Heading West...Bozburun, Turkey to Anafi, Greece June 2015

LEAVING TURKEY - BOUND FOR SYMI

Living the good life in Bozburun.

You can enlarge any photo by clicking on it.

June 8. We prepared to leave early. I scrubbed the decks and topped up the water tanks. Ron took the dodger to be restitched (which only cost 20 TL, about 5 dollars) . Shopping  for fresh produce used up some of our Turkish Lira and we converted the rest to Euros at the silversmith's shop. We went to the transit agent to clear ourselves and the vessel out of Turkey .With light wind on the nose, a common wind pattern over the coming days, we motor-sailed away from Bozzburun. The sun glistened on the blue Aegean, and we felt a wistful pang about seeing Turkey for the last time.

No more meuzzin's call to prayer...love the scooter guy :)

 We entered the Venetian-style harbor of Symi early in the afternoon, and just ahead of the inbound rush of yachts. The moorings filled in fast but we found ourselves in our favorite spot in front of Taverna Haris.

Approaching Symi

 Mooring stern-to, we laid out over 30 meters of chain and used the excess to swing the bow into proper alignment with the quay. A blue-hulled racing yacht, with mast raked astern, was moored at the end of the quay, flying the ARC+ flag...this is someone Ron wanted to meet since he too will be sailing in the ARC+ rally across the Atlantic in November.

 We greeted the Port Captain ("Mooring Man"), remembering him with his baby god-son last year, which made him grin. Costas the Transit Agent took our documents to clear us into Greece, and we slipped across to the Taverna Haris for a beverage and wifi session. I walked around the town, welcoming the change, a subtle shift to Europe from the fringe of the Levant. The shops display wispy thin cottons and elegant jewelry fashionable from here to Gibraltar. There is a familiarity about Greece...the Greeks are expressive, chatty, a gracious tilt of the head invites us to linger. Eyes twinkle. Lovely Symi, graceful in her Venetian heritage, shaded arbors, ochre facades and painted stone steps.

Beautiful Symi

My few words of Greek ("Merry Christmas", for instance) delight the shopkeepers. It is early in the tourist season here; streets are deserted when the ferries depart carrying sunburned tourists, like pink dumplings. A poster advertised Greek Music Live Tonight at 8 pm (can we stay awake that late?) We rode the public bus, up and down winding curves to the Secret Garden cafe, situated in an old house clinging to the hillside. We arrived at 9:30, still ahead of the band. Two wiry brothers played bouzouki

and keyboard, worn tourist classics like "Never on Sunday"in a desultory way, until the pretty blonde singer arrived. She sang wistful, lilting Greek songs, and the boys in the band came alive.

A British couple sat with us; they've returned to Symi for 25 years. She'd enjoyed her Greek wine and was doing shadow puppets on the wall in time with the music, perplexing the singer just a bit... It was a fun night on the town.

SYMI TO TILOS

The Meltemi, the strong northerly wind of the Aegean, sang in the rigging as we made ready to depart. Costas the Transit Agent returned late with our passports and "depka", the transit log clearing the vessel into Greece. We departed Symi around 9:30, intending to head north for Kephalo bay on Kos. We motored into the wind, barely making headway. By raising the main sail, we were able to increase our speed to windward and steady the boat, but progress was still slow. Ron altered our course to head for Tilos, enabling us to sail close-hauled and make better time. We arrived at the mole in Tilos in the soft lilac-colored light of dusk.

Tilos harbor

Tilos is steep, rocky and dry; the town is small, with new attractive holiday villages being built. Moored near us was the blue racing yacht flying the ARC flag we'd seen in Symi. While I prepared dinner of pasta, Ron went and introduced himself to Alexei, the Russian owner of the racing boat S/Y Bepo, who invited him for a beer. After dinner we joined Alexei ashore for cocktails.

Ron and Alexei in Tilos

He's an accomplished sailor, knows the Mediterranean very well. We learned of several good ports in the Med and discussed the ARC, which Andrei has sailed before. He is good humored and gregarious and we enjoyed his company. 

The prediction of strong Meltemi winds made us consider remaining in Tilos another day. However, over coffee at a local wifi bakery, we saw the forecast had moderated and decided to sail for Astipalaia.

We motor-sailed most of the day. I thought I heard a small change in engine pitch in the afternoon, but there was nothing to be done at the time. Around 8 pm, at dusk with the anchorage in view and listening to bagpipe music to cheer us in, suddenly the engine lost power and the alarm buzzers squealed. Ron checked the engine, but neither one of us is a diesel doctor. Trying to stay positive was what I could do to help.  After checking various things, Ron saw that no engine cooling water was coming out with the exhaust. Diving into the manuals, he surmised that perhaps the impeller was shot. 

By then it was dark. I suggested we try to tack into the bay and anchor under sail, as I  had done in the past on Rachael Too. We proceded with this plan, working to windward as best we could with light winds and staring ahead into the inky darkness.  Just outside Livadhi Bay, the wind died. The manual suggested that the engine could start again when it was cool, would run and shut down again when it got hot.  Ron decided it was worth a try. He started the engine and we motored up into the bay and dropped the anchor (with the engine alarm screaming away). We were able to set the anchor and rest at last.  The wide bay had a sandy bottom with good holding, and only two other boats were at anchor.

Two happy sailors,  relieved to have the hook down!

 Well after 10 pm and a quick dinner of bread and honey came a good rest for the crew from the tense and exhausting day.

ASTIPALAIA     After morning coffee, we dinghied ashore and tied off on the rocks.

Coming ashore in Livadhi Bay, Astipalia

In the village shaded by eucalyptus trees, we asked about a bus to Chora, where a mechanic shop might be found. The bus was not due any time soon. We bought water and a cheese pastry from the cheerful grocery lady and headed up over the hill to Chora. It was a scenic walk, past purple flowering wild thyme, yellow thistles, pink mallow and fragrant fennel, with beautiful views of the sea.

Celador at anchor in Livadhi Bay, Astipalaia

At the top of the hill was the road to the old town and the 14^th century Venetian fort. Ron suggested we split up, he to chase parts and I to explore ancient village huddled under the battlements. So many Greek islands are typically (and stereotypically) topped with old settlements of white houses clustered under the battlements of a fortress.  White buildings are cool, and so is the breezy hilltop location; but also it's a good defensive position, and with wide sea views. The narrow twisting lnes of these villages all lead up to the fort, and back down to the main roads.  There were no dead ends for villagers to become trapped in.  Pirates raided these island settlements for centuries. The most infamous of these was the Ottoman pirate Barbarossa.

Barbarossa brothers, circa 1522.  They were bad ones!

The castle is in ruins, still majestic, with a few ancient marbles and two impeccable white and blue churches nestled amid the tumbled walls.

The colors of Greece.

The warren of stone houses clustered under the castle wall collapsed like a house of cards in the destructive 1956 earthquake, and are being restored. It is not yet touristic; there were only  three of us visitors while I was there.

 After walking through town and over another hill, Ron found the correct impeller at a mechanic's shop. The mood was cheerful as we walked back to the boat. Ron installed the impeller, and with fingers crossed we started the engine. 

 The new and old impeller.

 Success! Water and black rubber crumbs of the old impeller came gushing out of the exhaust pipe. For a trial, we motored the boat around from the bay into the mole at Chora. The the quay was filled with moored boats, but a well-intentioned German skipper beckoned us to come in bow-first next to him. It looked tight, but possible, so we thought we'd try it with the help of his crew. Well, we didn't fit, and a lynch mob of Brits and Germans from down the dock assembled to abuse us while we worked reverse the maneuver, trying to avoid the anchor chains and mooring lines. They continued to comment and stare, so I blew big kisses at them from the foredeck. That sent them back to their own business.We left the basin and moored in the exposed area alongside on the ferry dock, with greasy black tires fending us off the concrete pier. Spring lines eased the boat's motion, and adjusting them later improved the balance. In the chilly breeze we went to the village and enjoyed a great chicken gyros with tangy tzatziki. Happily, we saw no more of the lynch mob.

ASTIPALAIA TO ANAFI

We departed early and sailed most of the way to Anafi, the last stop before Santorini.

Motored the last ten miles, past a high two-pronged peak which reminded me of Gibraltar from one angle, the Pitons of St. Lucia from another.

The peak of Anafi, looking like Gibraltar. So high it creates it's own cloud.

Katabatic winds gusted down, and we entered a turquoise anchorage scalloped with the first sandy beaches we've encountered. It was early afternoon, so we did laundry and relaxed.

Laundry day...washing by hand in the sink.

I swam to the beach, golden sand overhung with dramatic cliffs of gray and tan volcanic scree. The bottom was shallow and sandy; good holding, with water so clear that from the boat we could see the anchor was well set.

Pretty little beaches shaded by the overhanging cliffs.

We got cleaned up and rowed ashore, landing in a corner of the beach where waves rebounded off the mole. We made a Laurel and Hardy landing, tumbled and drenched by the bouncing waves, to the amusement of the local fishermen. Both of us were soggy from the waist down. Luckily I'd put my camera in a plastic bag! We laughed it off and rinsed away the sand, then went to Popi's for damp dinner and drinks. Grilled calamari, brown bread, stewed vegetables and tzatziki made our meal, with a complimentary dessert so typical in Greece; a heavenly spoonful of homemade fig jam spiked with walnuts and a touch of vanilla and cinnamon. The little lady in the kitchen beamed with our compliments. We were bound for Santorini in the morning!

My cabin ...the "girl cave".