Tag Archives: islands

Who believes in sea monsters?

Posted on by
Reply

Of course I don’t believe in sea monsters, but paddling into a dark cave tends to feed your imagination…

After logging more than 1000 nautical miles, sailing from Greece and along the coast of Italy to Corsica, the end of our voyage is almost in sight. Today we are crossing the Straits of Bonifacio between Corsica and Sardinia, pushed along by a welcome cooling breeze.

The weather has been almost entirely hot and sunny, with the exception of Naples, where we got drenched one morning going ashore. Heavy rain and waves had swept across the little dinghy as it bounced through the rollers and we were a very soggy shopping party as we trailed round the local supermarket.

The day before we’d wandered through some of city’s piazza’s and enjoyed the evening buzz of the Spanish quarter. We ate in one of the narrow streets, jumping clear of scooters which wove their way between tables, where diners sipping drinks were forced to shift their chairs to let them through. The streets were full of colourful flags adding an extra dimension to the washing and lights suspended between balconies.

Naples was a pleasant surprise, but I didn’t need more than a night there. Since then we have hopped from one rocky island to another.

On one tiny island, called Procida, we found ourselves exploring an ancient prison on the cliffs. The village was a bit tumble down and that included the steps up from the beach where rusting reinforcement was clearly visible through the crumbling concrete. As we continued up the cliff road towards the towering castle above, it began to feel a little oppressive. We wondered why there were bars on some of the windows, and what were look out towers and barb wire doing on a castle?

A fading poster explained that the castle had once been a notorious prison with a cruel governor. And the story of one of the most unfortunate prisoners had now been made into a film – it was all about a postman who had been unjustly incarcerated there for years. It was a sorry tale and the little town didn’t seem to have ever fully recovered from the shadow of the prison that dominates the cliffs above.

Next stop were the Pontine islands – in particular Ponza island, where we basked in the clear turquoise waters surrounded by volcanic cliffs. We also came across an optical illusion – a giant stone arch, that had looked just like a massive cave from where we were anchored. The next morning as the boat swung round on its anchor we suddenly realised it was an arch as we watched people paddling through it. We read later that the strange arch was likened to a pair of builders pants!

Continuing our island tour we stopped off in yet another delightful bay lined with rocks and a sandy beach. Here there were a number of caves that looked interesting – so after snorkelling to check out a few, we took the paddle board to a more distant one. It was quite huge and I paddled in slowly, because you never know what might be hiding in a cave!

The cave was in two sections and the right hand part was very deep at the far end where the low roof disappeared into a hollow darkness.

“Paddle in there, it looks interesting,” I was encouraged.

“I don’t want to… it looks scary,” I replied.

“No it doesn’t… just paddle in..”

The debate continued. I didn’t want to go in forwards in case there was something unpleasant in there, like Gollum or a sea monster of some sort, but these didn’t seem very solid arguments.

We ended up going in backwards so that I wasn’t the one going in first. The walls were very close and damp and we had to duck our heads because the roof was so low. Just as it was becoming completely dark we both agreed there was nothing of interest and headed quickly out. If there was a sea monster, it must have been having a siesta, along with the rest of Italy!

Before leaving for the crossing to Corsica, the island of Giglio was our final stop. It was here that lives were lost when the Concordia cruise ship hit a rock and sank off the port. The negligent captain, who had been one of the first to leave his sinking ship, was sentenced to 16 years in prison. We realised that the rocks the ship had struck were at the edge of the bay where we were anchored.

This little Island was one of our favourites. After a scramble up cliff steps to the road, we enjoyed coffee at the port and took a local bus up to the ancient hill town above, where we enjoyed views across the island, while sipping cold beer. Later we swam and paddle boarded in a sandy bay until the sun went down.

Now on the final week of our time in Italy, I’m wondering what delights Sardinia will hold and how I’m ever going to get to sleep without the rocking of the boat!

Runaway yacht

Posted on by
Reply

What would it be like to return to where you’d left your boat and realise it had disappeared? A little bit worse than losing your car in a car park, I think. One lucky set of sailors almost lost their boat the other night off the island of Capri. It turned out to be a busy night for us too…

We’ve been meandering up the Italian coast over the past week, discovering peaceful bays, anchoring beneath towering cliffs and swimming or paddling to explore the beaches, caves and coastal communities.

For two nights we anchored off Salerno, a historic town full of narrow streets with cafes and restaurants spilling out across even the narrowest alleyways. Up above were wrought iron balconies strung with colourful washing and festooned with various lights and elaborate decorations. It felt a very joyous city, pulsing with activity, especially at night.

It was from here we took a bus to the ancient ruins of Pompeii – a place of sombre memorials and silent stories. There’s something eerie about walking on the huge cobble stoned streets, where some 2000 years ago people had shopped, traded, done their washing, cooked up meals, entertained guests, drank wine and dangled their fingers in the many pools and fountains of shaded courtyards. Some of the houses were poor and simple, but others gave us a snapshot of life for the wealthy, with vivid murals and deep red or green walls with the smoothest plaster and mosaic lined floors.

The heat was intense and there was so much to see. I had found a list of top 10 sites online, but switching between a photo of the map on my phone and trying to locate the top 10 ‘must sees’ in a shady spot without the sun’s reflection proved quite a task; meanwhile avoiding falling over the uneven pavings and cobbles of each area. If only we had picked up a paper map!

Pompeii feels vast – it involves a lot of walking; through the forum, the various amphitheatres – big and mini – the villas, and just street after street with similar names and Roman numerals that all began to merge. Unlike England’s meandering villages and historic towns, the remains of this ancient city was set out in regular blocks, which reminded me of New York.

We were nearing the end of our visit and our stamina too, but there was one of the top 10 I still hadn’t spotted. The brothel had been ticked off earlier and most of the others, but not the “house of the fugitives” – well that’s what I was calling it. I really rather wanted to see it and as we weren’t planning on coming back anytime soon, it had to be done.

So, even though it was on the opposite end of the site, as the heat of the afternoon faded we set off and eventually found the place.

It is shocking to see the detailed forms of people from so long ago, some in full flight, others hunched over, another covering their eyes.

This was the human face of the destruction of Pompeii. Never mind ruined buildings, here was an actual family running for their lives, small children among them. It made me think of all the innocents caught up in war and tragedy right now. Each life is precious. It was 2000 years ago and it is now.

Capri was our next island stop and we’d heard mixed reviews about staying there from a sailing perspective. We anchored quite securely, we thought, in front of a little beach and after a trip to the beach and the town, we settled in for the evening.

The wind was strengthening and the swell increasing as we watched the arrival and departure of various boats around us. Suddenly, we noticed a yacht that had been beside us start moving backwards, but there was no one onboard and their anchor was still down. It came within an arms length of us, but we couldn’t reach it or do much as it continued to drift. We called out a warning to the next yacht it was heading towards, which it also narrowly missed. The 40 foot boat was still heading out to sea and we wondered where the owners were. Some minutes later a powerful rib boat launched out from a nearby catamaran and managed to secure the wandering yacht to their boat.

In the midst of this we had begun to drop more chain to make ourselves more secure in the increasing wind and waves. But we, along with other yachts, found we were also sliding backwards. It was getting dark by the time we were anchored again in time to see the runaway yacht reunited with its owners and re-anchored safely a few metres away. There were also ‘thank you goodies’ delivered to the rescue crew, who had saved their bacon! All’s well that ends well!

That was quite enough drama for one evening. The runaway yacht was a salutary reminder of what can happen when you leave your boat at anchor and head for the shore.

The sleeping dragon of Stromboli

Posted on by
Reply

There was a low rumble high above us and moments later plumes of sandy coloured smoke began pumping out from the top of the volcano – we were certainly back in volcano land, although many miles from Mount Etna…

Volcanoes have been dominating our sailing voyage this past week, as we left the smoking shores of Sicily and Mount Etna, to head through the straits of Messina towards the Aeolian Islands, we spotted another sleeping dragon as Stromboli Island emerged on the horizon.

Our minds hadn’t been on volcanoes as we sailed through the straits into the Tyrrhenian Sea. We’d been focused on other dangers like the currents, hidden whirlpools, and more critically swordfish fishing boats! These strange craft were moving about erratically at the entrance to the straits and moving at high speed in pursuit of these enormous fish.

We’d already tasted swordfish bought fresh at the fish market where they chopped up the red flesh from gigantic carcasses proudly on display, dwarfing the trays of clams, prawns and anchovies. The swordfish boats, called Feluccas, are a sight to be seen; with their huge bowsprit extending 50 feet out from the bows, they are steered by a fearless fisherman who sits at the top of the 100 foot mast watching for the swordfish to appear and then taking chase.

It reminded me of ‘Jaws’ as we watched the extraordinary boats turn and swerve and gather speed as the fish swam away. We learned some sad things too. Swordfish mate for life and if the female is caught her mate remains loyal and won’t leave the area, so inevitably ends up being caught. That tale was going to play on my mind if we had swordfish again.

Leaving the Feluccas behind, the Aeolian islands were coming into closer view and soon we spotted the stream of white smoke from the distant island of Stromboli. I wasn’t sure how close we’d feel like going to this very active volcano, which apparently erupts every 20 minutes! There were stories of boats getting covered in ash and sailors struggling with the sulphur smells.

We had a taste of bad smells on the first island we anchored off called Vulcano, where sulphur mud baths beside the port gave off a smell like bad eggs. None of us were tempted to take a dip in the stinky creamy pools, or climb to the rim of the extinct volcano crater in the rising temperatures. Instead we enjoyed swimming in the clear waters below and bought freshly caught fish from a passing fishing boat, who called out “fishy! fishy!” as they wove between the anchored visitors.

Stromboli was our last island stop before the journey towards the Italian coast and we decided to sail on the north of the island to take a closer look at the eruptions. Sure enough every 20 minutes an eruption started. As we drew closer we even spotted red flames spouting up and lava rocks bouncing down the sides and plopping into the sea below. We let the boat drift, not too close, while we watched for another eruption. I hoped there would be no engine trouble if we needed it suddenly. You never really know when it’s going to blow big, as we’d seen a few days earlier on Mt Etna. The rumbles were quite loud and regular, but eventually we sailed on to find an anchorage at a slightly safer distance.

Anchoring took some time, as the beaches shelved very steeply and with black sand it was hard to see the bottom. Eventually we were set, due to some fearless snorkelling to ensure our anchor had dug into the sand. This was even more heroic as jelly fish had been spotted floating by!

I’d been quite happy to stay onboard and sunbathe a safe distance from the volcano, but was persuaded to go ashore on the paddle board – because apparently, “we have to have a walk on the beach!”

Heading towards the shore, I stopped paddling for a moment and glanced back at the yacht anchored a couple of hundred metres away. How long would it take to get back if there was a really big eruption? At that moment we both heard a loud rumble and more smoke frothed out from the chocolate coloured top of Stromboli.

On our approach to the island the streams of lava had made the top of the volcano look like a chocolate cake with ganache icing dripping down the sides, or even a “drippy castle” you make with wet sand at the beach.

The flowers and grass on this side of the island, were in contrast to the ash grey slopes we had just sailed past. The little yellow church and tatty white buildings nestled together in defiance of what might be. A whole community live here at the base of this very active volcano – one of the most active in the world apparently. I wondered why they had made a home here with such danger lurking in their backyard.

As we wandered down the main street, there were many derelict buildings, abandoned properties and overgrown gardens, yet there were signs that they had once been cared for. We spotted a number of signs for Tsunami warnings and evacuation routes. In 2002 a Tsunami destroyed some of the village when a violent eruption caused a major landslide. That wasn’t so long ago. I glanced up at the smoking volcano… please behave, at least while we have a drink!

I wasn’t too sorry to head back along the black sand beach, where I collected a few little lava pebbles as a keepsake from Stromboli.

This morning I spotted a black dragon, caught in silhouette on a rocky lighthouse island facing Stromboli. It seemed to be waiting for the real dragon to appear from inside the volcano. As we watched Stromboli and “volcano-land” disappear into the haze, I was quite happy to leave the rumbles and the smoke behind.

Meanwhile, today we are dodging oil tankers and fish farms as we make the crossing to mainland Italy…

Bees on board

Posted on by
Reply

We set sail a week ago with just four of us on board … now we are six!

Two fluffy, loving shipmates, who we couldn’t bear to send overboard joined us today.

It feels good to be back on board Pura Vida – a very sleek catamaran – that will be our home for the next few weeks as we meander around the coast of Italy.

The sun was hot when we pulled the anchor up in Preveveza, Greece, last Monday. Our first anchorage was on Antipaxos and later that afternoon we settled in for the night in a turquoise bay off the island of Paxos. The water was fresh, not English fresh, at 19 degrees of course!

We headed to the north of Corfu, after a brief stay below the old town, where we had to meet the agent who would help us “clear out” of Greece officially. It seemed odd as we’d only arrived a couple of days earlier and now we were leaving! Our destination is Italy, possibly ending in Sardinia and there are many miles ahead!

Last year we found ourselves in Corfu in the midst of a parade and got rather trapped. This year it turned out to be the same date and police cars were already gathering to block the roads. We wouldn’t get caught out this time! However, it did mean shopping was limited with many places shut for the festivities. We made do with coffee and croissants while we watched a marching band assemble in the rain. Someone noted that the marching wasn’t up to scratch, but who likes marching in the rain?

We’ve had a mix of weathers en route, but our first little drama was on an island north of Corfu, from where we planned the main hop across to the coast of Italy.

Tired and eager to cook up some supper, the anchor was dropped in a bay, where we could see sand between the rocks. A lot of creaking and dragging sounds over the next few hours made us all wonder if the anchor was on or between one of those rocks.

We watched an orange sun slipping into the sea on the horizon and hoped we were wrong.

The next morning, pulling up the anchor took us an hour instead of five minutes. The captain, who volunteered to go in the water to review the situation, had to sink his pirate hook down to help shift the anchor from between two rocks. Forty five minutes later, after much signalling and repositioning the boat, the anchor eventually came free. The skipper then spent the next hour or so attempting to regain feeling in his arms and legs under a duvet! Cold water swimming isn’t for everyone!

We’ve been testing out our sails in a variety of wind conditions from full on surfing yesterday, with waves flowing onto the boat at the back, to being battered by the waves side on this morning.

That was when the visitors arrived – one bumble bee at first, blown in by a gust. We were so worried he’d be blown away, we helped him crawl into a box for safety. I wasn’t sure he liked it and a few minutes later, his mate arrived and nestled into the cockpit canopy hiding from the wind. I decided they should face the wind together and helped the first bee out onto the canopy near his fellow traveller. Seconds later they were neatly cuddled up together under a strap. Then we were six!

The wind has calmed again now and we thought our pair of bee companions had flown on, but they keep reappearing, so I think they’re here for the long haul!

It’s also time to re-set the sails and look for a safe anchorage or harbour for tonight. Meanwhile the first batch of scones is in the oven, so a little touch of Devon is on the way!

Lost in Venice?

Posted on by
Reply

I’d be hopeless in Race Across the World… much as I love the idea of charging from city to city on public transport with only a map and some cash, I don’t think I’d last long without my phone and google maps!

A few nights ago in Venice it was our faithful guide through the network of streets on the north of the city, which would lead us back to our boat.

We’d enjoyed a day of meanderings, jumping on and off boats ferrying us up and around the grand canal. When we tired of browsing or became too hot, we collapsed in cafes and finally ended up at a canal side restaurant enjoying good food topped off with a few glasses of lemoncello.

After leaving the restaurant, the hunt for an ice cream delayed us slightly and we realised there wasn’t that much time to find our way to the “boat stop” for the 5.2 that would take us ‘home’ to where the catamaran was moored on an island across from the city.

If you’re going to get lost, Venice is the place to be. Around each corner there’s a new delight to greet you or yet another ancient bridge to step over. Impossibly narrow streets open up into secret piazzas with buzzing cafes and towering churches bumping up against shuttered windows and balconies hung with washing.

Finding it hard to hold an ice cream and follow the blue dot on the map up the right street (maybe partly related to the extra glass of lemoncello), I handed navigation over to the “first mate” who marched ahead at speed holding my phone.

It’s easy to get distracted in Venice, looking at Murano glass trinkets, strangely painted masks and that hat I was sure would suit me… Stumbling up another bridge, I spotted a gondolier in a striped top and obligatory boater pushing off from the side and almost colliding with another gondola. There were shouts and laughter and bit of splashing. It looked a pleasant way to explore Venice at night – if a bit busy.

I hurried down the other side of the bridge just in time to see the navigator turning the corner into a narrow alleyway…

“Are you sure this this the way?” I shouted after him, but he was hunched over the phone striding forwards and my words sunk into the walls beside us.

Running to catch up, with my ice cream trickling down my hand, I finally got nearer. Up above, I could only just glimpse the night sky between the towering houses hemming us in. As we turned down the tiniest alleyway where I could put out my arms and touch the walls on either side, I hoped google had it hand and there were no Venetian bandits ready to pounce. I clutched my bag a little tighter.

Earlier, before we had resorted to google maps, the phone’s compass was in use to help us head north… but it wasn’t Dartmoor and google maps, although sometimes a bit slow to catch up with our pace, turned out to be the best option. We had to double back a few times as the blue dot jumped suddenly to another location, but finally, after the darkest, narrowest passageway swallowed us up, there was light ahead and the sound of boats chugging and water splashing.

We reached the cafe-lined quay, only to discover our 10pm boat had ‘sailed’, so there would be time for yet another coffee while we waited.

When the boat did arrive an hour later, we asked them to stop at Certosa island (a request stop only!) and hoped the driver remembered, and that we’d pronounced it correctly. Speeding round the edge of Venice at night turned out to be quite exhilarating. We bumped up against the jetty for the A&E of Venice hospital – where speed boat ambulances waited in line!

Little boats raced beside us on the inky black water and sometimes suddenly cut in front only just missing our bows. With the wind rushing past us and waves splashing below in the dark it felt like an appropriate end to our sailing journey. And the next night after visiting some local islands we did it all again. There were a few less delays through the network of passageways, but we still managed to miss the 10pm boat!

Sailing into the night… after escaping the parade

Posted on by
Reply

Last night I watched the sun setting across Corfu and this morning saw the first wisps of grey night cloud being ushered out by the dawn. It’s been a long night sail heading up the coast of Albania.. but at least we’re sailing.

After waiting almost a week to get on board, there were a few more delays to endure, as we bobbed on the water in sight of the boatyard, while engineers fixed bits and pieces and checked an engine issue.

We all breathed a sigh of relief when we set sail and an anchorage on the island of Paxos was not a disappointment. Swimming was a must. And the crystal clear water was a refreshing temperature!

Another engine issue and the need for some medical advice for one of us, took us to a little marina tucked below the walls of the fortress at Corfu town. Our boat had a great view of the marine traffic in and out of the port and all the antics of boats attempting to slide into moorings. Our one night stay turned into two, but by now we’d become accustomed to delays…

The route up to the town took us through a tunnel in the fortress wall and through the ancient cobbled routes to the moat and gatehouse. There was just one route in and out, and this became a bit of an issue the next day when the carnival arrived in town.

Two of us had headed out into the town and been told by the woman at the gatehouse it would be closed from 13.30… we were a bit bemused, but we made sure we headed back by 12.30. The streets were packed and the road we needed to cross was lined with police and roped off. We could hear the sound of a marching band and flashes of uniformed red and gold jackets passing by – it seemed the parade had already started. Squeezing through the throng lining the road, I ducked under the rope and was glared at by a policeman.

“We need to cross the road,” I said.

“Get behind the rope,” he said sternly.

“But we have to get to our boat,” I said. He was not amused.

“Behind the rope!” He insisted, and I imagined him reaching for his gun.

I ducked back under and pushed through the crowd and back to the path behind, but now my crew-mate was nowhere to be seen. I tried calling and sending a message – no answer! What else could go wrong? Suddenly, to my relief, she appeared and we decided to try to cross the road further up.. We had no idea how long the marching bands and colourfully dressed paraders would continue. Finding a way to the edge of the road which wasn’t roped off, we spotted a gap in the parade and with no police nearby we ran across to the other side, fearing a shout from a policeman at any moment! Now we just had to get through the gate into the fortress. Two smartly dressed men standing in front of the gate told us the castle was closed.

“But we have to get to our boat,” we pleaded. They just shrugged. Through the bars of the closed gates two or three people were watching the parade from the other side and taking pictures.

“They told us one o’clock I said and it’s only 12.30!” Suddenly the woman who had let us out spotted us and the gate opened an inch.. she nodded and let us in. The parade must have started earlier than she’d expected. We crossed the moat, relieved to be reunited with our boat, which was waiting patiently as usual!

Our engine finally fixed, we decided to make up for lost time by sailing all the way to Montenegro in one hop – a 23 hour journey if we stayed on course.

Night sails can be wonderful and peaceful and we settled into our midnight watch in the light of the moon. But it wasn’t long before clouds appeared and an electric storm flickered in the distance.

The wind picked up, switched direction and suddenly it was raining and we needed to drop our sail! It’s amazing how quickly things can change on a boat from complete serenity to frantic activity. The next few hours we stared at lights from yachts, fishing boats and cruise ships, working out their direction and taking care to avoid them, while keeping ourselves on course. In between we made tea and hunted out cookies and crisps – it turns out night watches make you hungry! And there’s never a dull moment, even with an auto pilot.

As dawn broke the other watch woke and I fell into bed. We were still some hours from our destination before the ragged mountains of Albania, would give way to the tree-lined bays of Montenegro. Thankfully, I had no idea how much our patience would be tested again later that day…

Where am I?

Posted on by
2

Do you ever have that feeling of waking up and wondering where you are? It’s happened to me on and off over the years – sleeping in strange beds and plenty of unfamiliar rooms for a variety of reasons!

Although we’re always on board the same boat, outside the locations change and so do our neighbours. The other day I woke up to the sound of New Zealand accents on the adjacent yacht and popping my head out on deck, I was greeted by a friendly voice, “How are you this morning?” A few days earlier it had been German accents and before that French.

Our neighbours over the past few weeks have been varied and many. It’s been one of the many joys of this extended trip, getting to meet so many sailors from different parts of the world and often mooring up beside them again at different anchorages and greeting them like old friends, sharing stories of where we’ve been in between and what we’ve seen, along with the inevitable sailing nightmare tales! They’ve also been on hand to help with ropes and getting moored in harbours in various strengths of wind, everyone has been helpful and kind.

The other morning I woke up in the saloon of the boat, as the cabin had got too hot in the night. I couldn’t remember where we were and even more confusing was hearing the twang of “Kiwi accents” again. I’d forgotten that having left this friendly family behind a few days earlier, we’d found ourselves moored next to them again the previous afternoon in a new location.

I’ve loved the friendliness of fellow sailors. The other day, the skipper of a boat anchored across from us in a bay swam over to chat about our sun canopy. He explained how he and his wife had sailed here from Brittany. We talked about our Devon flag and places he loved in England, especially Cornwall. When left he said, “We’re practically cousins!”

In our favourite port on the island of Alonnisos we found our new neighbours were a couple who’d been stranded in Australia during lockdown, and their lovely wooden boat had been damaged, but they hadn’t been able to get back to it. He was a native greek with a shock of white hair and he and his Australian partner shared tips with us on easy meals to cook on board along with sailing tales from around the islands. We nicknamed her ‘Shirley Valentine’ and wished them well with their boat rebuilding in the coming months as we upped anchor and set sail again.

Today we chatted with our new Danish neighbours about places to visit and last night we were back onboard yacht Zigzag – sharing a few glasses of wine with a Cornish couple, we keep meeting up with and who are now anchored a few metres away in this idyllic bay.

When we swam before breakfast this morning, it felt as if we were in our own giant swimming pool. Even in the deep water around the boat the seabed was so clear you could see each little pebble and rock far below.

As we move into the twilight of our time in Greece, for now, it’s clear our little boat is in need of some repair work. Over the past few weeks we’ve both become intimately acquainted with a sponge and bucket that has been filled up daily after each trip from water leaking down below! I’m thinking of buying one as a reminder of the adventure.

In the meantime, I’m gazing across at lush pine trees lining the shore above a bank of white rocks reflecting in the sparkling water. Apart from the heat and the temperature of the water, we could be anchored down the Fal in Cornwall! And I’m reminded that we have plenty of beautiful places to rediscover on our return home.

I’m also wondering how strange it will feel sleeping in a real bed that doesn’t rock and has space to move, or taking a long shower without being worried about using too much water.

But I may well wake up in a couple of weeks and wonder where on earth I am!

Goodbye Magnolia

Posted on by
2

Blue sky. Turquoise sea. White walls. Not a spot of Magnolia in sight, which is some kind of atonement for the most stressful final ‘March out’ last week.

Now I’m lying in a white washed room listening to the water lapping on the shore, just metres from our blue shuttered doors. Thankfully it’s all behind us and almost forgotten.

There’s nothing like packing your rucksack and hopping between Greek islands to put a bit of distance between us and those frustrating military systems.

We’re part way through our Greek summer adventure (part 1) and have sampled the delights of the magical island of Santorini. We enjoyed a roof top pool with a panoramic view and sipped G&Ts on our balcony looking down on cruise ships and yachts floating past beneath the soaring cliffs of the volcanic island. We also tried out the crazy local buses to the old town of Oia and wandered the paved narrow streets filled with blue and white pottery and scarves.

On Friday we set sail for Paros on our second ferry. I felt quite smug skipping past other foot passengers struggling with huge suitcases as I mounted the stairs, very happy with my rucksack. I was slightly less impressed a few hours later carrying food and water, plus the rucksack, and attempting to get on the water taxi to our beach. We perched on the front of the little boat with two girls and I was pleased that I managed the jump off onto a concrete jetty without a drama. We were almost there.

We had hoped to be collected by our Air BnB host, but her car was off the road, so we were on foot. It wasn’t far along the beach, but the bags and the rucksack were getting a bit heavy in 32 degrees plus. I tried to match the giant strides of my travelling companion ahead, marching beside the sea, with a row of sun beds on the left. “Not far now,” I thought. Seconds later I was flying headlong onto the sand, as a small trip sent me face first onto the beach. There was no chance to rebalance as the weight of my rucksack sent me hurtling forward. I was unhurt, but embarrassed, as a walnut tanned man came forward to ask if I was OK. Didn’t I know there was an age limit for wearing a rucksack? I laughed and struggled to my feet unaided and followed the long strider, who was totally unaware of my fall!

Dropping the bags beside a tree below a pretty blue shuttered building, I checked my phone for our host’s number and picked up a message from her to say she could pick us up after all, as she had managed to borrow another car! The phone had been off to save the battery… Oh dear, we’re here now anyway! She kindly carried my shopping into the room, which had another view of turquoise water, framed by a line of trees and pink flowered shrubs.

Having spent a large proportion of our budget on eating, drinking and transport in Santorini, we counted out the remaining cash on the bed. We needed to economise a little, so we stored away our food and downed some water. Luckily we had a bottle of duty free gin to keep our spirits up!

The first night we enjoyed a take away delivered to the door, which we managed to make last for two days. We would splash out on a frappe later – with 2 straws!

Looking at our beautifully white washed walls, I can only smile now about last week’s ‘March out’ fiasco, which left us both seething, but has now become something of a joke! Who will be first to spot something painted magnolia?

When we moved into our army house almost four years ago, we’d asked permission to paint a few rooms white. At the time the man in charge had said it was fine, and that we didn’t have to return them to army standard magnolia, as long as it was a neutral colour. We’ve really enjoyed our fresh white walls, looking out on the rolling hills and the sea beyond.

At the ‘March out’, the person checking the house shook his head and announced that all the rooms painted white must be returned to magnolia or we would be charged. No amount of explaining what we’d been told would do – we had nothing in writing and the man in question had now left his post.

The house, he admitted, was spotless and a good deal cleaner than when we’d taken it over. The white washed rooms looked crisp and fresh, but they were not “army issue” magnolia, so unless we painted them back there would be money to pay for redecorating. Adding insult to injury the same man had visited our quarter a few weeks earlier to check for any issues and told us all that needed doing was to tidy up the garden and do our best with limescale in the bathrooms. He had failed to spot the offending white walls, which would have given us a chance to redecorate or time to fight our case.

What should we do? On one of the hottest afternoons in June, the one of us that wears uniform asked him to return the next morning after we’d repainted. (The other one sulked and muttered about writing to the newspapers;) I have never engaged in decorating with such bad grace and I have never disliked the colour magnolia so much as I did that afternoon. After three days of solid and nail breaking scrubbing and cleaning in the house, we had planned an afternoon relaxing at our favourite beach. Instead we sweltered with rollers, paintbrushes and dust sheets, returning our rooms to a dull magnolia. The job was made even more infuriating knowing, as our neighbour pointed out, that the next occupants would probably prefer white walls.

It’s done now and thankfully the Greeks love white! You can be sure when we next need to choose colours for our home Magnolia will never be an option!