Departure from Zakinthos was taken when we had a good forecast of force four north-westerly. Three hours of motoring positioned us three miles east of Cephalonia, at which point we cut the motor and decided to drift a while. The drift lasted a full six hours, until the promised wind finally arrived and we sailed to the mainland, north of the Gulf of Patras. Our anchorage that first night, between Petalas and the mainland, was wild, remote and beautiful. We coast-hopped, stopping frequently in lovely little villages and islands along the mainland west coast, finally crossing to Nidri on the island of Levkas. Here we met up with Paul and Soraya on PF Flyer, last seen in the Larnaca Marina bridge club the previous winter. We took leave of them three days later to transit the Levkas canal and travel on to Vonitsa Bay in the Gulf of Amvrakia.
The Gulf of Amvrakia is a small inland sea. Unusually calm weather conditions allowed us to move Tin Hau across Vonitsa Bay to moor off the beach at the north-east side. Close to sunset we were visited by a swimmer. He had come to invite us to join himself and his friends on shore for whisky. We gladly rowed to the beach, and followed his instructions to land in the area cleared of mines, which was marked with lines and floats. The gentleman who had swum out to us was General Kalamaki (retired), lately of Greek National Security and Intelligence, and we had been summoned to join his friends– including General Kosta Theoghitis and his wife Helen – all of whom were the guests of Peter, Kiki and Eddie Papapetros, on whose land we were now being feted. The Papapetros family were tobacco farmers. These charming people entertained us lavishly over the next few days, and were able to tell us much about modern Greek history. The two Generals had been in the army at the same time as the Colonels – on the opposite side – and had some hair-raising tales to tell. We were able to help General Kalamaki to recover his drowned spectacles, wristwatch and other items when his sailing dinghy was capsized by strong winds. We became aware of his predicament when I heard him crying ‘catastrophe, catastrophe’ from the shore one afternoon. The word ‘catastrophe’ will never have the same ring to it as it did that day. (The ‘mines’ we had been warned about turned out to be sea urchins.)
We reluctantly raised anchor once again and moved to Amphiloca for a night. We then moved to a remote anchorage in reedbeds near River Arakhthos, another at Korakonisa, and finally to Preveza at the entrance to the gulf. We were escorted for much of this journey by several schools of dolphins. At one stage we felt they were seriously trying to warn us of shallow ground ahead of the starboard bow.
We dined aboard Alpine Rose with Anne and Tom Devine – another opportunity for a few hands of bridge. They were making their way back to Larnaca for yet another winter in the marina. We went on to Paxos; stopping in Mongonisi, where David was forced to spend ages tying stern lines to rocks either side of a totally naked golden sylph. Those knots were infernally difficult to get right, and had to be inspected regularly throughout the afternoon.
We made a very brief stop in Porto Gaios to see the town, before going on to anchor for the night at Lakka. We were joined by two of the staff of the sailing club for our next hop to Sand Bar Bay near Mourtos. There was only one other boat in the anchorage. We seemed to be anchored rather close, so David apologised and offered to move. Instead he was invited aboard Marpekie to meet her owners. Nadine and George were a highly entertaining pair. When asked about his occupation during his working life, George replied that he was a ‘condomologist’. In fact he had been a designer and manufacturer of machines which were used by condom manufacturers for testing their products. His business card graphically illustrated his line.
Our final port of call was Igoumenitsa, a harbour on the mainland just south of Albania. We spent one night there before crossing to the island of Corfu and, more specifically, the marina at Gouvia. It was, by then, early September. David had put up with his aching back all summer long. He did not wish to have to undergo yet another pain-wracked winter. Provided we found the marina secure, David planned to leave me on Corfu and fly back to England. The few days till his departure were filled with all the usual end-of-season activity, as well as organising his travel. The marina provided buoys for securing the bow, but to make sure Tin Hau could withstand just about anything, we laid out a heavy bow anchor as well.
The day of parting arrived. We said our farewells at the bus stop in Kondokali and I watched as the rackety old bus trundled off towards the town of Corfu. When it was lost to sight, I walked back to the boat, unsure when I would next see David.
5. Another Winter, Another Marina
September was really quite early to be settling for the winter. The advantage for us lay in the fact that as there were few boats around, we had the pick of the berths. Our spot was well protected from both wind and swell.
C-shaped Gouvia Bay lay some five miles north-west of Corfu town. The marina occupied approximately one-sixth of the entire bay, and was situated in the south-west corner adjacent to the village of Kondokali. Like Larnaca, it was in a fenced compound. There was a single motor vehicle access point at one end of the village and a narrow path through to Takis Taverna in the village centre. Unlike Larnaca, the facilities within the compound were minimal. The marina office and a small, expensive, chandlers shop were the main buildings. There were two uninviting ablution units, which resembled nothing so much as circular blockhouses complete with embrasures all around. These ‘arrow slits’ were left unglazed, thus providing excellent ventilation and a grandstand view for passers-by. Only one of the units was in use because the keys to the other had been lost at the time of the official opening.
Every berth had a pod for electricity and water, but the main supplies to these were run through an open channel alongside the pavement that skirted the quays. Unwary and inebriated yachtsmen were constantly at risk of stumbling or cycling into these ‘ditches’. There was at least one broken limb during my time there.
Takis Taverna was the closest thing to a yacht club serving the marina. The restaurant side was run by a Brit and the food was, therefore, mainly English. This was very common on Corfu. I have never understood why, wherever they go, the English have to have their own kind of meals served in restaurants. Thankfully most of the rest of Greece has managed to resist this appalling tendency to pander to its tourists.
The village had a small, well-stocked supermarket; a pharmacy; half a dozen bars and discos catering to the requirements of tourists, and one or two local tavernas patronised by inhabitants who merely tolerated visitors. There was also an interesting knitwear factory. The tourist hotels were some distance from the village centre.
Most of the activity in the marina during September was charter based. Several small flotillas operated out of Gouvia, as well as a few large crewed boats. These came and went on a regular fortnightly schedule. One or two privately owned yachts were occupied and it was to these I turned for companionship in David’s absence. Keith and Diane on Snuller, Bill and Carole Kerley of Kerley Tops and Norman and Pauline Sheriff on Summersong, all included me in their social activities. I also got to know a few of the people staffing and crewing the charter operations, as well as a few locals.
There was a bus service into Corfu town. Though cheap, it was decidedly irregular, so one could wait ages to get into town. The trip by bike was relatively flat, quite suitable for our non-geared cycles.
At the beginning of October, my parents booked a package holiday to Corfu for a fortnight. Their hotel was not far from the marina, so I cycled back and forth daily. We set out by bus to find new places to explore. Mum and Dad are tireless walkers, so once we reached our destination, our adventures continued on foot. At the end of each day we returned to their hotel, where I luxuriated in the endless supply of hot water. There I had my first bath since my visit to England, and my first proper hot shower since Larnaca. We were forced to take a break in this routine when, for three days, the heavens opened and created the heaviest deluge I have ever known. The streets were awash under twelve inches of thin mud. Walking, only possible if wearing s
ea-boots, was infinitely preferable to cycling. I spent one of those days mooching round the hotel with my parents, but they (and I) were happier killing time on Tin Hau. The games cupboard on board had more to offer rain-weary souls than did the hotel.
After Mum and Dad had gone, a party was got up to sail down the coast to Petreti. I was invited to sail aboard Snuller, and the rest of the group on Salambo. Sailing a boat with a western rig was an almost-forgotten experience. Keith was very generous in allowing me hours of helming time. We had several nights in the quaint fishing village of Petreti. The taverna owner and his family knew Keith and Diane well. They prepared delicious seafood meals for us. As it was the weekend, the villagers were in the mood to let their hair down. Both evenings were given over to strenuous dancing once the feasting was over. The owner/skipper of Salambo, Ivor Henderson, offered me the opportunity to sail back aboard his boat. We were blessed with a terrific sailing breeze for the sixteen-mile return journey. Later, I was able to sail to Ayios Stephanos and Kassiopi aboard Salambo, and had great fun doing so.
Norman and Pauline organised an enormous bonfire on 5th November. There were few fireworks to be had, but that didn’t really matter. The main thing was that it gave an excuse for a yottie ‘knees-up’. The few children in the marina were content with a large guy made from bits and bobs scrounged off the liveaboards. Embers from the fire were raked into a pit, then used for cooking meat and potatoes. I remember it as being a very cold night with a brilliant starry sky.
As the month wore on it became clear that few yachts were likely to be occupied throughout the winter. Gouvia was a place to park your boat and fly home. Planes stop flying into Corfu on a regular basis from mid-November, so most yotties who were going home did so then. Diane flew out with them, hoping to be back for Christmas, returning by road. She and Keith had a car and belongings in England that they wished to move over to Greece.
The final sailing of the season took place in November, after the last charterers had returned home but before the charter boats were ‘put to bed’. The charter companies organised a fun regatta for their staff and crews and all occupied boats in the marina. Unable to de-winterise Tin Hau for the event, I was invited to join Keith, with a few ex-pat friends, aboard Snuller for the race. Nobody took the regatta too seriously – a good thing, as there was virtually no wind once we reached the turn-around buoy! Getting back by any means other than engine or auxiliary became the challenge. Boats were towed by swimmers or crew paddling on sailboards; or they were propelled by dinghy oars. The flotilla crews bombed anyone in range with water filled balloons. Generally, it was an opportunity for everyone to let off steam and we did just that.
Looking after Tin Hau was fairly straightforward. I drew up a chart listing all the regular chores usually carried out by David. I attended to these on a certain day each week, and noted every check made and any changes or worries to keep an eye on. I had one slight concern over the leakage of current into the hull, but was able to straighten that out with the help of Bill Kerley before he and Carole returned to the UK.
We had several gales in the middle of November. Our berth was uncomfortable, especially in a northerly blow, but it was secure. My only real worry in that sort of weather was the boat along our starboard side. Its mooring was in a parlous state, to say the least.
Correspondence and phone calls from England indicated that David was getting very frustrated with the lack of diagnosis. He had been through some horrendous investigative procedures which had revealed nothing of significance. He was issued with TENS equipment to help him manage the pain, and virtually told that that was all that could be done for the present. TENS is an acronym for transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation. The TENS equipment comprises a small battery pack with controls to adjust the level of electrical pulse delivered, and electrodes to connect to the body. The patient administers his own treatment by delivering the electrical pulses, via the electrodes, to the area in which he is experiencing pain. This treatment is supposed to relieve the pain.
Diane contacted David while she was in England and asked if he would be ready to return for Christmas and if so, would he help her to drive out? In view of the lack of progress and a desire to get back to Tin Hau and myself, he agreed to this plan.
Keith and I were delighted to see our partners return late in the second week of December. They had a journey fraught with difficulties, which started with a cancelled, rescheduled and re-cancelled ferry sailing from England. As a result, the rest of the trip was rushed and David was relieved to reach Ancona in time for the ferry crossing to Greece.
I believe David was surprised at how little camaraderie there was in the marina; so few boats occupied, and many of those having little or no common language. Most of our social life was turned towards the young ex-pats in Kondokali. Jerome aboard Crusader, whom we secretly believed to be an MI6 agent, became a fourth at bridge along with Brian Hodges. Games were generally played in the rather noisy and smoky atmosphere of Takis Taverna, with a pool game going on in the background. Two east-bound yachts, Raddy and Pennylee, turned up a week or so before Christmas. We were delighted to see them as both crews were English and both were willing to enter members in the marina quiz team. A local pub/restaurant was drumming up business by running a winter quiz competition.
All the drama usual among ex-pat communities was, meanwhile, unfolding in Kondokali; various fallings-out leading to certain cliques not talking to each other, and several partnerships splitting up and re-forming differently. David and I got caught in the middle of one such triangle as all parties were good friends of ours. (The two of us probably knowing more about the situation than any of the three personalities involved.)
Pete and Ellen of Raddy managed to get their engine troubles sorted out by New Year and were anxious to be off. Pete had taken a year’s leave of absence from work and was intent on getting through Suez and back. He and Ellen were keen scuba divers, determined to explore some of the wonderful reefs of the Red Sea. We sailed with them to Porto Gaios (Paxos) when they left Gouvia. We enjoyed every minute of their company and were sad that our time together was so short.
Our friend Brian was temporarily short of cash and very anxious to return to England for a holiday. We bought his motorcycle for the price of an airfare and used it to explore the island. Numerous things went wrong with it. The first month we owned it, I spent more time fitting new clutch and brake cables than riding the thing. Eventually we had it running well. The only snag was that it really didn’t like carrying both of us up hills. This meant that one of us had to hop off and hoof it up to the top. However, it was great fun and gave us a lot more freedom than the bus and push-bikes ever had.
When we arrived in Corfu, we came across a small junk rigged boat called Hui Mar. During the winter she was bought by Geoff Leigh-Ford and Gill Brooks, who had also recently acquired a small flotilla. Their plan was to base themselves on board Hui Mar, while supervising their five-strong fleet and some windsurfers. The boats were fitted out during the late winter. During David’s absence I had been asked to help deliver one of these boats to Cephalonia in the new year. The time to do this was fast approaching, and Gill came over to confirm that our help was still needed. In fact, they were short of a skipper or two so I recklessly agreed that we would take a boat each!
I had sailed Tin Hau many times without David present in the wheelhouse. I had even sailed her when he was not on board. On each occasion, though, there had been someone else around to help if I got into difficulties. This was the first time I had ever had sole charge of, or single-handedly sailed, a boat of any size larger than an Optimist. I had not had that much experience of roller reefing genoas either. The boat I was to deliver was twenty-seven feet LOA – just over half the length of our own, but a fraction of the tonnage. Even though she had a modern roller reefed jib, she proved to be quite a handful – the sails were far more difficult to deal with than those on Tin Hau. I also had a few problems with the engine controls, which kept
slipping into neutral. This made the daily business of mooring a bit problematic and affected the canal transit at Levkas. We had a mixture of conditions which meant I had sail handling as well as helming to cope with. The final leg was a brilliant sail from Levkas to Cephalonia with the boats racing each other. I did not win, but was very proud of my effort. I did better than several experienced skippers! More importantly, I’d proved to myself and David that I was more than capable of handling a boat on my own.
One of several boats along the quay was the yacht Nabob. Alan and Cilla Hull were her owners. Throughout the winter, this couple struggled to come to a decision about which way they should go when they left Gouvia. They kept a tally in which each recorded a daily vote of either east or west according to their inclination at the time. By the end of the winter they were no nearer reaching a decision. The votes were inconclusive. Eventually they opted to tag along with us and sail in company. We had decided that we should head for the western Mediterranean and, eventually, England. David was not coping with the back problem. As a result, chartering was looking less likely. We thought it might be best to give the British medical system a longer try. Two weeks or so prior to departure, the Hulls discovered that they had no insurance certificate for cruising in Italy. They went back to casting votes.
Cutting the Dragon's Tail Page 34