Tag: sailing

  • When sailing matters

    Caught up in the hurly burly storm of everyday life, people wonder what’s it like to step into a different reality – where the sun shines and you’re surrounded by water, magnificent greenery and in short Greece. Every year, friends come to visit to recharge their batteries and rekindle friendships.

    This blog is dedicated to Dara and Roisin

    The two Musketeers, Roisin and Dara, in Paxos

    They arrived in August late at night while we ate pizza in Ipsos. Pale and overdressed, they soon relaxed over wine and pizza, as the Dutch waiter also relaxed and took off his shirt behind the counter. It added to the abandonment of the occasion – arrival in the middle of a holiday island, the season in full swing.

    By the next day, they had acclimatised and we made plans to take Karolina, my 29 foot sailboat to Paxos for a few days.  

    We had  a wild passage between Corfu and Paxos and we were too tired to get off the boat that night, preferring to stay on board and cook some pasta. Next morning saw us up and about, on the SUP board, swimming and moving the boat into prime party position, at the pier wall. We now had our stern or back of the boat leading directly onto the quay allowing us to get on and off easily. This didn’t prevent our most experienced crew member, Dara, from slipping off the SUP board we had put in between the boat and the quay wall. She was out in a jiffy , unhurt.

    Dara’s idea of a fun day is cleaning and fixing things on a boat, so Roisin and I let her at it and did some serious clothes shopping. Roisin’s keen eye revealed to me how I could wear some clothes that had a truly Greek flavour. The town of Lakka was full of model like Italians, who walked around in glamourous whites and light blues, complimenting their tanned skin and incredible features. and that was only the men. Women and children were catwalk level. We just gaped as we ate dinner in the evening warmth.

    Back to the boat for a more relaxing sleep. My comrades had spotted that I had a lot of stuff in my cabin at the rear of the boat. They had vowed to clear it out before they alowed me sleep. I was banished to the cockpit as they pulled out the incredible array of stuff – dinghy cover, SUP bag, old solar panels, seat for the dinghy, the list went couldn’t sleep – how did you even get into the cabin with all this around you?

    When I eventually regained my cabin, I just laid back and fell into a deep sleep, but not before I had foraged a couple of cushions to make up for  the  lost stuff and soften the edges of my dreams.

    Next morning, we were first at the fournos or bakery for Bougatsa – like mille feuille with loads of creme vanille and spinach pie with Ellinikos coffee.

    Our journey home was easier – no big seas like on the journey down – we got to grips with the auto pilot and by the time we were approaching Ipsos, I was settled back on the prime seat at the back of the boat, watching the miles slip by and listening to hits from the 90s and feeling – so this is what  its all about. It takes time to get really comfortable with a boat and having Dara with me gave me that extra insight into what my lovely Karolina could do. I have to admit to being challenged by the ownership of a boat and being tempted to sell it. Equally, I believe a boat is meant to challenge you and teach you something. Maybe perseverence and patience is my lesson. Things change and it takes time to learn . I’m so happy I stayed with it.

    Our next excitement was an architectural one. Dara’s web of sailing friends had introduced us to a family in Paleokatrisa, who were related to the architect of the Municipal theatre in Corfu which is renowned for its ugliness, being a brutalist concrete heap, replacing an elegant charming edifice that was bombed by the Germans in  WW11. Musketeer Roisin is an architect. As we sat in the enchanting Lucciola Gardens, a bottle of red open and delicious mezzes on the table, Dara attempted to subtly warn her not to get into any argy bargy over the Theatre when we visited the family next day. What followed was a stream of intellectualism that left me grabbing the side of the table with laughter. Apparently the architects after the second world war believed they were going to change the world with their vision. The buildings would be bare, but adorned with plants, so we would feel connected with nature. That wasn’t the funny part. It was how she went into raptures about the theatre which apparently, she appreciated as it reflected the walls of the fortress of Corfu, and if we hadn’t dragged her away, she could have explained this to us and that it was as if Corbusier went to South America and came back again and we need to take more notice of what’s around us and not always rush her away.

    Still she was on her best behaviour next day and never once mentioned Corbusier or the theatre.

    The week flew past, full of conversations and laughter. Three people you would never have put together found common interests and held out opinions and took care of feelings and gently advised for the best in a setting that would scarcely have been possibe had I not moved away from Ireland.

    I struggled with my tears as I dropped them at the airport. Nothing compares to dear friends.

  • At Sea in the Ionian

    At Sea in the Ionian

    It’s never too late, no matter what they say about old dogs.

    The first time I took out my boat, I was a nervous wreck, eventhough I had two friends to crew with me. I sat drinking coffee looking over the jetty, while a Swiss couple encouraged me.

    -you will take it out yourself soon-

    This was the farthest thing from my mind as I noticed my two friends arriving, coolbags in tow.

    I nervously introduced everyone and then we abruptly left, the Swiss insisting on standing me the coffee. I tried and failed to relax as we settled on to the boat, and I went through the written out procedure for starting the engine. The throttle was slow to respond, so the rope holding the bow had well and truly sank by the time we moved for ward. I inched out of the berth and past the hundreds of assorted boats, power boats, sailboats and then the superyachts, tied up at the farthest jetty.

    The adrenaline was pumping until we got out into the bay and I was able to take a deep breath. We put out a fishing line and caught a tuna first time, the only one of the summer,as it turned out.

    The following week, I was swept along by my friend from Dublin, let’s call her the Dynamo, who showed me the ropes , literally. We sailed the channel from Kassiopi to Benitses, until , passing Corfu town, I said to her- let me take down the sails and steer. I pointed the boat into the wind and when the sails were in and we were motoring up the channel again, I glanced at the Dynamo. She was smiling from ear to ear with satisfaction at her pupil doing so well.

    So the seeds were set. The day the Dynamo left, my eyes scanned the marina to add to the stash of enthusiastic crew. I noticed a sailor heading out on his own, standing tall at the back of his 34′ yacht, so I interrupted his meditations at the bow of his boat one day and asked him how he learned to sail alone.

    He’s a man of few words, and with a strong South African accent he said- Next time I go to Sayada, you come with me in your boat.-

    And so, the following week, I was given an hour’s notice, to leave on a trip south. I stocked up on food, water and for the first time, I slipped my lines myself.

    The fish that were follwing me…

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