You may be reading all of this and thinking that we are out here alone with the whims of Nature. That’s not entirely true because we have some help. Andrew’s good friend, Adam Troy, has agreed to be our chamalist.  Chamalist is a term Andrew got from the IDF.  It refers to the person who operates the war room while soldiers are out on a mission, dishing out emerging intelligence and generally keeping track of things.  This is what Adam is doing for us, too.  Whenever we need a weather report at sea or need to know what conditions will be like in the coming days, we give Adam a call on the satphone.  He gathers our “intelligence” and gives us the low-down on what we’re going to be facing.  It’s been a great help that can make the difference between anchoring and pressing on.

Adam has done more than weather reports though.  Before we left he researched watermakers (didn’t get),  tracking services (did get) and even private search-and-rescue groups (didn’t get, practically worthless for us).  So, one thing that he did find for us was the excellent SPOT messenger and associated service.  By following this link, which is also on the sidebar, you can track our travels on the boat.  It sends updates every ten minutes.  If you’re wondering why we zigzag so much on those maps, it’s because we’re tacking.  When we go in a straight line, it’s most likely because we’re on the motor.  The different pages on the SPOT site go back further in time.  You can trace our route all the way back to Israel.

So, if you’re one of those people who’s concerned about me, Andrew and/or Tocayo, you can rest a little easier knowing we have our chamalist Adam on the case.  Thanks for your help, Adam.

I have a whole post that I wrote up covering the time between this quick update and the last real post.  Unfortunately the USB port on this computer doesn’t work.  (There’s a dearth of internet cafes in Piraeus, by the way)  We sailed from a beautiful anchorage on an island called Despotika, I think.  We were basically in a little cove with a nice little beach nestled into it.  We had to swim ashore!  Then we stayed at a cute little town  on another island after some brilliant sailing.  The boat hit 8.4 knots which was a record.  The next day we had more great wind and got up to 9 knots!  Also, both days we stayed on one tack for almost the entire sail.  That’s rare when you depend on the wind.  Once we hit the bay of Athens yesterday, though, the wind died almost entirely.  So we motored into the town marina of Aigina island.  Aigina is a cute little town that caters to a lot fo Athenian weekenders, but somehow manages to stay quaint and pleasant. 

Today, July 14, we took a ferry from there to the mainland.  We went to Athens to see the Acropolis.  It was a madhouse of tourists off the cruises ships.  I’ve never been to a famous site and been cheek by jowl in a line/crowd just to see it.  Anyway, we saw the thing and had some lunch and then came back out to the ferry port in Piraeus.  We are going to be crossing the Corinth Canal tomorrow, which is supposed to be a sight in an of itself.  And then Kefallonia and Sicily.  There might not be updates until we get to Kefallonia.  Be patient.

I’m happy and hale.  I think my hair is getting lighter already.

A lot of the time when I say we motor places, what I really mean is that we are motorsailing.  In this case the sails are still up and the motor moves us through the water.  The speed the motor adds increases the apparent wind operating on the jib. Apparent wind is the combination of the two vectors of wind on the moving vessel – the wind generated by moving forward and the naturally occurring wind. When sailing upwind, the jib is acting as an airfoil, so the boat’s motor is acting like a plane’s propeller, moving the airfoil through the air so that it can generate lift. (In the case of the jib, the airfoil is vertical and so the “lift” is really a horizontal pull.) Anyway, I got into all of this just to say that when we motor we almost always have the mainsail up. (People ask.) The reason for that is not speed, but stability. The boat has a keel which acts to dampen motion, especially rolling (i.e. side to side motion), below the water. The mainsail can do the same with the air. It’s much bigger than the keel because air isn’t as dense as water. Once the mainsail is up, the boat has two stabilizers and the ride becomes a lot more comfortable. Also, if the wind picks up, you have the sail ready to go.

We pulled into Astipalaia after several hours. There was a nice little quay there that was half empty with only three or four boats tied up. We had to do a Med mooring job and it took some finagling at the end to get our stern lines tied up correctly. It was late in the afternoon already and so we headed up to see the castle that overlooks the island. Astipalaia is a quaint little town with blue-trimmed white houses built in the 50s on. The place was leveled in an eartquake around then, so not much remains of the original town. Still, they did a nice job maintaining the character. You still find twisting stairways between the blocky similarly painted houses. We twisted up towards the top of the hill through narrow alleyways between houses. At one point we asked a young girl, maybe 5 years old, if a narrow set of steps was the right way to go. She had been sweeping outside her house and she gave a sidelong look back to the doorway as if to check with her parents the propriety of talking with these strangers. Then she came over and pointed up the stairs with an authoritative declaration in Greek. It was indeed the right way.

The castle there is interesting in that the outer walls were actually formed by private houses, some of them three stories tall. A few purely defensive bits were added to shore up the fortification and it worked that way for many years. Before the earthquake the locals had taken over the houses and added extensive wooden balconies on the outside. Those all fell off, causing untold damage. Most of the buildings on the inside of the castle – which had been residential up until then – were also flattened. Now it’s just some ruins and two restored churches that are quite lovely with their bells and blue domes.

After that we had dinner in the main drag of town, up by some disused windmills. I actually climbed all the way back down to see if Joe wanted to join us. He was busy trying to find some relief for a toothache. The locals were unanimous in recommending ouzo.

The town was subdued and not without its charm. Andrew and I speculated about having a small studio apartment here, cute and cozy with a magnificent view of the Mediterranean. It’s not a bad idea, although I’m not sure it would be my first purchase with the lottery money. I’m ignorant of the character of Greek daily life. That would an important factor in wanting to spend much time in a place like this.

It was another day of early to bed, early to rise. I don’t think any of us felt any better for it, but we have to make the most of our time before the meltemi starts to blow. The meltemi, if I haven’t mentioned it before, is the prevailing summer wind in the Aegean sea that comes out of the N, NW and NE. We are going in what could be considered the wrong direction around these islands since we are trying to go North into the wind all the time. The sail to Santorini, however, was not to the North, but mostly West. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much wind of any kind. So, we ended up motoring most of the way.

Arrived at Santorini and docked where three locals told us not to, because of the waves caused by the ferries going in and out. Andrew and I walked up the donkey path. Lots of donkeys, lots of donkey crap and a blistering sun to top it off. Felix, Itai and Alisa took what they call the funicular, but which is really a gondola/cable lift thing. At the top of the hill we encountered more bullshit than donkey. The whole place was a disgusting tourist trap of boutiques and souvenir shops. When you could find a space between them where you could see the white houses arrayed along the hill, it was certainly a nice view, but the town had as much magic as a shopping mall. We couldn’t believe that people would come there for their honeymoons. Scores, or grosses of cruise passengers were dropped off on a regular basis, presumably to shop for jewelry or glassware.

We had a meal at a restaurant overlooking the crater. The real magic of this island is that it is the rim of a crater of a volcano. The other islands around it are other parts of the crater, with a central plug that forms another rocky pile in the middle. It’s absolutely mindblowing to imagine the explosion that jettisoned so much land. According to our pilot book, Santorini is now considered the most probable candidate for Atlantis. The eruption of the volcano, in 1140 or so, basically destroyed the Minoan culture that was centered there, including the farther reaches of it on Crete. The Cretan part would’ve been swamped by a huge-ass (it’s a technical term) tsunami. They estiamte that the explosion of Santorini would have been three times more powerful than that of Krakatoa. We moored up in the crater of that, still active, volcano.

Mooring up was a bit of an issue. We went right up to the cement pier below the town. Locals warned us that our boat could get crushed up there. The wake from the large ferries and especially the fast ferries can pummel you against the side. We fendered up really well and left Joe on board to keep an eye on it. It wasnt until we came back after several hours that the boat got its first and only knock. As we approached with some provisions (yes, it might have been beer.) we saw the mast rocking back and forth like a metronome. Then we heard it crack up against the side, an awful sound. We quickly hopped aboard and cast off.

That night we spent in an anchorage on the central island of Nea Kameni. Sadly, we had to get back to the port very early the next morning to drop off all of our guests. Felix had a ferry to Athens and Itai and Aliza had one to Rhodes. They both left around 6 a.m. Which meant we had to get up at 5:30. Blech.

The rest of the day turned out nicely though. Andrew and I rented scooters and tooled around the island. We hit an organic winery for a tasting and then drove up to the highest point on the island. The monastery on top was closed, but the views were pretty nice. Then we came back down and went to another winery for another tasting. That place also had great views looking down into the crater.

We had dinner in the taverna at the marina and hit the hay.

The next day we left for Ios where we were going to meet Ben, our newest guest/crew member. He arrived on the ferry a few hours after we pulled into the cute harbor there.

That night we went out for the famous nightlife of Ios. It turned out that the whole scene there is dominated by teenagers. So, we didn’t really fit in. Still, it didn’t stop me from staying out until 4 in the morning – and Joe didn’t get back until 9 a.m. There’s more to the story of that night, but suffice to say a few dreams went unfulfilled and a few glasses became unfilled.

From Ios we thought to go to Sifnos. Instead, we pulled unto a little cove on a neighboring island. The place was so enchanting that we stayed the night.

(see next post for some details)

We spend a day hiking in Finike. There are many hills surrounding the town and we head up the one with a big Turkish flag painted on it. It was very hot. We followed a dirt road, but eventually turned off for a goat path up to the top. Well, we thought we would get to the top, but it proved elusive. There were many false summits that day. After a good hike we stopped for a picnic of bread and this delicious hazelnut spread (think nutella but without the chocolate). Below us was a view of the northern part of the bay we had crossed, the few buildings and hotels clustered up by the waterfront and the obviously fertile, flat valley stretching out to the northwest. We climbed a bit higher and found a spot that was high enough to call “the top”.

Along the way we passed some goats and the crude buildings of the goatherd’s camp. At the top, I had that feeling that I had on the Golan Heights hiking trip that being in nature is just good for my soul. It’s one of those lessons that you keep getting to learn and each time it’s a happy surprise. We returned to the town. Bought some provisions in the local supermarket and returned to the marina.

After a quick rest, we headed out to find the hamam, or Turkish bath. There’s a sign for it in the marina that says it’s one kilometer away. We get there eventually. It’s a typical Turkish bathhouse. We pay the short, half-bald owner and change into towels. One enters this octagonal room with a high domed ceiling and a large raised stone in the center. You throw some water on yourself and then lie on the central stone. It is hot. I was a little scared to lie down at first it was so hot. But you can do it, it warms up your bones and you start sweating. Then the owner comes in, in his towel now, and thy start this process of cleaning you. First they splash some water on you, then they scrub you with a scouring mitt (romney?) and then they soap you up. There was an assistant for the soaping up bit and he even does a little massage-like rubbing. They soap up your hair even. It made me feel like I was a little kid getting a bath. Finally, you can go from the hot room to a cool pool. I went back and forth a few times. The owner was anxious to have us finish after a while, but was gracious enough (after receiving his tip) to invite us to have some tea. My first experience with a Turkish bath, and it was incredibly pleasant.

Especially after a good, long hike. We then crossed the diesel-polluted canal to have dinner at a little place clustered with other in a grassy area. We ate these pizza-like pita things. When we asked her for the check , the waitress thought we said chai and brought us all tea. We went back to the boat to wait for Joe, but called it a night when he phoned to say that he would most likely get there in the morning. Joe does eventually get there the next day. Almost as soon as he does, we set off for Simi.

Joe is a big, affable guy. Somehow he was a lot different than we were expecting – I think I confused him with one of the other applicants. He’s a gentle giant it seems; massive, yet soft-spoken. He does a great job of sailing, of course. That day he starts in teaching us little things as we’re doing them. I think it’s going to be a mutually beneficial and fun experience to sail with him for a while.

We sail all day that day along the Turkish coast. Felix and I whip up an awesome chili despite only having curry to spice it up. We do two-man shifts of three hours each. There are variable winds at night and we do a few accidental gybes as the autopilot is caught off-guard. (When the boat changes direction or sail trim dramatically, the autopilot can’t keep up. So, it tries to get back on track after things have settled down, but now it has to do something equally drastic. It’s somewhat like using cruise control in a car and suddenly coming to a steep incline.)

The next morning we motor, having tried to sail only throughout the night. Some hours later, we get the sails up. We’re passing by the fractured and fissured cliffsides of Turkey. There are other sailboats around now, cruisers and charter boats. Now the wind start really picking up. We are all sitting outside when the wind gets up to 25 knots. This is a Force 7 on the Beaufort scale. We still have our full main and jib up and we’re heeling enough to put the port toerail in the water. We decide to reef in the sails in case things get worse. Andrew is upset that we were heeling that much anyway, a sore point he has with Joe. You could definitely say that the boat was overpowered at that point.

Well, it turns out that it was good that we did reef, because the winds did get even higher. We pulled in close to the shore for some calmer seas and followed other boats that were making their way along to the NW. We had 30 knot winds and even higher gusts. We crossed into Force 8, which is technically called a gale, and even had a gust over 40 knots. There were places up against the sheer cliffs where waterspouts, like mini-tornados, were trying to form. We were still sailing along. We had to adjust things accordingly, but we weren’t in any immediate danger. After a while of beating into the wind and not making too much progress, we decided it would be better to just tuck into a little nearby anchorage and wait out the night there, It turned out to be a great idea.

There was more than just a place to drop the hook. The little bay had a couple of restaurants that set up docks. You don’t pay anything to tie up there, but you have to eat at the restaurant. The place we went to was called Ali Baba, imaginatively enough. The cool thing was that there were ruins of a small citadel up above this place. We climbed up and walked along the walls. Everyone was feeling a god deal of discombobulation as we tried to get our land legs back. In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t such a smart idea to walk along the broken stones of the walls next to the sheer drop in that condition.

Not only did we not die falling off the walls, we even managed to have a very pleasant dinner. The fish was a bit dry, but the location and the company made up for everything. A few last Turkish beers (Efes) didn’t hurt either. That night we turned in early so that we could get an early start to Simi the next day.

July 6 – We get up at 05:45 to cast our lines at 06:00. The sea is very calm in the morning and the winds are gentle. We motored mostly over to Simi, which wasn’t that far away. (It still would have been a pain to get there by sail the previous day) We entered the bay that Simi town is nestled in a few hours later. The town is an incredibly picturesque collection of pastel-colored block-like houses piled up in the contours of the hills. We had a little trouble getting our anchor set. This was our first Mediterranean mooring. The clutch on our windlass seems to give out under pressure. It will be pulling along and then suddenly release all the way, dropping the chain. We got it to a suitable point after a few tries and tied up the stern to the quay. Andrew’s adopted parents from the kibbutz he worked on were there waiting for us.

Itai and Alisa had arived the night before. We were all quite happy to have use of their shower. We had all gotten our fair share of splashes and saltwater spray in the Force 7 and 8 blows. Joe had also been busy trying to unclog the aft head which he had used that morning. Andrew couldn’t believe that he would be the one to break it. He (Joe) struggled mightily with it, but didn’t get the problem fixed. It may have been that the valves for the pipes leading out had become partially closed in the rough seas. Whatever happened, the head was out of commission for a while, a real shame with Itai and Alisa coming on as passengers just then. We took care of the showers and went about getting the official paperwork.

Some Greek dude thought it would be a good idea to put the Port Police, Immigration Police and Harbormaster in three different buildings equidistant from each other around the c-shaped bay. There were other boats here and even a good number of yachts – like motoryachts with uniformed crew and very rich people lounging about on them.

Felix and I grabbed a bite to eat at a small gyro shop and we had fresh juice at the cafe just across from where we had moored. Then, we were off. Our passengers seemed to adapt well and got themselves all settled. We were all having a good time sailing.

The boat was well-balanced and felt good even as the winds approached the same levels as the day before. The difference was in the current which was with the wind at this point instead of against it. Joe explained that when the current and the wind go in opposite directions, the sea crumples up as if you pushed a flat fabric together with your hands. This means choppy seas and less than comfortable conditions. When the current and the wind go together, everything is much smoother. That day it was smooth, but we were still beating into the wind. We tacked back and forth, but then realized that goal of the islands of Nisios and Thilos might be a ways off.

So, we consulted the charts and decided to pull into another Turkish harbor. This one was actually a small town called Hiyat Buku, near Dotce. We got one of the best spots on the little pier where 10 or so other boat were lined up. A coule on one of the other boats recognized us from Ali Baba’s the night before. The place was amazing. Surrounded by mountains and rocky cliffs, the blue water of the bay was remarkably clear. Felix and I went swimming, while Andrew went for a hike and Itai and Alisa took a walk through the small beachfront. This was our first swim since we left Israel if you can believe it. The water was slightly cold, but perfectly refreshing. We broke out the snorkels and peeked around, but there wasn’t much to see underneath. Joe and Andrew both looked at the bottom of the boat using the other mask.

Then we had dinner on the second-floor terrace of a popular restaurant. They had tables on the beach right up to the water. I had pan-fried octopus and a salad with feta and tomatoes. The waiter addressed us individually as “gentleman” and then came over to ask us each in turn how our dish was. The food was great. My octopus was done just right and the peppercorns mixed in were soft enough to be edible. Some more Efes washed it all down. Then it was another early bedtime to get ready to leave at 06:00 the next day. Our objective would be the island of Astipalaia.

The first leg of our sailing trip was from Israel to the island of Simi, in Greece.  We expected a four day sail.

I’ll keep this to a brief outline.

Day one, we get our papers in order and processed through the immigration police in the Tel Aviv marina.  Have breakfast in Fortuna one last time and say goodbye to Roni and Leah and a few others.  We set off at 10:30.  We motor for a while, wee lots of jellyfish in the water, and a giant sea turtle chilling by a piece of driftwood. Put up sails and start tacking.  Felix “loses” his iced coffee overboard soon thereafter.  Things go on apace after, but then, while working on something in the bilge, i start to feel queasy.  Go up on deck and throw up.  Feel better – my first sea vomit!  

Zo sets up the fishing rod.  We get a strike and reel it almost all the way in, but lose it.  Boo.  After the excitement of this adrenaline rush, I have to hurl again.  Double boo.  I’m starting to think trip wasn’t such a good idea.  Later, we make dinner.  I can’t go down below to cook, but only chop veggies.  Then, while dinner is being made, we strike another fish.  This time we land him and pull him into the boat.  What ensues is a ridiculous fifteen minutes of trying to hold and kill the fish without losing it.  Zohar is stabbing the thing in its head.  We have a rope tied around its tail.  I finally take the knife, plunge it in and throw my weight on it to sever the spinal column.  The fish is dead.  Zohar carves it up like a champ.  Fresh nigiri!  We seriously cut meat right off the fish and ate it just like that.  That night’s dinner was tuna steaks with olive oil and lemon.  Very nice, but I didn’t have much of an appetite thanks to the seasickness.

We did two-person shifts of three hours each at night.  The first shift was from 10 p.m.  to 1 a.m.  and so on.  It wasn’t really so bad getting up and going back to sleep.  I was a little tired, but what can you expect.  One annoying thing is that the bilge pump goes off periodically and when it does, it makes this piercing alarm sound.  Every 30 minutes at least.  

Th night is beautiful and strange.  The light of all of Israel makes a false dawn behind us, yet above us the sky is so dark we can see the Milky Way.  It’s reflected on the water in wide swath.The water reflects lights incredibly well; flashes from distant airplanes are clear as a bell.  Ahead of us, the sky is lighter for some reason – there’s nothing out there.  They’re bioluminescent spots in our wake.  I see two shooting stars.  

After our shift Zo tells Andrew to wake her if we pass within 5- 7 nm of another ship.  Andrew doesn’t think this is necessary and thus begins the friction between the two of them.  The next day, Z tells me she wants off the boat sooner than Simi.  I can’t really see what the two sides of this argument are, but it causes a rift.

Day 2 – Partly cloudy, with winds out of NW.  Sea is calm and wind is only 7-9 kts.  We motor most of the day.  Reach Cyprus and start skirting around it.  It’s there to starboard all day and night.  Dinner is tuna a la Zohar w/ mashed potatoes.

I’ve put on the motion sickness wristbands and the seasickness went away.  I’m not sure if there’s causation there.  At night we are motoring right into the wind, slapping into the waves and not making any headway, really.  Finally it gets to the point where we can start sailing and make just as much progress, which is to say not too much.  

Day 3 Sail most of the day.  A few futile tacks as we try to go straight into the wind.  (I mean our course is NW and th wind is from there, we can’t sail right into it, of course)  Pass Cyprus and get out into the sea.  No one around at all.  Tuna and pasta for lunch.  (notice a theme in the food here?)  Im well enough to cook stir-fry for dinner.  Almost lose dinghy on a tack – it’s tied down in front of the mast and the jibsheet gets caught under it.  At 8:00 p.m. we finally get good wind and a nice tack of 356°.  We watched a movie, Andrew and I.  

Later that night I wished my peeps were around.  I was remembering driving in Will’s pickup truck in L.A., singing Holopaw together.  

Day 4- Early morning watch with Zo.  She’s grumpy with lack of sleep as is Andrew.  The wind is good, then picks up.  We reef the mainsail and the wind dies down again.  We undo the reef and the wind picks up again.  Eventually we have to switch to the motor until around 3 p.m. when we can sail again.  Day is quiet with hardly a boat or a plane around.  Andrew watches a movie by himself, Zohar, Felix and I read.  

That  night the wind really picks up.  It’s 25 knots out there.  We’re sailing through these big waves.  They’re not huge, but they’re big swells.  I was actually steering and it was kinda fun.  In bad weather it’s not good to use the autopilot because there can be high pressure on the rudder and hence the autopilot motor.  At this point Andrew and Zohar start discussing whether to go into a harbor close by.  We are near Turkey.  We are heading towards the coast and Andrew has us tack so that we can get a better angle on the harbor of Finike.  Zo thinks this is crazy.  Andrew just wants to think about our options some more and discuss them.  They have a big argument.  Zohar’s claiming that she is the skipper of the boat because her name is on the crew list as such.  Andrew says no; the agreed to be co-skippers.  It’s an ugly scene and frankly, it was all over nothing.  We eventually did use the motor as Zohar suggested to go into the harbor.  I wondered if her whole idea to go into a harbor was part of her plan to get off the boat ASAP.  

WE come into Finike, crossing the wide bay by motor.  We were using a 25 year old pilot book that described the place as a town quay where you can tie up.  We’re looking for the lights at the mouth of the harbor amidst the lights strewn along the coast.  The whole place seems a lot bigger than the small dusty town described in the pilot book.  Finally we see the lights.  There are many masts behind the breakwater and we worry that there’s no room.  Finally we get into the marina after the tense, slow crossing of this bay, and the place is huge.  It’s a very nice marina, not a town quay and it’s full of boats, nay, yachts.  Zohar refuses to help us moor.  A dude comes out in a little motorboat to help us in.  He guides us to a spot and gets the mooring line for us.  We all breathe a sigh of relief – it has been a long, tiring ordeal.  We all crash around 2:30 a.m. and sleep deeply.