Tag Archives: sailing

A night to remember

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“Watch out!” Came the call from the skipper, but it was too late. Seconds later a wave launched over my head and I was completely soaked..

Our night out in Dubrovnik hadn’t gone completely to plan. The idea was to enjoy a balmy evening at a cafe soaking up the atmosphere of the beautiful walled city. We’d dropped anchor in the bay outside and as we lowered the tender into the water the clouds were gathering – there was a possibility of a shower, we thought. As the dinghy set off there was an odd sound from the outboard engine and a few minutes later it stuttered and stopped. The waves were picking up and the catamaran was beginning to disappear from view. I glanced down at the bottom of the boat where two oars lay side by side… it could be a long row back.

There were sighs of relief as the skipper found the fuel connection issue a few minutes later, and we continued our evening expedition into the little harbour.

Dubrovnik has changed a bit since I was last there, 15 plus years ago. The cafes and restaurants had smartened up and everything looked shiny and more sleek than I recalled. But in essence the city is still stunning with its pale smooth cobbled streets and narrow passageways lined with cafes and lights leading up to the walls. If you’re a ‘Game of Thrones’ fan it also feels rather like a film set!

Soaking up Saturday night fun in the busy streets we eventually stopped for a drink at a cafe with a jazz band. The senior saxophonist also provided the vocals – picking out his audience with his laughing eyes and making us clap and smile as he swayed to the music in his jaunty Panama hat.

We’d hardly finished our drinks when the rain began and the band brought their set to an abrupt finish. As it was only a short lived shower we wandered through the back streets weaving our way slowly back to the port, not realising it was almost midnight.

In the harbour we suddenly saw how much the wind had picked up, with white horses rushing in from the bay. Having four of us in the tender turned out to be a good thing as the boat sat a bit lower and we were grateful for our 25 horse power engine, which I was hoping wouldn’t misbehave.

Outside in the bay the waves began to slam against the front of the boat and we all stared hard trying to spot the welcoming light from the top of the yacht’s mast. It was nowhere to be seen – just the ominous black shape of the island it was anchored beside.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea heading into town so late!

The boat was being buffeted by the waves, and occasionally one hit us at the wrong angle and we rocked perilously. It was an inky black night and my fingers gripped tightly round the edge of the dinghy where I was balanced. I was really hoping the boat’s anchor had held and the yacht was still where we’d left her. There was a hush onboard as we were probably all thinking the same thing.

Suddenly we spotted a lone anchor light in the distance and moments later we were drenched by a particularly large wave that broke across us. At least the water was warm – we were laughing, but we were all aware that many more waves like that could capsize the dinghy and at night that would be serious.

As we eased in line with the back of the yacht, we gained a little protection. But with the boat tipping and rolling in the waves, securing the tender and stepping off was not going to be easy – we weren’t quite home and dry yet!

But steady hands and strong arms ensured we did all make it back on board in one piece, although we were completely drenched!

It had been a night to remember and one of the most “white knuckle tender rides” I’ve ever had.

Developing patience in Montenegro

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After sailing 183 miles non stop over 24 hours the last thing you want is to get stuck in customs.

We pulled alongside the customs jetty at the little port of Budva in Montenegro, just after lunchtime. We were all a little weary and ready to find a peaceful anchorage, before catching up on sleep. But nothing is simple when crossing borders it seems and this time, not because of Brexit!

Our skipper had carefully lowered the Greek flag and raised the Montenegrin one, along with the yellow flag, that tells them we are asking a question.. “May we enter Montenegro please?”

We thought the paper work might take a little while and the skipper disappeared with our passports and a serious folder of documents… this was the beginning of a very long wait. An hour later there was a problem – we hadn’t had our passports stamped out in Greece… and Montenegro is not in the EU!

The friendly harbour master and customs police were trying to help, but the policeman was agitated that we were waiting a long time on his quay – something about ‘Big Brother’ watching him and boats not being allowed to stay too long. The next issue was that a machine wasn’t working in the customs office so the skipper must walk half a mile to the Post Office to pay and printed off the sailing vignette (permit). Two of us used this as an opportunity to nip into the old walled town and find a local SIM card to get us connected.

Montenegro was a country none of us had visited before and I was intrigued to know more of its history. The little port was busy with colourful water taxis arriving from the beaches with visitors wanting to see the ancient walled town, which was a maze of cool narrow cobbled streets.

When we got back to the boat there was still no sign of the skipper but eventually he returned… but wait for it… someone at the Post Office had filled in one of numbers wrong – the vital paperwork was invalid. He must head back to the Post Office and rejoin the growing queue again! This time he was so long we were getting hungry. We feared he’d been kidnapped or just got disillusioned and gone to find a whisky! Just before we sent for a search party, he appeared.

The sun had set and dusk was approaching by the time we were eventually given permission to leave and could officially find an anchorage. After one aborted attempt, it was dark by the time we dropped anchor between a rocky outcrop and the beach. We fell asleep with twinkling lights from the shore framed by the cabin windows.

Could anything else possibly go wrong?

We were wowed by Montenegro’s famous Bay of Kotor a fjord-like sight in the middle of the Mediterranean. As we sailed up towards the ancient town of Kotor, we spotted what looked like a mini wall of China zigzagging up the mountain side above the port and offering 365 degree protection from attackers. It felt like something from a fantasy film. We enjoyed a few hours meandering through this historic town with its Venetian and Turkish roots offering a new delight at every corner. Its smooth cobbles, tiny passageways and shuttered windows with ironwork balconies, hung with washing, made us feel we had almost arrived in Italy.

The next day we left Kotor to the hundreds of cruise liner guests who arrived in front of us first thing in the morning. The two huge ships almost dwarfed by the surrounding mountains.

As we headed along the bay an issue with our rudders needed sorting, so we hovered as we tried to fix it. But in the process, suddenly we lost our steering altogether…In addition to knots and winds and tides and sails, sailing seems to require a good knowledge of engineering and electronics, which are both a mystery to me!

As the boat bobbed in the middle of the bay, I wondered how we’d stay off the rocks we were slowly drifting towards if we couldn’t fix the problem. I was informed by a reliable source, that with two engines we’d still be able to steer because “it’s just like a tank.” For anyone whose driven one of those…

With some calm and logical thinking, a bit of trial and error, the hydraulics steering problem was eventually solved and we could steer the boat again. I felt very relieved as we motored out of the entrance and turned right towards Croatia…hopefully that was the end of dramas, for today at least!

Sailing into the night… after escaping the parade

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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…

Waiting for adventure

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It turns out sailing a catamaran is all about waiting..

Two weeks ago we flew out to Greece to join another couple on their yacht to sail with them on a voyage to Venice. We were excited about the trip and all the new places we’d visit and very much looking forward to sailing a catamaran for the first time. We knew it would be very different from a monohull.

Unfortunately things haven’t gone quite to plan and the trip has turned into a bit of a saga. But as one of my colleagues told me – “There’s always a story!”

We planned to spend a few days exploring the island of Lefkas before setting sail. After a couple of days soaking up some sunshine, in between rain showers, we took a break from gazing at the azure blue sea, and headed inland to find a waterfall. The dry river bed en route didn’t look promising, but as we climbed we began to hear the sound of water and before long a tumbling stream appeared, visible at point between the arching trees and ferns and bushes sprouting from the banks and rocky outcrops. The path wound up beneath a steep ravine and huge boulders.

At the end of the path was a beautiful green pool, where water was streaming down a moss lined cliff. It wasn’t much of a waterfall, but it was fresh and tranquil and the sound was calming. I couldn’t resist a dip, so quickly slid into the water, staring around for ducks. I could hear them quacking, but couldn’t I spot them. It was then I spied two bright green things on the rocks beside me. Frogs basking in the sun and making a very loud sound just like ducks!

On returning from the frog pool we had some bad news as we heard the new propeller for the catamaran was stuck in customs at Athens airport.

However, the extra night on the island gave us the pleasure of meeting a most joyful Greek host – Costas – “call me Gas” – who served us coffee and homemade cake on arrival and made us feel welcome in his home on the cliffs with spectacular sea views. Breakfast was a lavish spread laid out in his rustic kitchen with everything from strawberries to croissants and cheese!

Further delays with customs meant we had to extend our road trip for a few days up the coast of Greece while we waited for the propeller to arrive. But we enjoyed visiting Parga, a pretty Italianesque coastal town.

The down or the upside of the delays, depending on your perspective, was that there was plenty of time to meander in the local shops and buy nice things! I managed to add a few more kilos to my rather full bag! Our BnB host in Parga was Kara (which she told us means ‘joy’ in Greek) and she lived up to her name with her enthusiasm for life and her warm welcome.

She was busy whitewashing a tree trunk when arrived, her clothes paint splattered and a smile spreading across her face. After throwing open the shutters to our room with its panoramic sea view, she sprang onto her motorbike and whizzed off.

The next day as clouds hovered we headed inland to explore a renowned river called the “Springs of Acheron”. Sounding like something out of a Tolkien novel, it lived up to its name. And although we weren’t venturing on the high seas we did find ourselves wading and sometimes swimming through the clear icy waters rushing through a narrow canyon.

An hour upstream we began to lose the feeling in our hands and toes and had to turn back. The river of Acheron features in Greek mythology as the gate to Hades… Despite the sunshine when we got back to the car we turned up the heaters and put on everything we had to warm up. Those icy waters would have put out the fires of hell!

When we arrived back at the boatyard the beautiful catamaran was at last ready for launch and we held our breath as she was lifted and then very slowly lowered into the water – all 19 tons of her!

So the adventure could begin.. after a bit more waiting as it turned out!

Homeward bound

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My straw hat is squashed in the overhead locker and I’ve wrapped a scarf around my bare legs to keep warm – we’re definitely going home!

After almost two months living in the “med” we will soon be landing back in England, where I may be in need of that jacket I decided not to pack.

Our time onboard yacht Riou came to a close with a rather dramatic storm in the end. On our penultimate night afloat, we watched a red sun sink behind distant blue islands, while we spent a peaceful night as the only boat anchored off one of our favourite uninhabited islands. But it wasn’t long before the rest of Greece woke up and joined us. A morning walk on the deserted beach had been too good to last. By lunchtime we were surrounded by dozens of boats which had anchored around us and flooded the untouched sand and crystal waters with day trippers.

As we headed into port for our final night, we were pleased to find a space on the jetty as the clouds began to gather. Later that night we listened to the wind howling round the rigging and heard the rain pelting against the hatches. It wasn’t long before I felt water dripping on my feet and we discovered a leak above us. We didn’t sleep so well that night, what with balancing bowls to catch the drips, securing extra lines in the dark and pouring rain “just in case”. This was the skipper’s job of course, while I watched from below and called out halfhearted offers of ‘do you need me to help?’ as gangplanks clattered and ropes squeaked on deck. There was lightening and thunder too – it turned out to be a loud and wet farewell to the Sporades. Although we were sad to leave, dragging our luggage through the rain made it a little easier to say goodbye as we headed to the airport.

We’ve now had time to rest and reflect during a week in Cyprus, revisiting favourite spots and renewing friendships, thanks to the hospitality of my sister and brother-in-law. It’s felt odd not checking the wind and forecast each day and swimming out from the beach, we’ve found ourselves looking for “our” boat.

“We’ve become land lubbers!” We said to each other as we strolled by the coast and stared out at white capped waves in the distance.

I’m not sure we like it…

Our return to the “homeland” feels even more sombre as the country is in mourning for our wonderful Queen. We were shocked to hear the news from a Turkish immigration officer, as we re-crossed the border into the south of Cyprus at the end of a day out. After being handed our passports last Thursday evening – the customs man had stared at us and simply said, “Queen dead.” It was hard to understand at first, until it sank in. His face was serious and he repeated the words – suddenly we realised it was our Queen he was talking about. The last time we’d seen a photo of her a couple of days earlier, she was shaking hands with our new prime minister – we couldn’t believe she had suddenly died.

So this week was a big moment in history for the UK and many across the world marking the end of the Elizabethan era and the dawning of a new one with a new King Charles – as he will now be known. Meanwhile, here we are marking the end of something too.

For now it’s ‘back to business’ or ‘busyness’ with work to catch up on, family to hug and help, a house to move into and boxes to unpack.

I’m happy to be heading home. I’m certain there will be many more adventures to come, both on and off the water. Next time though, I will be packing a jumper and rethinking short dungarees as travel wear! Brrr…

Where am I?

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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!

Incognito angel to the rescue

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It was the kind of anchor drama I’d been dreading. The man in a snorkel mask treading water by our boat said the words neither of us wanted to hear, “It’s stuck hard, I can’t move it. You’ll need to get professional divers.” A neighbouring skipper had volunteered to dive down and see if he could free our anchor, now stuck six metres down wedged under, what looked like some kind of metal frame.

Less than an hour earlier we’d arrived at the distant marine reserve island after a six hour passage in pretty heavy seas and gusty winds. We were already tired. The waves had mounted steadily during the course of the passage. At their height we were being pushed, tipped and rolled around, with four metre waves breaking onto the boat. We were both completely soaked after an hour or so and I wished I hadn’t bothered with shorts and T-shirt and stayed in a bikini. After we’d put in another reef, we settled into the lurching and rolling motion. I was glad the trip across wasn’t any longer, because although we were making great progress at 7.5 knots, six hours in a rolling sea felt quite a while!

After we’d dropped anchor at the island in a quiet bay, there was yet another semi daunting task to be completed. Due to the location and wind direction we needed to take lines ashore to tie us to the rocks. I was dreading this, as on previous Mediterranean holidays it’s been a task for “the boys” – this time it was down to me to paddle board over with lots of rope, negotiate the spiky rocks and sea urchins, and worst of all tie bowlines to make everything secure. (I’m only good at these 70 per cent of the time!)

Sometime later, after swearing, “I’m never doing this again”, “I hate doing this” and “I can’t do this”, and then the inevitable sea urchin encounter on my left hand… I swam back to what I thought was a secure boat, at last. But a final check of the anchor had almost been the final straw, when we saw, instead of wedged in the sand, it was jammed under some iron debris on the seabed.

Tension was rising. We were in a nature reserve at the north end of the Sporades islands, it was beautifully quiet and remote with no phone signal whatsoever. So, how would we call for divers? And what would it cost to free our anchor? The skipper took the paddle board ashore and climbed a nearby hill in search of phone signal. There were plenty of bleating goats, but still no signal. His face was grim when he returned to the boat. There were various options to consider, none of which we wanted to do, involving leaving the anchor and returning with divers, deploying a kedge anchor and trying to free it ourselves somehow… a few prayers were said.

The answer came quite quickly in the end in the form of a “Greek angel” called Nasos.

Nasos, a skipper on another yacht in the bay, was woken up from an afternoon rest by his crew, who’d been alerted to our dilemma and plea for help. It wasn’t long before he was alongside in his dinghy, snorkel and flippers to the ready.

“Where have you come from?” He asked.

“England,” we said!

“No, today I mean!”

We explained we’d sailed from Halkidiki and he was surprised, as he’d also sailed across from the same port an hour earlier. He said we must be tired, as it has been quite a tiring crossing.

“I will try and help you,” he said. “ Are you with a flotilla?”

“No,” we answered. “We’re on our own, that’s the problem.”

“Don’t worry,” said Nasos.“ You are not alone anymore, Nasos is here. We will solve it together!”

What a lovely thing to hear!

A few minutes later after carefully examining the anchor position through his mask he dived down. Very soon after he reappeared and said the magic words, “It’s free!” He explained the anchor had dragged and been caught in what was actually an old bed frame on the seabed and he had been able to yank it free.

We were so relieved and grateful, but as we’d only just met him and we were all wearing very little, we couldn’t hug and kiss him, instead we gave him a bottle of gin! Nasos, the incognito angel, even helped us re-anchor and re do our lines without too much stress. What a difference it makes when you have a “friend” to tackle a problem together.

After a restful and peaceful night on anchor we went to thank Nasos again and enjoyed real Greek coffee and sweet treats on his boat with his crew. We laughed about being caught by a bed and wondered how it had ever come to be on the bottom of the sea in such a remote place.

I’m not sure what to rename this little bay. It could be ‘Bedframe Bay’ but perhaps ‘Angel Bay’ would be more appropriate? We hope to catch up with Nasos again before he heads back north, if only to find out what other “angel missions” he’s been called to 😉.

Halkidiki revisited

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A few days ago we travelled back to where we spent our first Greek holiday – 35 years ago. But instead of travelling via plane and coach we arrived by boat.

Back in the 1980s, and newly married, we had scraped together enough to book a kind of bargain B&B package holiday in Greece… somewhere! We knew we would be staying in a B&B nearish the beach on the Halkidiki peninsular – the rest was a mystery. The room and location would be chosen by the tour operator – filling empty rooms we guessed.

We had landed at night in Thessaloniki and piled onto a bus, while the travel guide told us we would be dropped at our “surprise” hotels! We asked where we were going but it was just a name and we weren’t any the wiser. After lots of stops and as the coach got emptier and emptier, our names were called as the bus drew into what appeared to be the middle of nowhere! As we stepped off the coach into the balmy Mediterranean night, we could make out a square three story building with a few lights on at the entrance. We were ushered to our room with a balcony and as we fell asleep we wondered what we would wake up to the next day. We hoped it might be a little bit of paradise – a million miles from our little terrace in Nottinghamshire.

When we woke up bleary eyed the next morning, the light streamed in. From our balcony we could catch a glimpse of the turquoise water on the other side of the Taverna. I remember the water was so clear and such an amazing colour, with the sun shimmering across it, the sand soft and hot. We ate meals under the trees, walked a few kilometres to the nearest town along a wide road and enjoyed boat trips, scooter rides and lazy siestas in our room. We were very happy to be located out of the town in what felt like the countryside.

Locating this little country Taverna 35 years later turned out to be tricky! For one thing it turned out to be on the westerly peninsular called Kassandra, rather than the middle one, as we had imagined. And from google earth, there also seemed to be buildings all along the quiet beach we remembered. Could it have changed so much in 35 years? After a long search on google earth and street view, scouring our memories for distinguishing features on the landscape we reckoned we’d located it – the balcony and shape of the building matching our memories of photographs of me, in the days of stringy bikinis!

Setting sail from Porto Koufo we set our course on the far peninsular – little more than a blue haze on the horizon. What felt a long time later we were both scouring the shore with binoculars trying to pinpoint the right part of the beach. Eventually we spotted the only square flat roofed building the right distance from the town, but no longer on its own, it was one of a string of buildings on a busy umbrella-laden beach.

Once anchored off we paddled boarded to the beach still not quite sure if this really was the place. But as we wandered to the front of the building behind the beach it all fell into place. Although there’d been changes, it was still recognisably the place we had stayed in 1987.

A friendly member of staff asked if we needed anything and we unfolded our story. He was delighted we’d made it back. Yes, they were one of the first hotels in the area and had been all alone by the main road, until more development popped up over the years and a new main road was built. In fact his grandfather had built the place and it was still a family run business.

We enjoyed a frappe overlooking the beach, just as we had when we’d stayed there. But this time instead of looking out on the water wishing we could be on it, we were looking across at yacht Riou – bobbing on the bright blue sea in front of us.

It wasn’t quite as beautiful and tranquil as it was all those years ago, but it was a lovely trip down memory lane and we were pleased, having come all that way, to have found our little piece of history together.

Then it was back to the boat to catch the wind for the distant shore, where further adventures awaited.

Into the deep

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What are you scared of? I guess we don’t know the answer until we’re faced with something that makes our stomach turn upside down.

I love swimming but a few days ago we tied up in a little harbour after a long sail and walked along the quay to the beach. The water was crisp and clear and you could see right down to the sloping white sand below. We both plunged in to cool off.

“Wow!” came the exclamation, “that’s deep!” The skipper a few metres further out than me, pointed below. I stuck my head down and saw a steep bank of sand disappearing into blue and deeper blue and more blue! The steeply shelving beach had the feeling of stepping off a precipice. My stomach did a tumble as I back paddled away.

We can both swim well and in deep water, but there was something different about this, like standing close to a cliff, as if I was suspended above the drop. Neither of us felt keen to venture over the drop which we called “the deep”. It was quite ridiculous considering we’ve jumped into the sea mid sail hundreds of times in much deeper water and felt fine.

After our trip to the beach we met a Greek sailor who told us some of the secrets of this hidden harbour on the south of Halkidiki’s middle peninsula.

He told us it had been a secret submarine base during the Second World War. The deep natural harbour with its hidden entrance between the cliffs had even had a metal net across the entrance to stop enemy boats getting in. All around the surrounding hills had been huge canons standing watch. He said one of these now lay on the sea bed below.

The story of the submarines somehow confirmed my deepest fears of something unknown lurking unseen below, a bit like the Loch Ness monster!

After a few days sailing around the peninsulas, we returned to Porto Koufo yesterday and went back to the beach.

“Let’s go into the deep,” I said.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes we have to face our fears!”

We laughed and both put our heads down and headed out. Through my goggles I could see the sand slipping away and the blue below becoming bluer. We both looked up and trod water – no giant squids snapped at our toes, no monsters bared their teeth below us. We were still OK. Nothing to be afraid of really! Still after a few minutes we headed back to the safety of the sand and enjoyed the feel of something solid between our toes.

Last night in the restaurant we heard more stories from would-be psychology student, 17-year-old Nicole, our waitress for the evening. Her grandfather had set up the first Taverna here after the war. There were tales of bombs being made in a cellar and tunnels in the hillside where you can still see the remains of the Nazi control rooms.

This is a place of history and beauty. We love the ramshackle quay, with its huge metal bollards for ropes, the fishermen waiting patiently all night by their rods and feeding stray cats with the unwanted catches.

Tomorrow we will leave Porto Koufo and “the deep” behind us to make the passage back to the Sporades islands. We will be heading into another kind of “deep” hoping for fair winds. The unknown is always a little scary, whether it’s new places or fresh challenges. I get a little nervous each time we come into a new anchorage or port, uncertain how we’ll do tying up or getting our anchor set. But each time we swim over the edge and face the fear we get a little bolder and braver, hopefully!

Although facing my fears doesn’t help me being rubbish at lassoing ropes over bollards ( Thank you to the old sailor who helped us tie up yesterday, reassuring me as I ‘misthrew’ the rope yet again, by saying, “Slow, slow, slow, no rush – we sailors have all the time in the world”! ) I should have taken his advice this morning too as I rushed up the boat steps for the umpteenth time and tripped re grazing my shin, all before breakfast! My body is now tattooed with the stories from this trip, a selection of tell tale bruises, scars and mosquito bites.

Listening to the wind whistling through the mast today, I am sure there will be more to come!

A night at ‘one monk island’

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We’ve gone from whistling wind and rocking motions to the sound of silence and barely a breath of air… For the first time this morning I could hear the gentle hum of the fridge when I turned it on!

We’re half way through our little Greek sailing adventure and now living life above and below decks has become the new routine.

Yesterday evening we arrived here, at what we call, “One monk island”. Because just one monk lives here in the monastery, with his solar panels and olive grove. There is also another monk we’ve been looking out for here – the monk seal – but we’ve not spotted him yet.

After several days of changeable and strong winds, we have dropped anchor in what looks like an inland lake with deep turquoise water. Navigating the entrance in was tricky, as it was very narrow and shallow, approach advised in calm weather only. We made it, despite being tossed about by a speeding motorboat, which raced past us at the narrowest point creating lots of swell!

Last night with no lights ashore, we stared up at the stars and watched satellites tracking across a velvet sky, there was even a shooting star. Earlier we’d heard the sound of bleating and spotted a little family of goats picking their way between the rocks and bracken on the hillside, before reaching the shore and gently lapping at the salty water.

There are just a couple of other boats anchored here and this morning the water is like glass. The scenery reminds us of Scotland. The silence is deafening.

Today is in sharp contrast to a couple of days earlier, when strong winds left us ‘harbour-bound’ and we decided to go for a hike… in the heat!

Having asked a local estate agent the way to a sandy beach further round the coast, he shook his head.

“You can’t walk there you must drive,” he said, miming a steering wheel between his hands.

Never say “you can’t” because we’re bound to try and prove you wrong. The climb up out of Skopelos port wound up steep stone steps past four tiny ancient churches perched on the cliff side. At the top we were tempted by the blue and white cafe with a view, selling fresh orange juice… but we pressed on – we were on a mission to the beach.

Before setting out we’d been reading about hiking trails round the island, it seemed the T3 was the route to this particular beach… that’s how we read it anyway! We were on the look out for T3 signs off the road and soon enough we congratulated ourselves on finding a beautiful trail through the trees on an ancient rocky path. I was enjoying walking for a change, after weeks on board and only swimming for exercise. It was good for the swaying to stop too.

Sometime later we came to a road and our walking sign pointed left, in the distance to the right we could see blue water. The sign was very clear, no need to cross check on google maps, we thought. The clever trail would take us down the valley to the sea.

Twenty minutes later we’d branched off the road and descended a stony track to the base of the valley. We spotted three deer on the way and hundreds of ancient olive trees. I was loving the hike. But five minutes later the track disappeared into brambles and nettles! We searched for another route and then eventually checked the phone maps. We were off route – it turns out we were both better at navigating on water than land!

A short climb later and a good few kilometres along a road and another track, we were very hot and weary, but determined to prove we could walk to the beach! We were both dripping wet when we arrived at the beach and dived into the water with some relief.

The walk back was a lot shorter, but still steep and this time we did stop for an orange juice at the blue and white cafe!

Back at the boat we felt heroic hikers and I examined my blisters… Better stick to sailing for now.

I don’t think we’re that great with quiet. Despite last night’s thoughts of a day of contemplation, reading and writing, neither of us wanted to linger long on One Monk Island today. So, we have set sail again. Not just to find wi fi and signal, but because the still heat was making us jittery and we long to feel the breeze against our backs and hear the slosh of the water against the bows of the boat.

This is the life – we’re sailing on a passage into the blue leaving the islands behind us. Who knows where it will take us?

Meanwhile below decks it’s time to get the coffee on.