One of the nice things about Hydra is that, being so small, there is no room for the ocean going Gin Palaces that sweep across the Mediteranean from Monaco to Marmaris, burning enough fuel to drive an SUV to the moon and back.
Sailing, when you can do it, is exciting,
The boat leans to the point that you feel you might slide off if you don't cling on. The sails flap furiously if you are doing it wrong. The hull rides over the swell of passing ships like speeding over a hump back bridge. If you are lucky, dolphins play in your bow wave while you hang over the rails delighting in the oneness of it all.
We saw jumping tuna and flying fish on the way and marvelled at the might of giant freighters ploughing past at speeds that would earn tickets on land.
Terry Wogan had it right when telling the story of his first family holiday to the Greek islands.
Looking out of his villa one morning, he saw a super yacht had pulled into the harbour over night. As always happens, it caused a stir and necks began to crane for a glimpse, not of the undoubtedly fat old man who owned it, but the statutesque blonde who would be sunbathing on its foredeck at some stage during the stay.
The next morning, Terry looked out to see an even bigger super yacht parking provocatively along side yesterday's king of the harbour. Within an hour the former was gone and the newcomer had assumed the throne.
You might think that the moral of the story is about not hitching your value systems to the acquisition of material possessions because there will always be a bigger boat. But you'd be wrong. Its that when you buy something expensive for the wrong reasons, nobody is looking at you, or even your shiny new purchase.
They're looking at your girlfriend.
Returning to lovely Poros, the same was not true.
Some seriously big boats had taken up residence in the deeper water mid-channel. Five decks, 200m at the water line and weighing in a $1 million per metre, you could lose a small family of sperm whales in their on deck swimming pool.
But although it sounds trite, I really wonder whether it makes them happy. Crew we have talked to previously to said the owners were as miserable as sin. Wives sat on palatial rear decks completing Sudoku. Husbands had nothing to do but get irritable as the boat was so large, you needed four post graduate degrees just to start the engine.
In essence, they are ferries. Nice ones, but ferries all the same.
I think we had a much nicer time, stealing internet time from unwary wi-fi networks, struggling with the continetal toilets and eating at the family run, hole in the wall restaurant further up the quayside. Mamma served Cleftikado and Stifados that had been in the oven all day and literally melted in your mouth. Pappa brought round after round of complimentary coffees, liquers and delicious strawberry cream tarts. Cats wrapped themselves around our legs for tit bits and the family dog slept off the heat of the day at our feet.
Ferries can be quick, luxurious and reliable.
Sailing can be hot, wet and sticky.
But, then again, aren't all the best things?
Sailing, when you can do it, is exciting,
The boat leans to the point that you feel you might slide off if you don't cling on. The sails flap furiously if you are doing it wrong. The hull rides over the swell of passing ships like speeding over a hump back bridge. If you are lucky, dolphins play in your bow wave while you hang over the rails delighting in the oneness of it all.
We saw jumping tuna and flying fish on the way and marvelled at the might of giant freighters ploughing past at speeds that would earn tickets on land.
Terry Wogan had it right when telling the story of his first family holiday to the Greek islands.
Looking out of his villa one morning, he saw a super yacht had pulled into the harbour over night. As always happens, it caused a stir and necks began to crane for a glimpse, not of the undoubtedly fat old man who owned it, but the statutesque blonde who would be sunbathing on its foredeck at some stage during the stay.
The next morning, Terry looked out to see an even bigger super yacht parking provocatively along side yesterday's king of the harbour. Within an hour the former was gone and the newcomer had assumed the throne.
You might think that the moral of the story is about not hitching your value systems to the acquisition of material possessions because there will always be a bigger boat. But you'd be wrong. Its that when you buy something expensive for the wrong reasons, nobody is looking at you, or even your shiny new purchase.
They're looking at your girlfriend.
Returning to lovely Poros, the same was not true.
Some seriously big boats had taken up residence in the deeper water mid-channel. Five decks, 200m at the water line and weighing in a $1 million per metre, you could lose a small family of sperm whales in their on deck swimming pool.
But although it sounds trite, I really wonder whether it makes them happy. Crew we have talked to previously to said the owners were as miserable as sin. Wives sat on palatial rear decks completing Sudoku. Husbands had nothing to do but get irritable as the boat was so large, you needed four post graduate degrees just to start the engine.
In essence, they are ferries. Nice ones, but ferries all the same.
I think we had a much nicer time, stealing internet time from unwary wi-fi networks, struggling with the continetal toilets and eating at the family run, hole in the wall restaurant further up the quayside. Mamma served Cleftikado and Stifados that had been in the oven all day and literally melted in your mouth. Pappa brought round after round of complimentary coffees, liquers and delicious strawberry cream tarts. Cats wrapped themselves around our legs for tit bits and the family dog slept off the heat of the day at our feet.
Ferries can be quick, luxurious and reliable.
Sailing can be hot, wet and sticky.
But, then again, aren't all the best things?
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