Mahinda’s Little World

Last night, I left 42nd Street early. Think it was at around 1.15am. That’s quite possibly the first time that I’ve EVER left a nightclub early of my own accord.

All very bizarre. I had something of a moment of extreme clarity. In short, I realised that I just wasn’t enjoying myself, and was drinking at an alarming rate, just to try and get some enjoyment into the night. It wasn’t the company*, or the music…I just wasn’t having fun.

* I would say that, of course - they all read this blog!

So, for a change, I stopped drinking and went home.

More contemplation on the bus home, which was of course filled with horribly young students.

One of the things I realised (there were several) was that I’m not enjoying the hectic social whirl as much as I used to. I’ve often described myself as “in a rut” - it’s a very enjoyable rut, but I’m not really going anywhere. It’s got to the point where I crave evenings in…possibly with a glass of wine to accompany the DVD, but evenings in nonetheless.

The last few times I’ve been out clubbing, I’ve enjoyed it much less than I used to. Could be symptomatic of some general malaise, but I don’t think that’s quite it.

I’m stretching myself too thin. Believe it or not, there’s this Mahinda out there who’s sharp and actually remembers stuff, rather than the one who just meanders around in a sleep-deprived (or alcohol-soaked) daze. I also think that I may be dangerously close to a psychological alcohol addition.

I’m definitely not going teetotal - I could never give up real ale - but I’m definitely going to cut down on the weekday drinking. And I’m going to learn to say no, as in “no, I’m not going out to a nightclub tonight”.

Unfortunately, I don’t think my weekends are going to get less hectic - I’m already all but booked up until Christmas. In the Red Lion on Monday night, Becky told me to keep (next) September 23rd free for her wedding. I replied that I think I’m busy on that day. I’ve just checked - I’m most probably off to a wedding on the 25th, in Sri Lanka. There is the chance that I could do both…but that really would be cutting it fine.

I awoke, without a clue where I was or how I’d got there. I wasn’t even sure who I was.

I staggered out of the boat, almost falling off as I walked down the mooring rope, and joined the others at the briefing. In the taverna. But you should already know that by now.

Apparently, Tom had been rather ill, and had spent most of the night throwing up off the back of the boat. Amy, playing the good wifey, had stayed up most of the night with him.

Definitely the fault of that punch!

Puke rate 33.3%. Not good.

Nancy was also looking rather green. Halfway through the briefing, she had to run off and throw up off the jetty.

Puke rate 50%. Even worse.

The poor girl was feeling really ill, and hadn’t even had all that much to drink. We didn’t think it was the food, either, as other people had eaten the same dishes (moussaka for the main course) with no ill effects. So to speak.

Generally, the merry crew wasn’t so merry. Dave, being a right b*stard, was pretty chipper, as were the unholy triumvirate of Holly, James and Paul. Not sure whether you can have women in a triumvirate, but never mind.

Fortunately, the day’s plan was pretty simple - head to Spartohori, which was all of two (maybe three) bays along the Meganisi coast, back towards Lefkada. By the way, Meganisi means, quite simply, “large island”. Pretty good going for what was actually only the 4th largest island that we visited. We only actually visited four islands.

My plan for the day, however, was to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, Nancy was in a really bad way. Holly ended up, with the aid of George (the taverna owner) and a taxi, taking her to the doctor, who gave her an antiemetic jab and some pills. Apparently, it was gastroenteritis - NOT nice stuff!

Our favoured theory* was that it was due to Nancy just finishing a course of antibiotics - once they were no longer swimming in nasty stuff, her gut bacteria decided to have one hell of an orgiastic gastric party. Wouldn’t you?

* Well, my favourite theory, until anyone comments otherwise.

Again, top marks to the lead crew for sorting this out quickly and happily.

The Way to Spartohori

Eventually, Nancy and Ian were returned to the Knight Oddity. I think Tom, Amy and Dave went into Vathi for some scran.

We set off mid-afternoon(ish), with our extremely demanding aim being to get to Spartohori (also spelt ‘Spartahori’, ‘Spartochori’, etc.), under motor, before dark.

We made it! Okay, so it only took about half an hour, but we made it! I think I might have spent almost the entire time in my cabin.

I was feeling really really rough, but possibly a bit better than Cap’n Nancy. Amy was made acting skipper for the day, and Nancy promoted to Admiral. I’m still not convinced that she can sort me out with cheaper car insurance, though.

So, we got there and moored up. Again, it was a taverna on the shore, where the head man had built a small empire of jetties and moorings to serve the holiday folk.

Eventually, I pronounced myself ready to walk, donned my holiday hat* and camera, and headed off up the hill.

* I very rarely wear hats. When I do, it’s usually for fancy dress or when I’m on holiday, when I’m usually to be seen under a floppy cricket hat…which my holiday mates usually spend half the trip trying to get me to stop wearing. This trip, I got a shiny new dark blue Gray-Nicholls sunhat, which is far superior to my usual cheapo white/cream ones.

I went up, and up, and up some more. Don’t think the hangover liked it much. I finally got to the town itself, and found Tom and Amy on their way down.

At this point, grey clouds were starting to build overhead.

Thanks to Daniela Travel for the two photos of the town. I’ll hopefully replace them with some of my own at some point.

I continued into the town, which was absolutely lovely. There wasn’t a flat area there, and it was full of windy-windey passages leading between gardens full of vines, citrus trees and olives. Many of the choicest bunches of grapes were tied up in muslin bags, presumably to protect them from frost, hail, etc.

The largest streets were just large enough to get a car down. And not a big car, either.

Soon enough, I found John, Sheena and one of the other couples (possibly James and Anne) sitting on a terrace drinking. It’s testament to my hung over state that I didn’t even contemplate joining them, despite the offer.

I continued, getting some lovely shots with the camera. I really hope they turn out nicely. Of course, sod’s law decreed that I didn’t have any filters on me, which would have made the already dramatic sky even more menacing.

Yes, menacing. The wind was picking up, too.

Regardless, I continued, and found a kiddies’ adventure playground perched opposite the town hall and police station, right at the top of the hill. Looked like a pretty good one, too.

I think it was about then that it started spitting with rain.

So, I walked in the direction of the darkest cloud, out towards the other end of the village. In true stereotypical style, I saw some of the largest chickens I’ve ever seen, and then a handful of scraggly goats, bells a-jangling. One of the goats decided to chase me a bit - what is it with me and animals? Sometimes I think that I’m a sort of reverse Dr. Doolittle.

Anyway, I got to a stretch of incongruously new tarmac, very much the highway past town, and decided to turn back.
The rain was, by this point, starting to pick up. I could see lightning over the next hill.

I went back down the hill, thankful that my hat was keeping me pretty dry, and got back to the boat just before the heavens opened properly - another lucky escape!

By this time, the harbour was rammed, and I was still hung over. Looking out to see, you could see a steady stream of yachts coming in, having had enough of the storm.

It’s about now that the rainbow appeared. One of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen - a classic single bow, with both ends clearly visible! Couldn’t spot any leprechauns, but they are very small, and the rainbow was quite far away!

We ended up heading to the taverna for dinner, as usual, and had another very tasty meal - this time, the waiter insisted on taking us to see the sights of the kitchen before we ordered. A definite winner.

I even managed a pint - there hasn’t been a hangover yet that’s prevented me from drinking the next day.

It was seriously busy, but fortunately it was also seriously large, and pretty efficient too. The owner, at the end, sat down with us to work out the bill - clearly a man on to a good thing, but not without a lot of effort on his part.

Scary Crusties

At the end of our jetty was a flooded pit in the concrete, covered with an iron grating, containing a couple of crayfish. Now these were BIG brutes, presumably kept in to keep them, well, fresh and tasty. Well over a foot in length, plus feelers.

As we were heading back for the night, someone had obviously ordered one of them, as one of the taverna staff was poking around with the grating open. Better him than me, as these things looked as though they could take yer arm off…and the one being fished out almost did!

It seems that, when picked up, a crayfish’s prime method of attack is to violently thrash about, curling it’s tail into a ball before whipping it back out. It caught the hapless bloke once on the arm, which looked pretty painful.

Anyway, after all that it was time for bed. I was still pretty hung over. In fact, I later decided that it was my fifth worst hangover, ever. Now that’s saying something!

The day started with the realisation that my coughy-coldy thing was getting worse. Fortunately, one of the shops back at Fiskardo sold Fisherman’s Friends - both the original and the lemon variety - so Dave and I had stocked up. Dave’s mad for them, he is.

So, over to Dimitri’s for the morning briefing. Cue much laughing at James’ weather reports. Not that any of us really minded, of course.

James then outlined the plan for the day, which was basically sailing to “Little Vathi”.

Holly’s plan for the day was slightly more alcoholic - we were to have a punch party on the beach at Little Vathi, before having dinner then partying away at the taverna. She warned us that she usually ended up behind the bar, which is a very dangerous thing!

Big Vathi, Little Vathi

Some towns in the area shared names, notably the Samis and Vathis. Apparently, an island’s best harbour is often called “Sami”…no idea about Vathi, though. The Vathi on Ithaki, being several times larger than the one on Meganisi (island population < 2000), relegates the latter to “Little” status.

Little Vathi, we were told, is a very small place, and there was a taverna owner who’d basically built his place up from nothing to cater for the flotilla/etc. trade, with decent facilities, moorings, etc. An excellent spot for a punch party.

So, the sailing. We had an absolutely gorgeous day, with the wind nicely behind us, allowing us to skim along happily at seven or so knots, pretty much directly towards the channel between Meganisi and Lefkada.

It really was a nice day’s sailing. I spent most of my time lying on deck, apparently in pretty much the same pose as Snoopy atop his kennel. Not sure whether Tom was making an oblique comment about the size of my nose when he came up with that one.

Amy also joined me in the sun, with the others preferring to remain in the cabin. Pretty much as pictured in the artist’s impression!

That’s really quite a short description of what was our longest sail of the whole trip. That’s the problem with things when they go well, though - it was all very enjoyable, but it’s difficult to convey the pleasure involved without going into passages of flowery description and simile. And I’m just not that much of a ponce.

But I digress…

By the time we were approaching the Meganisi channel, it was clearly lunchtime, so we pulled into Poros bay (another duplicated name, with this particular one being on Lefkada’s southeastern coast), dropped anchor, and consumed the now traditional bread/cheese/ham/salami lunch. Amy and Ian (I think) swum off the back of the boat, and Dave (yes, Dave!) donned his Speedos* and joined them.

* Note that these are Speedo trunks rather than Speedo briefs. Thankfully.

Back on the boat, fed and watered, and it was time to brave the channel, together with its patch of rocky stuff. This didn’t prove to be much of a problem, thankfully, and we soon we were approaching Vathi. Time to radio Zeffy and get our mooring instructions.

“You’re not going to believe this, but the Greek Minister for Tourism has turned up, and his stinkpot’s blocking the whole harbour.”

He’d turned up for lunch, with his cronies, and Greek lunches aren’t exactly known for their brevity.

So, we spotted a handy bay just before our destination, and decided to nip in for a swim. The moment we dropped anchor, James radioed to tell us that they’d cleared a space on the jetty. Off we went, into the harbour area (actually just before Vathi itself), where there was a HUGE motor launch (aka “stinkpot”) off to one side.

For a change, we were mooring up “bows to”, i.e. alongside all the other boats, but with the fronts next to “land” rather than the backs. This, of course, entailed the problem of getting on and off the boat, which was a lot more difficult than the stern to “get a plank and walk it” approach.

In short, it was a sure-fire recipe for disaster after a few bevvies. Or at least, a few missing sandals.

Just after mooring up, a motor-launch-taxi-thing gave us a whacking great thwack on the side…fortunately, it didn’t break the Knight Odyssey.

Anyway, first thing was to hit the glorious facilities we’d been promised. Indeed, one or two reported general fabulousness…and then I got a cold shower. Again.

Punch Not Judy

I might have mentioned Holly’s build-up to this event, apparently the social highlight of the week. She’d been looking forward to it from the start, and here it was!

We moseyed on to the small stretch of pebble beach outside the taverna (George’s?), where Holly, James and Paul lay in wait behind a trestle table laden with crackers, olives, houmous…and two gallon tubs of alcoholic concoction.

Basically, there was red (closer to pink), or white (well, orange)…or rosé of course. I’m really not sure what was in them, but it involved an awful lot of wine and Metaxa.

We all stood around quite happily, snacking, drinking and chatting with the other crews.

So, back to the punch.

We drank plenty, and people started drifting towards the taverna proper for their meal. Unfortunately, there was still plenty of punch left, so Holly inveigled me into helping out, i.e. bullying people until they agreed to have their glasses (well, plastic cups) filled. Well, it is what I’m good at!

It got to the point where, at one point, Holly filled mine and her glasses, said “bottoms up”, and started drinking hers. I took a swig and stopped, only to be instructed that I was meant to be downing it. So I did. Quickly.

Looking back, this may not have been a good move.

It was at about this point that Tom and Amy mentioned that they’d never seen me properly drunk - usually, by the time I was that far gone, they’d either gone home, or were just as bad themselves, so it didn’t count.

Holly, being an Aussie, took this as something of a challenge.

I think it was Holly and I who polished off the last of the punch, and joined the others at the dinner table.

Note that there will be increasing use of the proviso “I think” from here on in the narrative.

The meal was nice. I think

Holly and I elected to share a jug of house red. Shortly after the starters appeared, she disappeared, only to return with a glass (a tall water glass rather than a wine glass) of rosé. Proper rosé, rather than orange and pink punch mixed together! Apparently James, hearing the “Mahinda’s a big drinker” rumour, had decided to challenge me.

So I downed it. Well, you’ve got to show willing.

After the meal, during which time poor Sheena had to drag the now-paralytic John back to their boat, we adjourned into the taverna (we’d been sitting on the terrace) for what turned out to be cheesy dancey music and much madcap “dancing”. I think Ian and Cap’n Nancy headed back to the boat around this point.

(Un)Fortunately, the lead crew were now taking care of me. This included sloe vodka, flaming sambucas, tequila slammers and more. I hardly paid for a drink all night, with one notable exception being a tequila and coke (about 2/3 - 1/3) once I’d gotten sick of beer.

It all sort of descends into a drunken haze.

At one point, after going to the loo, I found a wedding ring in the sink. It turned out to be Tom’s, which was lucky!

The rest, well, I’m really not sure of. Think I spent a while slurrily conversing with Paul and Alison. And Bean, who was, as per usual, sinking G&Ts at a rate of knots. Poor James was in a bad way, and had to be carried back to Zeffy. So young, and so much to learn!

I have absolutely no idea how or when I got back on the Knight Odyssey. Remember how I said that it was pretty difficult getting back on the boat when sober? Well, an eyewitness report (thanks, Alison!) suggests that I shinnied straight up the mooring rope and over the side. Get in!

I vaguely remember finding Amy and Tom still up, with Tom feeling rather ill.

Went below deck. Collapsed into bed. Probably made lots of noise and banged my head. Slept like a baby.

I think.

So, here’s the route we took…

Note that I’ve given up on the funky Javascripty stuff, as I just could not get it to work from the blog.

Maybe another time, when I’m feeling particularly bored.

Wake up, late, and join the others in Dimitri’s. This time I get some breakfast, but not until some time after the others. For some reason, I’m actually invisible to Greek waiters and waitresses.

First up, James, who apologises for the previous day’s storm and tells us that it caught just about everyone by surprise. Today’s forecast wasn’t any more reliable…and he’d therefore made the decision not to take the flotilla out sailing.

Fair enough.

It looked a nice enough day, albeit a bit cloudy, so we retired to the Knight Odyssey, consulted Dave’s Lonely Planet guide (”Corfu and the Ionians”), and decided that we’d try to find the Nymph’s Cave - fairly close to Vathi, this is supposedly where Odysseus stashed all his treasure when he returned home.

Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts

For those who don’t know, Odysseus (aka Ulysses, which is the Latin version) is the hero of Homer’s book, The Odyssey. This is a bit more original a name that it sounds, as our word ‘odyssey’ is derived from the book title, which is in turn derived from the name of its main character.

The Odyssey is itself the sequel to The Iliad, which is about the seige of Troy. Odysseus was on the winning (Greek) side, and it was actually him who came up with the idea of the Trojan Horse - mind you, that was in The Aeneid, which was written by Virgil (in Latin rather than Greek), and occurs between the Iliad and Odyssey. Allegedly.

The full text of the Iliad and Odyssey (well, English translations thereof) is available on t’interweb. If you don’t want to wade through reams of convoluted text, there’s a handy summary here, and even a kiddies’ version.

As well as the Trojan Horse and the likes of Achilles, Hector, and (of course) the rather good-looking Helen, Homer’s texts have given us the Sirens, Cyclops, Scylla and Charybdis, and much more besides.

Me, I’m about three (3) pages into the Iliad, and have been for about four years. A light read before bed, it is not.

Anyway, but I digress. Unusual, that…

Ithaki, the island wot we were on, is widely believed to be the Ithaca of Odysseus, i.e. the seat of his kingdom. This isn’t quite as straightforward as the names might suggest, though, and there’s been much conjecture over the years, with Lefkada and Kefalonia very keen to bag a share of the Homeric legend. The geographical/geological contradictions within the Odyssey don’t help, apparently.

So many archeologists, local and otherwise, have spent years wandering around the Ionian islands, dog-eared copy the The Odyssey in hand. Going by personal evidence, I can think of many worse places in which to spend years wandering.

To round things off, while being remarkably topical, a British archeologist now believes that he’s finally found the definitive location of Homer’s Ithaca. There’s even a book about it.

Walking in Sunshine

Right. That’s quite enough classical literature for this blog. I don’t really want to sound like a complete ponce.

The Cave of the Nymphs, apparently, was a short distance out of Vathi, on the road leading north of the town. So off we headed.

As we went through Vathi, we had to shelter in doorways a couple of times, due to some very short but very heavy showers. Not sailing was probably a good idea. Then we were out of town, and the road went up. And then up some more.

We got some absolutely lovely views, in the glorious sunshine. Unfortunately, the Cave of the Nymphs wasn’t one of them.

I now know (thank you, Google!) that the cave is about 3km from Vathi. We were on the right road, but we turned back too soon. Oh well.

Instead, we went down to a lovely little beach, with the usual clear water and olive trees. Unfortunately, the bar wasn’t open, so we had to content ourselves with water to accompany our lunch. We lazed for a while, then Tom, Amy, Dave and I headed back, leaving Ian and Nancy to do coupley things. Probably not in the company of the topless girl sunbathing 50 yards up the beach, I hope.

Incidentally, it turned out to be a pretty damn good day for sailing. Bugger!

Fruit of the Dead

On the way out of Vathi, I spied a pomegranate tree by the side of the road. On the way back in, a couple of hours later, I suddenly remembered the tree. “Damn, must have missed it” thought I, before looking around and realising that I was all of 20 yards from it. On the basis that it was obviously fated, I managed to grab a single fruit, which looked at least half ripe.

The Ancient Greeks believed the pomegranate to be the food of the dead. Rather than find a dry factual webpage for your delectation, I’ve found a lovely blog entry about it. Slightly more bizarre is Forming the Pomegranate…apparently, there are only three ways to eat pomegranates - naked, in the rain, or both. I may try the second option one day.

When we got back to the boat, I opened up the pomegranate and shared it round. I was amazed that most of the group had never tasted it before. The seeds from the redder half were lovely and sweet, the others a bit more sour but still very juicy. Nice. General opinion was that it was surprisingly tasty…at least, that’s what they told me at the time.

Later that evening…

We went back into Vathi for dinner. On the recommendation of one of the other boats, we found O Nikos, a little taverna sited on a street corner just as the quayside tourist traps gave way to the local backstreets.

A nice meal ensued, with the usual slightly ropey house wine. It was a bit disconcerting having people on scooters whizzing past only inches from my back, mind. It seemed as though the entire flotilla turned up - the Americans were there, as were Paul and Alison, and (of course) John and Sheena. Think the foursome from the Solent also made an appearance, as did the lead crew a bit later.

True to form, John managed to almost burn the place down. I was collared by him to take a photo of him with the chef and head waiter. So I did. Then he asked if I could take another one, just to make sure. At this point, the completely untended grill decided to burst into flame…which looked nice on the photo.

The bill, when we finally received it (as mentioned, I am in fact invisible to Greek restauranteurs), was pretty damn small - much more what I’d expected, than the prices we’d gotten used to paying in the tavernas at which we’d moored up. Think it worked out to something like €10 each - bargain!

Wandered back, stopping off for a drink at Mylos, a very lively bar that did a fine line in cocktails. It also featured a (very good) barman sporting quite possibly the finest monobrow I’ve ever seen.

I’m never having grappa again. It really is not nice stuff.

I awake to find the Knight Oddity empty. Find watch. Check watch. Swear. Pull clothes on and, bleary-eyed, stagger off the boat. I seem to have missed the briefing, but the others are happily scoffing breakfast at the Captain’s Cabin. No, that’s still not a euphemism.

I don’t think I had any brekkie, and was definitely feeling a bit groggy. Probably the after-effects of those cocktails. Thankfully, it had been the first decent night’s sleep I had. I needed it.

So, the plan was to sail around Ithaki to “Big Vathi”. Yet again, the wind was fairly against us, but we had plenty of time to tack away, with some more nice sunshine to make things pleasant.

A couple of hours later, and we were around the headland of Ithaki/Ithaca/etc. The wind, of course, had switched round to make sure that we were still pretty much into it. By this point, we were feeling hungry, so stopped off in a sheltered bay for a spot of lunch.

This was the first time we’d anchored up…and it was interesting. For a start, we were very close to shore by the time depth gauge read 10m (our maximum depth for anchoring), so we didn’t have much room to play around in - basically, we’d let 40m of chain out (the lot), so pure trigonometry dictates that we’d drift around a bit. The fact that it was a bit windy didn’t help.

Still, Cap’n Nancy was suitably satisfied by our second attempt, so I ventured below deck to sort out lunch (ham/chicken/salami/cheese sandwiches were our staple lunch for the rest of the trip) while Amy and Ian leapt(-ish) off the boat for a swim. I even braved a leftover greasy sausage roll, and was amazed to see the sheer number of fish that’d come up when I dropped pastry into the water. Little shoals of grey-blue fishies, darting here and there, shown up beautifully thanks to the clear water. All very nice.

Despite much persuasion, Dave stubbornly refused to don his Speedos.

Shortly after we were finished, another yacht came and anchored up far too close to us for comfort, so we lifted the anchor and headed off on our merry way.

As we got out of the bay, we realised that the wind had picked up some, the sun had gone in, and it was getting a bit cloudy. Needless to say, the wind was still against us, so we proceeded under engine power. Fortunately.

The Imperfect Storm

As we got closer to Vathi, the weather got steadily worse. Then, all of a sudden, there was a complete white-out, with rain (and I think hail) lashing down, a strong wind tossing the boat all over the place, and visibility down to about. Ian’s description shows that he does indeed have the soul of a poet:

“Yuck.”

Nancy’s a very lucky girl.

For some reason, I was below deck at the time. Being more Captain Pugwash than George Clooney, I decided that this was A Good Thing, and stayed there.

Life jackets were dished out, and we headed in the only direction that was safe. Away from any land that might be out there. Amy radioed Zephy (the lead boat) to tell them this, namely that Judgement Day had come early and we were headed out to sea.

Apparently, this worried the rest of the flotilla somewhat, who were mostly behind us. We later found out that the worst hit were the American couple, who managed to be right in the middle of things.

Anyway, Zephy (I think it was James) told us that it was perfectly clear in the harbour, and that we should head straight in. So bearings were taken (first time I’d done that!) and we headed back, into (unbelievably) clear skies. Amazing.

Mooring up was done a bit away from town, by Dimitri’s Taverna, where the owner (Dimitri, presumably) had made up a large (but not exactly beautiful) concrete area around which the sailing flotillas (flotillae?) tended to congregate.

It was a bit of a nightmare, as just about every boat out there had decided that they’d had enough. Fortunately, James was handling the negotiations, and was mooring boats up three or four (and more, we found out later) deep. Apparently, that’s perfectly normal - everyone parks up and then just walks across all the other boats to get to land.

Unfortunately, I missed it, but it was reported that James pulled off one maneouvre where, with a row of 6 boats on one side and 4 on the other, and only just over a boat-length to play with, he managed to drop a single boat in without any collisions. It’s hard to describe unless you know what I’m talking about, but it was impressive!

We fairly quickly headed to the taverna for some drinks. We needed them.

The weather, by this point, had gone all sunny again. We read in the Harbour Guide* about Vathi’s “afternoon squall”, which we had to watch out for. Apparently, that wasn’t what we got.

* Sailing Holidays guide book, with details of all the harbours that they use.

Cap’n Nancy reckoned it (the wind) was “force 7 gusting 8″, which is pretty nasty. Not the sort of stuff you want to be out in.

You Want Dat Fish?

I’ve already mentioned the crystal-clear water and the little fishies swimming in it, but I’ve not mentioned all the line fishing that we saw. At just about every harbour, there was an old man (or three) dangling some nylon (from nothing more high-tech than some card) into the water, with a couple of hooks, weights, etc. attached to the end.

Now, while sitting in Dimitri’s, I spotted John and Paul on the jetty, so I nipped over to say hello and find out how they’d got on. Turns out that John was doing a bit of fishing himself, so I stopped and chatted for a while. I even had a go - my first fishing experience! Needless to say, I didn’t get anything, but it was only for a couple of minutes.

I handed the line back to John, and he caught a fish (with little shrimps as bait) within seconds - a hand-sized black and grey things with lots of spines and a huge mouth. It wriggled and jiggled, and was put back into the water while John found a carrier bag - he didn’t fancy trying to unhook it with those spines in play. So I held the line for a bit, while the little fish tried to get away. For such a small thing, it had quite a bit of tug. But then, so would I if I was in the same predicament.

Carrier bag found, we reeled fishy back up, John unhooked it, and it was left to swim merrily on.

Not sure I approve of that sort of thing as sport - I mean, a hook through your mouth has got to hurt. Catchin’-fer-eatin’ is another matter, of course - any meat eater, as I quite definitely am, would be a hypocrite to deny that.

So, back to the taverna, where I found out that Ian and Nancy were off for a romantic dinner that evening…which left me free to eat a fish!

Y’see, Nancy has a thing about fish. They’re okay in filleted form (but she’d rather not have them anywhere near her), but as whole-fish-on-a-plate, well, she’s really not happy. Nancy, if you’re reading this, I’d look away NOW.

I like fish, especially whole-fish-on-a-plate, so took my chance with glee. Tom decided to join me, so we asked the waitress. She then took us to the kitchen area, where the cook emptied out a carrier bag, to reveal a few whole fish, undeniably fresh. Apparently, they were sea bream. I think.

A little while later, we saw the fish being slapped onto the hot coals of the outdoor barbecue. Eventually, they were brought to us on a plate. We hadn’t ordered any sides (oops!) so it was just fish, a whole fish, and nothing but the fish. Each. Barbecued to a delicious crisp, with nothing but a bit of garlic and lemon. It was VERY tasty.

Nice though the fish was, it was Dave’s monstrous cut of veal that drew the eye. Superb.

Walking in the Moonlight

After dinner, I did the gooseberry thing and joined Tom and Amy for a bit of a stroll, down towards Vathi itself - the town proper was about a mile away, around the bay. I took my camera, as I reckoned the combination of water, lights and the bay itself could give me some lovely black and white shots, using available light of course.

The first people we bumped into were the American couple. Still cannot remember their names. Then we found Ian and Nancy, who’d had a rather pleasant meal out.

Shortly after that, Tom and Amy headed back. Amy had cracked her knee during the storm - she’d falling down the steps on the boat - and was feeling a bit tender. I continued, and proceeded to bump into most of the flotilla, including (as always) John and Sheena.

I meandered around the rather pretty town, taking a fair few shots. I’m looking forward to getting them back from the developer - hopefully, there’ll be one or two lovely shots out of the lot. Available light, largely handheld, in the dark…not really a recipe for success!

Eventually, I started heading back. And that’s when I realised that I could no longer see the stars. It had also got a bit humid. I quickened my step somewhat. All through the evening, there’d been flashes of lightning over the far hills, accompanied by rolls of thunder. It was all getting closer.

200 yards before I got back to the Knight Oddity, it started raining. 50 yards, and it was really raining. I got back to find Tom (I think) closing the hatches. Just after I got back into my cabin, it started pelting down. Close.

Anyway, I think that’s quite enough writing for today. Hopefully, I’ll get some photos up at some point. Just one more thing…

Speling

The Greeks are, of course, armed with a highly non-standard alphabet. Okay, so some would argue that it’s perhaps the standard (Western) alphabet…but they clearly haven’t moved into the Century of the Fruitbat yet.

This does not make my life easy. The declensions don’t help.

For example, is it Lefkas, or Lefkada, or just Bob? Kefalonia is even worse, with all combinations of [K/C]e[f/ph]a[l/ll]onia seemingly valid. I have my spellings, and I’m sticking to them. Unless some in the know informs me otherwise

What was interesting was that, towards the end of the week, I reckoned I was transliterating stuff pretty well, with a feel for the character set. Several years of science and engineering helps, mind, as does a couple of weeks of (Ancient) Greek lessons.

How could I forget?!

So, we’re sailing along quite happily, on relatively calm waters, when Dave starts feeling a bit green. As the novice, he was quickly kitted up with a life jacket, and Cap’n Nancy went through the accepted throwing-up procedure:

1. Put on life vest.
2. Check wind direction. You don’t want chunks blowing back on to the boat!
3. Lean over stern corner of boat, on the appropriate side. Get someone to hang on to you, just in case.
4. Hurl.

So, a Code Yellow-with-orange-bits was issued, and Dave was ushered to the port side stern corner. Or whatever you call it.

Dave continued to look green, but nothing came of it. However, Ian decided that he wanted in, and quickly usurped Dave “in the position”.

Ian made good on his promise, and spewed over the side quite gracefully, with no spillage on desk. Textbook!

So, puke rate 17%. If only it stayed that way for the whole holiday…

This may have all been due to the rather oily (but tasty) croissants that Tom and I purchased for our lunch, plus evern greasier sausage rolls and cheese pie. Even I felt slightly queasy, but my cast iron digestive system pulled through. My gut’s done me proud over the years!

So, we awoke, all refreshed and raring to go, and headed over to a nearby taverna for brekkie and briefing (this was to become pretty much the morning routine). The weather really didn’t look nice, with slate grey skies and much wind, even in Sivota’s well-sheltered harbour.

Predictably enough, James told us that there’d be no sailing today. Cue murmurs of agreement. So, we chilled out a bit, had showers (of which I shall write more later), did some shopping, etc.

We also got Paul’s briefing about our boat, e.g. what controls did what, and stuff we had to do or watch out for. Just realised that I’d not told you her name - the Knight Odyssey.

It was around about this time that we spotted a tornado-type funnel thing spouting out of the bottom of a particularly nasty cloud, just over the next hill, i.e. pretty damn close. Good call, James.

An hour later, the sun was shining and the weather was fine! We were all called together for a quick briefing, and off we went, down to Fiskardo, at the top end of Kefalonia.

There’s something breathtaking about skipping along, sails out, surrounded by clear blue water framed with beautiful islands, verdant and mountainous. The water was pretty deep, reaching 100m or within a few hundred yards of the shore. Definitely not what our resident sailors were used to - I believe 20m is considered “pretty damn deep” when you’re on the Solent.

This was my chance to attempt to master the bowline knot. Which I did…but only when not under pressure. It’s strange how that works. I think I’m going to have to bring a bit of string into the office - rather than looking for inspiration while aimlessly twiddling a paperclip, I could at least obtain tech writing enlightenment while practising something useful!

We had a lovely day’s sailing, with two reefs* in as the wind was fairly strong (and we weren’t in a hurry). Beating** all the way, though. Towards the end, we wind died off so we put the whole sail up…which was nice…and then the wind died off completely…so we motored the last little bit and into the harbour, where James helped us moor up. Here’s a picture of the harbour - pretty, isn’t it?

* Basically, making the main sail smaller so as not to catch so much wind.
** Sailing into the wind, i.e. tacking lots.

Once moored up, we got some ice cream and headed around the corner to a delightful little beach, with oh-so-stereotypical olive trees. Ian, Amy and I had a bit of a swim, and found that the (very) salty water made it pretty hard work. Went back eventually, called the others boring non-swimming sods (possibly), and Amy and I then stood in the sun to dry off. Not as efficient as a towel, but more enjoyable.

Then it was back to base for showers and stuff.

After showering (of which I’ll write more later) we all headed into the Captain’s Cabin for a group meal. It’s the one with the blue awning! To put things into context, we were moored up just to the right of the picture.

The group meal was a nice little affair, and the first time we really saw all the flotilla together.

Once we’d eaten, Paul tried to get us off to Theodora’s for some cocktails. We were knackered, and after an early night…so Ian and I succumbed! We followed the small group to a rather nice little bar, up some stairs, with a lovely view and lovelier cocktail list.

This is where we got to know two couples who were definitely some of the characters of the flotilla:

• Paul and Alison - one an Essex lad, the other from Northern Ireland. Ballymena or thereabouts, I believe.
• John and Sheena - both from the province. Sheena was from Antrim, but I really cannot remember where her husband was from.

The ladies were rather chuffed with the fact that I’d been to their neck of the woods a couple of times, even identifying certain pubs and hotels that I’d visited. Sheena seemed to be on the verge of adopting Ian, while John was highly chuffed to find out that, like him, Ian had been a Warrant Officer in the Air Cadets.

We’d only gone out for the one. A couple more strong G&T’s later, we wobbled back to the boat. Oops. MANY thanks to John for sneakily settling the drinks bill.

Ian even managed to pull, with John grabbing him close for a quick smack on the lips! Don’t think Nancy (his fiancée, after all) was overly impressed. Stubble rash is no laughing matter

Greek Plumbing

This was something of a learning experience. Thanks to the Victorians, us Brits have always had good plumbing. The likes of Armitage Shanks dominated high class European plumbing for years, and we pretty much take these things for granted.

The facilities on board the Knight Odyssey were pretty cramped - as typical with a yacht of its type, the bathroom (or “heads”) was tiny - to shower, you’d have to sit on the toilet and lift the shower head off the sink. Nice.

Fortunately, the ports we used know this, and many tavernas offer shower facilities, usually for a couple or three Euros.

In Sivota, you headed up some stairs, handed an incomprehensible Greek woman €2, and got to use half-decent facilities.

In Fiskardo, things were a bit more complicated. After Amy and I wandered around for a while, we found a restaurant that promised them. We paid €3 each, and were escorted up some steps at the back of the building, to nice clean twin shower cubicles…with no water pressure whatsoever. It was also fairly tepid. Being next to each other, we shouted across and tried various on/off/hot/cold combinations, to no avail, before making do with what we had.

Tom and Dave (or possibly Ian) later found some far superior examples up a back street. Amy and I getting poor showers became a recurring theme, unfortunately.

So that’s showers. Then there were the toilets. Unlike over here, tavernas and the like seemed quite happy for you to use the facilities. Maybe it’s because we were always in little ports where the yachties boosted the local income considerably.

The thing is, the Greek sewage system is just not designed to take difficult things…like toilet paper. Cue big notices everywhere saying not to flush paper down the loo. The rule of thumb being “if it’s not passed through you, don’t flush it”.

All good, clean(ish) fun.

Y’AAAARRRRRRRR!

Almost forgot. Monday was International Talk Like a Pirate Day…and we got to observe it afloat; how cool is that?!

Y’aaarrrrrr!

Unfortunately, Cap’n Nancy wouldn’t let us make Roger walk the plank.

Dave and I wake up, far too early, and endeavour to get ready. Of course, Dave’s already packed, but I had to track down my insurance details…which I failed miserably at doing. Fired up t’internet, with a view towards at least getting the policy number, and called a minicab to the airport.

It became a race against time. The honours ended up even - I got the number about 10 seconds before the cab turned up.

So, off to the airport we went…until I realised, in Northenden, that I’d forgotten my Euros. Back we go, then back to the airport…successfully, this time.

It’s now just short of 9am, I think, and we’d originally agreed to meet Tom and Amy at 8.30am. We found them waiting for us, having checked in. Our turn.

To cut a long (and fairly uneventful) story short, we then boarded our plane and flew to Preveza airport, in Greece.

Features of the trip included exceedingly small airline seats and a distinct lack of liquid refreshment being offered. Oh, and a nice hangover from me, as is traditional with me and flights.

So, get to Greece, board a coach, and get taken to Sivota, on the island(-ish) of Levkada, which is where we meet Ian and Nancy (who’d flown out from Gatwick earlier), our yacht, and our lead crew.

The Scurvy Crew

At this point, I should really explain who I was sharing a boat with. We were a mixed group of six, with lots of random connections…so much so, that explaining how we all knew each other just tended to confuse people. So I’ve drawn a diagram!

You can follow it round in any direction, e.g. Ian met Tom at Paul’s party (which also featured Dave), but they could equally have met through me. In theory, you could cut any one person (possibly two) out of the group, and there’d still be an excellent chance that the others would all have met each other anyway, eventually.

Nancy and Amy had been sailing since they were kids, with Ian and Tom racking up experience through their other halves. So to speak. I’d been sailing for one week before, on a somewhat suck-it-and-see trip round the Norfolk Broads, while Dave had never been on a sailing craft.

By dint of her superior larger boat experience, Nancy was appointed Skipper. Which I suppose makes Ian “Skipper’s Mate”.

Dave, by dint of least experience, was rechristened Roger, and therefore ordered to make the tea.

The Flotilla

Okay, so how do I explain a flotilla holiday? Well, you’ve got 9 or so hired yachts, each containing people who can (in theory) sail them. We had six aboard a Dufour 36 jobbie, while most had 2-4, albeit with (mostly) slightly smaller yachts. In theory, we had a 36′ yacht capable of bedding 8 people. In practice, of course, 6 people was a squeeze - it’s just fortunate that (a) we spent most of our time out of the cabin, and (b) we’re all good friends. Still

In addition to the holiday-makers was the lead boat, complete with lead crew:

• Holly (aka “Gilmore”) - the hosty with the mosty. Responsible for sorting out the eating and drinking. Rather Australian, and depressingly young and bouncy. Highly blonde
• Paul (aka “Beanster”) - the unbelievably chilled-out engineer (”engo”). Responsible for fixing stuff, e.g. engines and toilets. Poor sod. The old man of the lead crew, and a real laconic Brit with a Gordon’s-dry sense of humour.
• James (aka “Focker”) - the skipper. Responsible for the sailing aspect, e.g. briefing us, sorting out docking for the night, and getitng the weather reports. Most people thought he was yet another Aussie, but he’s actually from the south coast somewhere. Only 21. Bless.

All very competent, with the healthy tans and hung over expressions that seem to go with That Sort Of Thing. The company’s lead crews are apparently 30% Kiwi, 30% Aussie, 30% Brit, with the other 10% made up of random others…the upshot of which is that they all seem to developed have slightly antipodean twangs.

‘Twas organised through Sailing Holidays, with us all on a 1 week version of the South Ionian route. I’ll get a nice little map together for a later post.

—

Anyway, so that’s about it for day 1. We settled into the boat, headed out to a taverna for a meal, and went to bed.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m hung over.

The Friday night was spent drinking in Font, then drinking more in SubSpace, where we were joined (coincidentally) by Housemate Helen and her workmates. Was quite a drunken night.

So, it’s Saturday afternoon, and I really can’t remember what I did. Think I did a spot of shopping in Withington, and packed for the holiday.

5pm or so. Pick Dave up from Piccadilly, and pop into the Marhaba (on Back Piccadilly) for a cheap-and-tasty curry. This is one of Manchester’s curry cafés, which are perhaps best explained in this excellent article. In short, they’re great. FACT.

Anyway, once fed, we head back to my place, get sorted, and it’s back into town for Natalie’s birthday meal in Lime. It gets a bit messy, with lots of cancellations and stuff, but eventually we eat. Dave and I share a meze, due to earlier pigging out. The curry was half the price but about twice as tasty.

We all head downstairs to the clubby bit, rather cunningly monikered ‘SubLime’. It was empty, and the music was rubbish. Well, to an RnB fan it might have been quite good, but I’m definitely not an RnB fan. It slowly filled up, and I amused myself by chatting to Housemate Linda, ex-Housemate Al, Laura and Edel (an absolutely lovely mate of Natalie’s, from Sligo), not to mention Dave and the birthday girl herself.

It’s at this point that communications revealed that ex-Housemate Patricia, who was also celebrating her birthday, had ended up in the inimitable Jabez. Nice. We weighed things up, and Linda, Dave and I hopped in a cab south.

Got to Jabez, found the girls, and much drunken dancing was done. The place may have its knockers (fnarr), but it’s always a fun cheesy night out.

Linda, Dave and I ended up back at our place around 3am. Sleep ensued.

Chance Encounters

No night out in Manc is complete without me bumping into people I know.

First up is the barman from Hardy’s Well. I have no idea what his name is, but he’s been serving us post-hockey drinks for years. I turn around in Lime, and he’s waving at me from behind the bar. Turns out that he works there as well. Later, in SubLime, he adopts a hurt expression and says accusingly “You didn’t tell me you were leaving”. I was suitably freaked out. Think DeNiro in Cape Fear.

Second was Lisa, who I bumped into while in the coat queue at Jabez. One of the many Didsbury hockey types who was out that evening (including one who used to be on my Hulme Hall hockey team), but she’s worthy of mention because I keep seeing her at various (albeit hockey-related) functions, and she’s always seemed familiar. I found out why last Sunday, when returning from the sailing trip - it’s because she lives on my road! Small world, especially considering that our street only has about 22 houses.