GONE WITH THE WIND
Our cruising couple fight fluctuating gales and fussy filters aboard Zaffina while taking in breathtaking scenery on part two of their Grecian excursion
Part two of Frank and Fiona Walker’s Greek odyssey aboard their Azimut 62 Zaffina sees them fighting with fluctuating gales and fussy fuel filters
Just a morning’s cruise takes us from peaceful, underdeveloped Kea to lively, cosmopolitan Mykonos, one of the busiest of the Greek islands. We have a berth reserved in the old port, but I’m disappointed that it is some distance from Mykonos Town and rather isolated. It does, however, offer good shelter and as the wind has already risen and is expected to rise still further, security is more important than picturesque surroundings. Frank drops the anchor opposite our appointed space and brings Zaffina back, but with a crosswind blasting the berth, it’s a tricky manoeuvre. Even when tied on, we’re worried about stability if the wind reaches the strength forecast, and when a diver suggests attaching a rope to weights on the seabed, we gladly accept his offer. This is not a procedure we’ve used before but once a rope is firmly rigged from the seabed to our bow, we feel a lot more secure.
It is a beautiful evening as we take the bus-boat to the island’s stunningly pretty capital. This is a town of sugar-cube houses, pretty paving, hidden courtyards and winding alleyways that twist and turn time and again, and open onto one delightful view after another. It is also a town for the jetset, where only up-market jewellers outnumber designer stores, where window displays glitter and sparkle with constellations of diamonds, and every vendor tries hard to entice passers-by into his emporium.
At a trendy hillside bar, we sip cocktails as the sun descends to the horizon, melting a path of gold across the still water before disappearing in a final blaze of glory. Cocktails evolve into a painfully expensive dinner and eventually we return by taxi to the old port, satisfied and satiated by our first taste of Mykonos.
boating’s a breeze
By morning, the wind has risen as predicted and we realise we will have to stay here for a few days. Not only is it windy, but we also have an unexpected shower of rain, and it is the red variety, heavy with sand from the Sahara, which leaves smears on the glass and grainy deposits along the deck. When eventually it has passed, Frank suggests that we wash Zaffina, but it seems the water here is almost as dirty as the rain and after spending several hours hosing, sponging and leathering her, our Azimut looks no better than when we started!
Exploring the island by car, we are amazed by the varied yet timeless landscapes of the interior, a far cry from the chic town. We pass dozens of churches, from tiny domed chapels to elaborate monasteries with high walls and multiple cupolas, and hillsides that are often barren apart from bright blazes of bougainvillea marking watercourses down each precipitous incline. We eat at a beach tavern with a surprisingly familiar feel, but it isn’t until we are leaving that we see a sign, proudly declaring, ‘This taverna featured in the movie Shirley Valentine’. Sadly, though, there’s no sign of Tom Conti chatting up English tourists! The wind drops in time for a special rendezvous. Close friends from Texas are on a Mediterranean cruise and we plan to spend some precious time together. Early in the morning, the massive Celebrity Reflection ties up on one side of the quay, dwarfing our little Azimut moored on the other, and David and Miranda jump ship to join us for an idyllic day. We motor across to nearby Rinia where we find a deserted anchorage for a picnic, offering them just a taster of
the carefree boating life that we love so much. Then all too soon they return to Celebrity, to continue with a very different style of cruising, and we’re ready to set sail for somewhere more peaceful.
TIME TO TOUR
On a perfect Greek morning we meander south past Delos, where ancient ruins draw tourists from the larger islands. Our destination is a large anchorage near Naoussa on the northern tip of Paros but as we approach, we can see dozens of masts behind the headland and worry that our leisurely cruise has cost us a good position. When we turn the corner and motor towards our chosen spot, we fall about laughing; the masts we could see were all on land in a small boatyard!
This inlet is deep and beautifully sheltered from almost every wind direction. There are a couple of tiny islets in the middle, a small town of sparkling white houses on the opposite shore and an impressive little church on an outcrop of rock just a stone’s throw away. The nearby hillsides are lush and green, and Paros appears less barren than nearby Mykonos. Such an idyllic situation deserves recognition, so we both drop into the water for a celebratory and refreshing swim.
When we take the dinghy across to Naoussa, we have a pleasant surprise. It is almost as pretty as Mykonos Town, which was teeming with tourists, whereas this little place is peaceful, charming and laid back. Yes, it caters for visitors with waterside restaurants, seafront bars and plentiful gift shops, but the atmosphere here is relaxed and the pace of life more gentle. We stop for a gyros (kebab meat, veg and fries stuffed into a fold of pita bread) at a tiny restaurant, where hungry cats watch our every move and then saunter away dismissively when they realise that we’re not sharing.
The wind has risen, and our ride back across the bay to Zaffina takes twice as long as the trip to town! The winds in this region are notorious, even at this time of year. In the height of the summer, the Meltemi can blast at a force 8 for days on end and although we’re not expecting quite such a drumming, we decide we’d be better off in port in the capital of Paros, Parikia, so we up anchor once again and head down the west coast to shelter from the next blast.
Going into full tourist mode, we hire a strange little vehicle, half jeep and half quad, and set off to explore. The wind in our faces is scented with broom, herbs and sunshine as we zip around the south coast, gazing across the Straits to Andiparos and wondering if we’ll manage to negotiate Zaffina through the shallow channel, scattered with above- and below-water rocks. Knowing Frank’s penchant for narrow channels, I think I can work out the answer to that one!
Lunch is at a little taverna by the sea, set in its own kitchen garden where the fruit and veg are as fresh as it gets. After a delicious chicken souvlaki washed down with homemade lemonade, we relocate to a tiny bay with just a crescent of soft sand, to work on our tans.
We’ve both fallen in love with Paros, but there are so many islands to explore that as soon as conditions permit, we move on. We do indeed go through that narrow channel; I stand on the bow, peering into the clear water to try to identify any obstacles in our path while Frank eases Zaffina gently along and we get through without mishap. Ios is on our route, and although it looks inviting, we’re eager to reach Thira, more commonly known as Santorini.
Probably the all-time most iconic image of Greece is of a crisp white church with a bright blue cupola, perched on a hillside high above the Mediterranean. That church is in Santorini, a crescentshaped island on the rim of a giant volcano. Despite the photographs, we’re still not fully prepared for such an overwhelming spectacle. When we round the north-western tip and gaze upwards, our mouths fall open at the sight of Oia high above us. Houses so brilliantly white they strain our eyes are in stark contrast to the deep chocolate brown and iron-ore red of the massive, sheer cliffs beneath. Blue domes and bell towers abound and a disused windmill stands proudly at the northernmost point, sails tilting lazily towards an ancient castle.
We head for one of the massive buoys far below the town and swiftly tie on. It’s the perfect place to enjoy both lunch and the views, and within minutes I am busy in the galley preparing a meal. But the delights of the anchorage fade when a motor boat rockets past, its steep wake hitting us directly on the beam. Every piece of crockery, glassware and cutlery on board makes a desperate bid for freedom, while the contents of the fridge attempt to charge the door. Frank and I valiantly block cupboards and drawers to keep them from offering escape routes. But the caldera is a busy piece of water, and if we want peace and calm, we must move on.
OIA AND BEYOND
Vlikadha marina is on the southern tip of the island, well away from the tourist trail. We’ve been warned to enter on the far right of the extremely shallow channel, and once in, we’re guided to moor alongside a tripper boat that isn’t in use. Apparently there isn’t any room elsewhere, although we can see plenty of space, and sure enough, the following morning we are relocated to a place alongside the quay.
Frank is eager to wash Zaffina, but the water is extremely salty with volcanic dust mixed in, and decorates our boat with a pattern of grubby smears. Again, she ends up grimier than when he started!
We’re impatient to view Oia from the land and for the third time in as many islands, hire a car and head out. The town is even more beautiful seen from the horizontal than the vertical, and we happily
waste an afternoon wandering around taking in the panorama. We visit Thira, the cliff-top capital of the island, and take in Red Beach, named for its deep crimson-coloured sand, too hot to walk on during the heat of the day. We visit the highest point on Santorini, where another monastery commands amazing views in all directions and it’s hard to imagine a more picture-perfect island, or to believe that the whole area is just the rim of a volcano that still experiences a certain amount of activity. Watching the sunset on the edge of the caldera is another memorable event, especially with a cocktail in hand and a camera to record the moment.
It is a wrench to leave, so we opt to have one final night at anchor in the caldera. En route from the marina to the anchorage, Frank notices that the coolant is failing to do its job properly and the temperature read-outs are worryingly high. We drop our speed and things correct themselves, but as soon as the throttles go forward, the temperature rises again. This is not good news, and once in the caldera, we drop anchor and consider our options. Down in the engine space, Frank identifies a problem with the filters, but he can’t get them open sufficiently to deal with it and we’re about to return to Vlikadha when he has an idea. The magnificent yacht, Maltese Falcon, is anchored close to us, so Frank calls to request a helping hand. Within a few minutes, their chief engineer, Nico is on board Zaffina. Together, he and Frank rectify the problem, undoing the stubborn fittings on the filters and clearing all the muck picked up in the shallow marina; a potentially major problem is reduced to a minor glitch and we are finally able to relax, grateful for our neighbours.
Our night at anchor, however, is not an enjoyable experience. Despite the pilot book warning that an eruption is not beyond the realms of possibility, it is the swell that proves most problematic here. It rolls in from the west and throughout the night, hits us straight on the beam. Zaffina rocks and rolls for a few minutes, the swell dies down and then, 30 seconds later, starts up again. By 6am we’ve had enough, and sad as we are to leave Santorini, we crave calmer waters. And so, with the early mist still drifting over the caldera, we set a course that will take us via Sifnos and Paros, back to Athens.
Despite the famous photographs, we’re still not fully prepared for such an overwhelming spectacle. When we round the north-western tip and gaze upwards, our mouths fall open at the sight of Oia above us