worse we had to cope with was wondering whether we would beat this big motor yacht through the narrow channel opening (marked by red and green buoys).

 

 

First night on board the Maya was spent anchored in a quiet bay, sleeping on a narrow, sloping platform to the left of the hatch absolutely not designed for the purpose.  Impossible to roll over without involving MFB.  By early morning the sheets were clammy with humidity  but waking up to the exquisite sound of Greek Orthodox plainsong drifting across the water was worth all the discomfort.   

 

 

 

Depending on which side of an island you’re looking at , the landscape is either dry and rocky, or green, but always mountainous.  The last major earthquake to strike the area, in 1953, caused extensive damage, completely levelling many villages. 

 

 

The Dutch are well represented here – most of the sailboats we encountered were flying the colours of Holland, including us.  Jos, our friend and skipper, is a big Dutch guy with a bigger personality, with a talent for getting himself into – and out of – sticky  situations that would fell most ordinary mortals.     

See that little dinghy near the bow of the boat?  Well, the outboard motor quit with 4 of us sitting in it the night before and just my luck to be sitting too close to Jos’ right elbow as he yanked the starter cord.  I have always promised myself that I would get myself a straighter, smaller nose if ever it needed to be repaired, and thought for a few star-crossed moments that my opportunity had arrived. 

Next morning we sailed to the port of Sami and Jos, never one to wait around for anyone else, decided he’ll haul the motor onto the quay to do a little fixing.  What he neglected to consider is that when you’re in a moveable object and you lean one way, your  moveable object goes the other way.  By the time anyone realized what was happening, Jos was in 25 feet of water and going down, stubbornly clinging to his motor.  MFB mounted a rescue, nearly landing in the drink himself, but Jos and motor were both saved, dried out, and made functional again.  Mythos beer is the celebration drink of choice. 

    

Sailors get snarky about their parking spots.  We had been told off at an earlier port for having inserted the Maya into a space considered much too tight by the boaters on either side, who launched an energetic volley of Italian at us amid much throwing about of arms.  Our skipper tried to placate them but they were having none of it, and a few minutes later, a man on a scooter pulled up on the quay.  He was clearly an official of some sort, with a serious-looking badge on his nicely-pressed blue shirt, so naturally we invited him on board.  Under the glare of the neighbouring Italians, we adopted our most ingratiating behaviour until a closer examination of the badge revealed that it said not ‘Greek Port Authority’ but ‘Family Restaurant Tomorrow’.   Not a word was said about our moorage, and our expansive relief resulted in a reservation for four at 8. 

Next day it was our turn to be shamelessly hypocritical, raising objections as the  sailboat (above left) manoeuvred between us and the sleek yacht in the background.  To no avail. 

  

There were, nevertheless, advantages to having Italians as neighbours: the language is a delight to hear, and the men….well, there’s a lot to be said for their sense of style.  Sometimes a girl just has to sit back and enjoy the view.   Greek men, I’m sorry to say, are not as pleasing to look at. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way to Nydri, a piece of hardware at the top of the mast gave way, and once we were in port, a repair operation was mounted.  MFB, volunteering his lesser size and greater knowledge, was hoisted up the mast, secured by two ropes and three nervous crew.    After it was all over, he admitted that his only previous experience – as a thirteen-year-old – had resulted in his being dropped on his head during the descent. 

  

 

 

 

 

 

The food was always good.  I love tzatsiski, saganaki (fried cheese), stuffed vine leaves, and feta.  Eating out is cheap and portions are very generous.  The four of us shared appetizers and two main courses, and with wine and coffee, our total bill was usually under 50 Euros.  All the ports we visited had restaurants lining the waterfront, and while the views weren’t always as good as the one below, the ambiance was always lively.  

 

 

 

Although there has been much in the news recently about the sagging Greek economy, it’s evident that Greece has always been a poor relative to the more prosperous EU members like France.  Abandoned construction projects are a common sight, as is the neglect of lamppost alignment.  The government has  sent forth an army of tax inspectors to ensure that shopkeepers and restaurateurs issue receipts to their clientele.  The income tax coffers are now filling up nicely, thanks to a 1700 Euro fine that discourages businesses from operating ‘under the table’.

     

 

 

Daughter Anne arrived midway through the week, fresh from the other side of Greece (the part with the white villages and blue roofs) and quickly dubbed the Maya the ‘ESL Boat’.  With English native to only two of the five crew, there was a lot of ‘what did you say?’s” 

 

 

Miscommunication is never a good thing, and especially in winds like this one (below).  The sails of the Maya were so taut that we couldn’t reef them in to reduce our tilt.  Two of us loved it, two were slightly apprehensive, and one went below deck to stick her head under a pillow. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This beauty easily won the prize for Most Elegant Boat. 

 

 

 

A few random Greek scenes.  An early-morning fisherman.  An old lady filling up a wine barrel with sea water.  I managed to understand that she wanted to use it for drinking water, but I couldn’t figure out what she was going to use for a desalination system.  MFB explained later that she was simply using sea-water to expand the dried-out wood, thereby tightening the metal rings around the cask, at which point it would be refilled with fresh water.  Ah.  I wish my brain worked like his.   

 

 

 

 

 

On the last day together we climbed a big hill to a resort hotel and spent the afternoon recuperating in front of this view.  There are worse ways to kill time. 

 

 

A last tranquil evening in the port of Spartochori.  But wait, how did we miss the news about the end-of-summer party on Zulu Beach?             

I can’t remember why sound carries better over water than land, but I can confirm that it does.  At 3AM, I lowered the gangplank and took myself over to Zulu Beach to ask the party-goers to turn down the volume.  Let me put it this way: that music could have kicked waterboarding out of its spot as the CIA torture of choice.  I’m open to a lot of different kinds of stuff – Turkish pop, marching bands, Russian male choirs,  bagpipes, Gavin Bryars and the occasional heavy metal – but never have I heard anything that so strongly suggested the pain of having nails drilled into one’s head.  The supremely unco-operative Greek fella in charge of the sound system grudgingly promised to tone it down, but it took him an hour to find the right button.  

Early next morning we walked up to the village to have breakfast in a Greek pizza joint specializing in omelettes.  With an distant island that might  have been Ithaca in the background, we watched an early-bird sailor head out to sea.  This part of the world isn’t known for its strong winds, and it’s more common to see sailboats under power than sail.   

 

 

A little bit later, it was our turn to lift anchor and head back to Lefkas and the dry-land part of our Greek holiday.  Even though I wasn’t looking where I was going, we got there in one piece.

 

More later!