Makarma goes walkabout

11th July, Grikos, Patmos

It was supposed to be a quiet Sunday lunch at the waterfront taverna.

Spiros, the taverna's resident pet

We've just finished our chilled watermelon and we're preparing to spend a leisurely afternoon watching the world go by, when we notice something odd about Makarma, anchored out in the bay.  Her bow is falling off the wind but is not being pulled back up again by the anchor chain. Her anchor can't be dragging, can it?

As we watch in mounting horror, she drifts off in the gusty breeze trailing the anchor and 40 metres of chain. She is soon picking up speed across the bay.  Oh my god! Leighton throws some money on the table and we sprint for the dinghy to race after her. Makarma meanwhile narrowly misses a large motorboat and is sliding sideways towards the bows of an Australian sailing boat.

Our progress in the dinghy feels agonisingly slow as we watch the drama unfold. We're helpless to do anything about the inevitable collision. Come on, we urge the outboard. This is the moment we're starting to regret exchanging our old 10hp engine for a sluggish 2.5hp.

By the time we reach her, Makarma is pinned on the bow of the yacht with our man-overboard A-frame caught in its pulpit. A guy from the motorboat is using his tender as a tug, trying to push us off. Back onboard at last, we help the yacht's owner disentangle us from his bow and Leighton gets the engine started in record time to reverse us out of harm's way.

After we get re-anchored and the adrenalin's stopped pumping we wonder how on earth it happened. We have huge confidence in our 20kg Bugel which doesn't usually let us down. This time we've been anchored here for three days in strong wind and we've checked every day that our anchor is still well dug in.  The only possible explanation we could come up with was a boat anchored very close to us left while we were ashore and disturbed our anchor.

Whatever the reason, the incident has a happy outcome. When Leighton went over to apologise to the Aussies and check they were OK they generously invite us over. Mike and Sue on Skedaddle Again, who we'd - literally! - bumped into have no hard feelings.  To our relief, no damage has been done to either boat either. Although we wouldn't choose to meet people this way, we're glad we have.

At anchor as she should be

Revelations - Patmos 4th July

Skala, Patmos - 4th July

Today marks the date five years ago when we sailed from Plymouth at the start of our journey to the Med.  We've come a long way - in many senses. On the day we arrived here in Skala, we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary as well.

Still together!

We reckon that it's quite an achievement to stay together when you're living together in a 40 foot box. We may have had some low points, but on balance we've had some of the happiest days of our lives onboard and we have no regrets about doing what we're doing. What's more, we're collecting some amazing experiences to remember in years to come. 

It seems fitting that we went to visit the cave where St John had his vision of the Apocalypse. He's the reason that Patmos is on the tourist trail. Cruise liners bring them in by the thousands. By a lucky stroke, a service was in progress when we entered the little chapel enclosing the cave, and the priest blessed us with holy water flicked from a bunch of wet parsley.

The chapel at Profitis Ilias

One lunchtime we stopped for a drink at a taverna and got talking to two ladies who were decorating the poles holding up the awning over our heads. It turned out that one of them lives in Florida but spends three months a year for the last ten years volunteering at a local farm owned by the church. Joy (or Hara in Greek) invited us to drop by the farm at Kalogiro. Inspired by her story, we did.

Kalogiro is a small farm lying in a fertile valley that runs down to the beach on the northwest coast of the island. Hara was hoeing when we arrived but stopped to show us around. Aubergine, peppers, tomatoes and watermelons were growing in the fields; we saw apricot, fig and pomegranate trees; and stooks of oats were piled up ready for winnowing in a traditional threshing circle.  There was grazing for goats, a cow and some mules.


At its heart stood a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Tenant farmers Nikolas and Kristina live with their family in the old monks' cells.  The place has an in-tune-with-the-seasons quality, a place that's far removed from worldly pressures. No surprise then that Hara has a calm grace about her - a living example of taking things slowly.

However it may not last. Hara told us this year the monastery tried to evict the farmers. They've been granted a two-year reprieve. She may yet turn out to be their best defence - she fund-raises for charities back in US, and would get backing to save it if it's threatened again.  We wish them well.

Mainstream Meltemi

Port Augusta, Arki - 26th June

You don't see too many trees about on the islands of the Aegean, and those that you do see grow at an extreme angle, leaning away from the wind. If you sail around these parts you soon know the reason why - it's all down to the meltemi, the summer north wind that sailors treat with great respect. 

The meltemi blows at the boundary between high pressure over the Balkans and low pressure over Asia Minor. It blows on and off from the end of June until the end of September from between a northeasterly and northwesterly direction.

This summer wind is both a blessing and a curse.  A blessing because it takes the edge off the summer heat, and gives our windgen (which we call Moaning Minnie for the noise it makes) the chance to top up the batteries. And its reliable direction allowed early sailors to navigate the Mediterranean and by a magical process of cross fertilisation between different cultures, laid the foundations of our western civilisation.

A curse because it blows hard - anything up to gale force - night and day without let-up so there's no respite when you want to sleep at night.  It sucks all the moisture out of the air and one's skin. Anything not tied down on deck goes flying. And it kicks up a vicious sea making sailing a bit of an ordeal even if you're going with it downwind. 

The Dodecanese islands are bang in the fast lane of the meltemi. It is blowing 35 knots of wind over Arki at the moment and will keep it up until tomorrow evening. We managed to get a space on the small quay in Port Augusta when we arrived on Friday and we're sitting it out along with the eight other boats here.

Not that staying on the island is any hardship as Arki is our ideal sort of place. 

It has only 42 permanent residents, no cars and no direct ferries from any international airport, so few visitors make it here apart from a few sailing boats.  It is simple and unpretentious, and the harbour square where everyone hangs out is a leisurely, friendly place with shady terraces for a drink or a meal.

We've scored two firsts while we've been here.  Yesterday we saw several rabbits when we walked across the hills.  This wouldn't normally be remarkable except they are the first rabbits we've ever seen anywhere in Greece - the Greeks tend to shoot all edible wildlife for the pot.  And much to Leighton's excitement he discovered some clay amphorae embedded into a rocky ledge underwater when he was snorkelling.  It's not too difficult to imagine that they are all that's left of the cargo of an ancient ship which was wrecked on these shores in the meltemi thousands of years ago.

This little cormorant fishes regularly around the boat

Reaching our limit

 Pythagorean Harbour, Samos - 23rd June

Reaching our limit – or to put it more positively – our first milestone

We've reached the top of the hill which we began climbing when we left Crete.  From now on it'll be downhill back through the Dodecanese islands to Turkey – in the sailing sense, at least. The island of Samos is as far north as we will go this season.  We arrived just in time as the very next day the meltemi – the summer north wind - arrived with a vengeance, which would make it a huge effort to go any further north.  As it is, we've found it hard work going to windward all this way. 

It was a wrench leaving Partheni on Leros but we wanted to make the most of a fair wind to head north. We hoped to get to Agathonisi, but the morning wind was contrary to the forecast so we aimed for Lipsoi instead.  Fierce gusts spoiled our lunchtime anchorage there, so we opted to go back to Partheni instead.  But once we'd got the sails up again it was clear the wind was now good for Agathonisi after all. Time for yet another change of plan. With the big swell and a gusty F5 we put two reefs in the main and closehauled 17 miles in just under three hours, to arrive salt-encrusted in Agathonisi harbour in time for supper. 

We anchored beyond the ferry quay just off the beach with a view of this taverna.  Apart from a gusty first night, we enjoyed our stay. It's a quiet, slow-paced sort of place with few visitors. There are a handful of rooms for rent and three harbour-front tavernas. Not much else. We had a hot walk one afternoon to the hilltop chora for a fantastic view of the islands and the Turkish coast.  One evening, Anne and Tony on Argosea arrived from Samos and invited us over for a succulent roast lamb dinner. With a faulty solenoid on their autopilot, they face the unenviable task of hand steering all the way back down to Crete.

Pythagoras the mathematician was a native of Samos. There's a fine statue of him overlooking the harbour. 
As well as coming up with his theorem about right-angle triangles he also invented a wine-cup which empties out if you overfill it. In classical times the attitude was moderation in all things.  It's a good metaphor today for respecting our limits – not just with a drink but with all resources. Ever inventive, Leighton thought he could adapt the cup idea for a flushing toilet! 

Another prominent denizen of Samos was the tyrant Polycrates, who wouldn't let limits stop him.  He was responsible for constructing three of the wonders of the ancient world here in Samos – the harbour breakwater at Pythagorean, a 1,042 metre long tunnel through the mountain to bring water from the other side of the island, and the Temple to Hera, a monumental building four times the size of the Parthenon. 

The last remaining column at Temple of Hera - there were 188 of them!

Polycrates's Efpalinion tunnel and water conduit

The entrance to the tunnel

Polycrates may have enclosed the harbour at Pythagorean, but he couldn't do anything about the fierce gusts that barrel down into the anchorage here. The wind turbines on the hill give us a clue about how strong the wind is here. Our anchor is well hooked but it doesn't make for a relaxing stay. With a meltemi gale forecast for the weekend, we've resupplied with food and water and we're off to find a more sheltered bolthole to sit it out. 

The Perfect Anchorage

Ormos Partheni, Leros - 14th June

If I was making a list of our top ten anchorages, where we are now at Ormos Partheni would be on it. 

Partheni is a smallish dog-leg bay on the north end of Leros. It isn't exactly pretty or convenient but we don't mind that. There's a small village ashore with no shops. There's a boatyard beside a small airport that offers a daily flight to Athens, a freighter has sunk against a concrete quay and a military base is tucked out of sight behind the hill. 


The key thing for us is that it meets all our criteria for a perfect anchorage.  These are simple. We don't want to see the open sea; it should give us good all-round shelter if the wind direction changes; and no swell should get in to make us roll. Oh, and it has to be good solid holding so we won't drag our anchor. I can't think of a better place to be when it's blowing hard outside as it is today.

And other anchorages that would make my list?  I'd have to include Vliho Bay, Lefkada; Valtou Bay just north of Igoumenitsa; Ftelia on the Greece/Albania border; Porto Heli on the Peloponnese; Vathi on Astipalaia; Spinalonga lagoon, Crete.

Honor's Visit

Lakki, Leros - 11th June

There's an Hons-shaped hole on the boat now that she's gone back to Leeds, taking with her a bit of a tan and a rash of prickly heat. Cathy's daughter has left us with some wonderful memories and an emergency supply of teabags and j-cloths. It seems very empty without her. 

Considering Honor doesn't much like roughing it, she coped remarkably well last week.  We were amazed she came out at all given that on her last visit (it was to Dartmouth six years ago!) it hosed with rain the whole time; her sleeping bag got soaked as the forepeak hatch leaked and - the greatest indignity - a seagull shat on her head.

We were hoping it would go better this time to show her you can actually enjoy yourself on a boat even if sailing on Makarma doesn't quite have the glamour that 'yachting in the Med' conjures up.  We decided on a soft start in Kos marina with a day strolling round the old town and sunbathing beside the pool of a local hotel. Then we made our way in short hops up to Leros taking in a few island anchorages on the way. We managed to sail most of the way despite unfavourable winds, although we spent quite a bit of time tacking backwards and forwards making slow progress to windward. 


Honor made gentle fun of our constant monitoring of the batteries and the temperature in the fridge, then caught herself doing it too. She got quite handy pulling on ropes and we got to rely on her acting as relay between the bow and the stern when anchoring.


We swam every day, showered in strange places, ate chewy octopus in a taverna on the beach and saw a couple of dolphins. The sun shone every day. Generally we had a great time and enjoyed her company. 

We saw her off on the fast catamaran to Kos from Aghia Marina on Leros yesterday. We'll miss her.

Basil on board

Kos, 4th June
Over the winter we looked after our neighbour's herb planter while they were away, and as a thank-you gift they gave us a young basil plant.  As it happened I had already bought a pot of the small leafed variety of basil from the market.  So Leighton has built me a small basil garden on the stern rail to house them both.

Basil grows in pots everywhere in Greece.  The common variety here has a small leaf and is very fragrant.  
The Greeks don't tend to use it in cooking, but to bring good luck and to ward off insects. It is associated with St Vasily, who is the Greek Santa Claus, so you always see large clumps of the stuff growing outside churches.

Basil isn't terribly happy in salty conditions, so my little plants aren't growing as quickly as they should, but I've realised they say something about us as liveaboards.  Most cruising boats have a basil plant or two on board.  It goes with a settled, permanent presence onboard, and a certain outlook on life.  We find we get on with people who sail in boats that grow things.

The watchword for BOBs, or 'basil on boards' is 'seega', the Greek word for 'slowly'. We think slowing down has much to recommend it and we are lucky to be able to do it. We have no deadlines, no schedule. We don't have to rush about from here to there to cram in as much as we can in a fortnight's holiday. We linger and explore our surroundings.  If we like somewhere, we stay a while. If not, we move on.

We seek out boats that have basil plants growing on them and enjoy their company for a while.  Every morning when I water the basil I run my hand over the leaves and breathe in that wonderful aroma and remind myself -  seega, seega!