Late departure from Athens limited our range in daylight and we made for the island of Angistiri.
Pulling stern to on the town quay, the light was fading and the purple dusk, so characteristic of the Greek islands in summer, was descending to the horizon as the first stars began to appear.
Yachts 451 and 437 moored alongside each other and disgorged 13 hungry crew into the arms of the mamma at the quayside taverna. Eight Mousaka and five Stifados later we watched Barcelona beat Manchester United 1-0 on Greece's largest TV screen before rolling home for bed time Mythos, The Breakfast of Champions.
Morning was bright and hot by 8am and after breakfast in the cockpit we set sail for Vathi, on the Greek mainland. With light winds we managed 3 knots before the speed log started giving eratic readings. Jenny added it to the list which already contained blocked pumps, non flushing heads and jamming sails. A short while later, the eratic readings ceased, to be replaced by no readings at all.
As we pulled into the harbour at Epidavros for lunch, midway to our destination, the depth gauge began to look a little suspect too. The sea in Greece is usually so clear that the white sand shines brightly from the seabed in less than 5m. As the clearance of the keel was over 2m, there was not much room for error, particularly with the added slop of the swell. With Simon taking soundings from the bow, we eased into the bay before persuading the anchor to drop with a heafty clout from the winch handle.
After lunch we took the tender to shore for ice-cream and cigarettes and a fruitless search for a diving mask. Epidavros is home to Greece's oldest and best preserved ampitheatre with seating for 2,000, constructed in around 50AD. The acoustics remain so clear that you really can hear a coin drop from the back, thirty rows deep and 75 feet up. The Temple to Athena, an ampitheatre in minature, also remains, now nestled amongst orange groves that cover the headland.
Motoring across the channel to Vathi, we sparred with a Sun Sail flotilla for the few remaining slots against the quay, and after a brief contretemps at the harbour mouth, rudely barged a hesitant yacht out of the way. Life has a splendid way of getting even and no sooner had that yacht found a spot, than by spectacular coincidence, off popped Adrian's former colleague, to red faces all round.
Things picked up when George Michael reversed his glamourous power boat into the slot next to us, complete with ridiculous fold up sunglasses only marginally smaller than the double glazing on a respectable semi. Then his scantily clad girlfriend shimmied off the bathing deck in tottering heels and the celebrity aura evaporated as we realised he was just an ordinary idiot.
Matters took a turn for the worse as we crossed anchor cables with him, threatening a knot of epic proportions in the morning as we both tried to leave. The harbour diver makes a good living by descending into the murky depths to untangle the mess and some say he surreptitiously knots chains in the darkness of the night for his own profit and amusement.
Beers delivered by a nymph on rollerblades warmed us up for Simon's veggie slop for dinner washed down with Greece's finest boxed wine.
Air guitaring into the early hours, we rocked Vathi like it has never been rocked before.
With a nice cup of Horlicks and a few hands of whist.
Pulling stern to on the town quay, the light was fading and the purple dusk, so characteristic of the Greek islands in summer, was descending to the horizon as the first stars began to appear.
Yachts 451 and 437 moored alongside each other and disgorged 13 hungry crew into the arms of the mamma at the quayside taverna. Eight Mousaka and five Stifados later we watched Barcelona beat Manchester United 1-0 on Greece's largest TV screen before rolling home for bed time Mythos, The Breakfast of Champions.
Morning was bright and hot by 8am and after breakfast in the cockpit we set sail for Vathi, on the Greek mainland. With light winds we managed 3 knots before the speed log started giving eratic readings. Jenny added it to the list which already contained blocked pumps, non flushing heads and jamming sails. A short while later, the eratic readings ceased, to be replaced by no readings at all.
As we pulled into the harbour at Epidavros for lunch, midway to our destination, the depth gauge began to look a little suspect too. The sea in Greece is usually so clear that the white sand shines brightly from the seabed in less than 5m. As the clearance of the keel was over 2m, there was not much room for error, particularly with the added slop of the swell. With Simon taking soundings from the bow, we eased into the bay before persuading the anchor to drop with a heafty clout from the winch handle.
After lunch we took the tender to shore for ice-cream and cigarettes and a fruitless search for a diving mask. Epidavros is home to Greece's oldest and best preserved ampitheatre with seating for 2,000, constructed in around 50AD. The acoustics remain so clear that you really can hear a coin drop from the back, thirty rows deep and 75 feet up. The Temple to Athena, an ampitheatre in minature, also remains, now nestled amongst orange groves that cover the headland.
Motoring across the channel to Vathi, we sparred with a Sun Sail flotilla for the few remaining slots against the quay, and after a brief contretemps at the harbour mouth, rudely barged a hesitant yacht out of the way. Life has a splendid way of getting even and no sooner had that yacht found a spot, than by spectacular coincidence, off popped Adrian's former colleague, to red faces all round.
Things picked up when George Michael reversed his glamourous power boat into the slot next to us, complete with ridiculous fold up sunglasses only marginally smaller than the double glazing on a respectable semi. Then his scantily clad girlfriend shimmied off the bathing deck in tottering heels and the celebrity aura evaporated as we realised he was just an ordinary idiot.
Matters took a turn for the worse as we crossed anchor cables with him, threatening a knot of epic proportions in the morning as we both tried to leave. The harbour diver makes a good living by descending into the murky depths to untangle the mess and some say he surreptitiously knots chains in the darkness of the night for his own profit and amusement.
Beers delivered by a nymph on rollerblades warmed us up for Simon's veggie slop for dinner washed down with Greece's finest boxed wine.
Air guitaring into the early hours, we rocked Vathi like it has never been rocked before.
With a nice cup of Horlicks and a few hands of whist.
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