Travel diary. The Greek Aegean islands

Sailing between islands and feelings

 

Tuesday, 5 October 1999 - From Rome to Samos (in air)
We start with the usual Thai, Marcus and I left with the job as we go along behind us. ’ After waiting several hours in Athens, (where our baggage ashore) we get to Samos with a domestic flight. It ’ evening and the small airport of ’ island is full of tourists departing. To increase the confusion goes away on the current ’ whole island. In the hope that our bags have been sent here in the dark waiting to be put in motion the belt. Purchase a lighter like me and many others are doing the same. Seem to be a manifestation of pacifist demonstrators ..
After a certain, necessary, hold, indeed little hope, convince us that the luggage went to Bangkok. We decide to let us bring in a Pytagorio taxi. Still wrapped in the darkness turn aimlessly through the narrow streets of the town in search of a hotel. At the end of our wanderings, a groping, a turn in the inn lungoporto (lungoporticciolo should I say, why Pytagorio whole collection is here)
The room is not much, but has a lovely balcony looking out on the little restaurant below.
Dinner by candlelight in the restaurant, we ’ a ” to “ galley for breakfast and we go to bed. In the dark.

Wednesday, 6 October 1999. Pytagorio (Samos) - Skala (Patmos)
L ’ hydrofoil to Patmos at the 13th After a proper breakfast with jogurt honey and lemon juice (according to the recipe constantiniana we promptly adopted a jar jogurt fat, three spoons of honey and plenty ’ squeezed lemon) made on the balcony of # 8217 & ; ” hotel ”, ce ne andiamo in the antiquities to discover Pytagorio. L ’ acropolis indeed modest elevation on the reef, is occupied by a cemetery and is panoramico topped by buildings of varying age. Remains of columns and capitals ’ d Hellenistic period of the temple of Athena, a late medieval castle ruins and a modern church mix together. More impressive is the old pier ’ that emerges to shape the profile of the current one. Pythagoras went from here to the Magna Grecia.
The Dolphin, half, we do not directly lead to Patmos, but makes a long tour around the islands. L ’ archipelago Furni looks very nice. The settlement calls for a return to calmer mooring. Will then continue until Icaria where we take on board some passengers from Aug. Kirikos. Review so this port where four months ago, we spent a rather busy night because of the backwash. The country is not very Affre and this is not attended by tourism. L ’ entire island of Icaria is not an attractive tourist destination. At 16, finally, we arrive at Patmos. We find the boat in water, as ordered by telephone, and soon there are going to moor in Skala.
Comodamente all ’ English.
Together we have docked a dozen boats in all.
Thursday, 7 October 1999. from Patmos to Marathi - 15 miles
L ’ atmosphere of peace that the island of Marathi ’ send us invites us to move in his direction Gattadapelare. The day is calm and no wind to move the engine. Jam 10.00. Abandoned the eastern tip of Patmos head north on the tip of Marathi to enter from one direction ce we have never experienced. The coast of the left (Arki) to right (Marathi) are deserted and fascinating.
The bilge pump is in failure and more water continues to enter the pot. Imprecations arms and oil.
Marathi is like ’ we left: unangolo peace. There are five boat to the wheel and you Mikelis arms because we have acknowledged. It ’ dressed in shiny black, from piratra elegant. We meet some characters: a Swedish bilaureato, chatterbox, a head of a table of eight people of different nationalities, a decent, old and bearded fisherman named Vangelis intent to clean the friend of his, and also by Gianluca Pinerolo, in the manager an alpine hut in Val d Aosta ’ and assistant professional at home during ’ indeed, continues to search for lost corners.
He spent the evening as well, including fish and wine.
After thirty days of abstinence are somewhat ’ “ pacifiers ”.

Friday, 8 October 1999. Marathi to Leros. 15 miles.
Today the Meltemi blows. Yesterday evening c ’ were the warning signs: deck was dry and starry sky.
Last night, for an inveterate habit to skipper, I got up to give a ’ look not just to monitor mooring ’ firmly on the dead body, but to have an idea about our ’ departure . The halyards began to beat and I had to bind to rest quiet.
We do breakfast in the tamarisks with eggs and bacon and look lazily ’ the arrival of an Austrian catamaran and the departure of others, few boats. Do we bring the bean puree and retsina. Under the name of fava puree identify various, often of chickpea, sometimes of stone, who dressed with olive oil and fresh onion, a rappresentatno contours dela more tasty Greek cuisine. 15.00, Marcus and I, we decide to continue the journey. Luca (Gianluca Onida, fraz. Inverso Cognetti 2, 10060 Villar Pellice. TO-, tel. 0121 930145) they took advantage to make the boat stop and brings on board his zainone military. After warm greetings to Mike, the biccchiere of the bracket and the gift of a bottle of uzo by the sympathetic “ pirate ” there we go with half a tassel and two coats of reefing. On the crest of waves in surf slipped to 9 knots and we quickly scroll through the islets of Lypsos and the north of Leros. We do not have with us the book-portolano that was hijacked in the luggage to Bankok, so we put in the first bay on the north-east, Alinda bay, next to the country. But there is too ’ wind and Moletto was beaten by the waves. From the memories of past readings should be better protected against the promontory, dominated by diruto castle-monastery of the friars gerosolomiti. After rounding the tip Panteli windy here, in fact, discover the village of Platanos and the marina, very close. We find the second row in place to support a German boat. It seems pleasant, a horse of a hill, with the remains of some windmills and a series of taverns along the shore. Tourism in this season can not be n ’, ’ d summer but every two days will land an airliner. We discover a tavernuccia on the shore with vague village pub, frequented by some local and a couple of sailors like us. The food is tasty (Pescetti roast with salad and unfailing ’ retsina) and interesting local personalities. Invite Luke to sleep in the boat with us and we withdraw into our bunks.

Saturday 9 October 1999. Leros.
Today should get our luggage. With a taxi we are bringing all aereoporto ’, ’ to ’ northern end of island. More than an airport looks like a house Cantoniera. The trail, short and uphill, running north to south, under the direction of prevailing winds. Every two days a plane lands. Today the airport is closed ’ and ’ fatigue traced the single employee that confirms that the Luggage arrived and are all ’ office in the Olimpic ’ & “ city , # 8221;. So it is. ’ Malconce a while we retrieve our stuff, including portolano and GPS, which are essential to know our future routes. Well, its not essential, since the skipper was able, in other occasions, always arriving at their destination. Who said that ’ self-esteem is always a sin of pride?
In the afternoon we decide to reach the remains of the monastery-fortress that dominates the village from the top of the mountain ’. Very beautiful landscape. See you in the southern islands of Kiriaki and Piganoussa and the coast of blurred ’ island of Kalymnos, Leros almost attached to. Sharpening our eyes can see ’, east, to the Turkish coast, also ’ Farmaki island where Julius Caesar eighteen, he was held prisoner of pirates until the ransom payment. (For those who do not know, a few years later, now said, he returned and made meatballs). Dinner at our usual tavern where we meet the same faces: l ’ plump landlord, the old man, with his bottle of wine, which seems biascichi continually nodding to an imaginary interlocutor, the young local couple, the French skipper lonely.
Luke leaves us this evening: take the boat to Athens, which will arrive tomorrow morning.
1017 marks the barometer.

Sunday 10 October 1999. From Leros to Cos.20 miles.
We start at 10.00 with a wind from the northeast at 13 knots and proceed southwards taking in order not to subject the boat to the disturbing forces. Indeed, despite the intervention of the yard ’, ’ l ” tree “ pump and wave to every creak Gattadapelare ago. It is not anything serious, but an impression. We see right off our Kalimnos and observe from afar the guarding behavior of a Greek patrol boat hidden by a small island, opposite the Turkish coast close to us. You see, in fact, bad tourist who, monotonous, dot the hills north of Bodrum. Shame because otherwise the cost would be beautiful.
Crossed an old cart of the sea, high on the water line because traveling empty, dented and rusted. We greet cordially. What leaves us perplexed. Feeling?
Nelo close between Kos and the Turkish mainland the wind strengthens to ’ venturi effect. We have the garden, but tends to turn towards Kos once dubbed the tip. All ’ input port, with the wind behind I turn on the engine, put the bow to the wind and lowered. It happens here ’ l unpredictable although the engine is at most l ’ propeller does not turn. We are just a few meters from the reef that protects the pier sovraflutto and we fail again to hoist the mainsail. It ’ impossible to put the bow to the wind and the spider, firmly incocciato does not want to know lowered. Of course I do not have a knife handy for cutting it. We are both in the flask. Marcus expects orders from the skipper, but the only thing that ’ sa they say is not to play otherwise genoas l ’ encounter with the rocks is secured immediately. I do not know how, but a few centuries later, we pull on a piece of the mainsail which allows us to get down with the bow to the wind (or almost). Just in time! Finally the mainsail, which is already taking in, it's a bank there and away with an endless series of ’ he turns us from time to time toward a sandy shore or there are too leeward end (the wind a little more ’ off has changed direction and runs in the bed of the sea channel between Kos and the Turkish coast). To be more manovrieri do a little jib and crossed well for about a breath taking ’ hours and studying to do. Alternatives there are, we must come to sail and moor without engine and more across the wind on the platform of the left that is the only one that ’ memories available for yachts.
It comes with only the mainsail, Marcus ’ all ready and I still full of fears on the choice of the moment.
Fortunately, inside the harbor the wind is much less intense and maneuvering succeeds. L ’ yet (appennellata) made by a few meters from a large American sailing ship. Marcus falls to the ground with the tender reaching below the top float of 50 meters and can thus pull Gattadapelare side with the stern into the wharf. We are badly stuck between small boats, but without prejudice and without damage. We are sure that ’ inverter is the cause of our troubles and inform us immediately to see who can make us care. But until tomorrow ’ there is nothing to be done. We relax, we descend into the city and there we go to dinner.

Monday, 11 October 1999. Kos.
Spend the morning looking for a mechanic to do repair l ’ inverter. Finally arriving at the longed-13 man and we communicate that ’ inverter is in order. The cause of the wreck lies in scampato bolts that secure the engine ’ to ’ axis of propeller: no autostringenti and have loosened up to become detached. In a few minutes and with modest expenditure is being called everything in order.
There we go around the town, full of Hellenistic and Roman ruins that appear around every street corner. Kos was the home of Hippocrates and a centenary tree saw, say, the famous medical ethics and cool under the canopy. ’ C is also a beautiful modern bronze group, size, reproducing Hippocrates and his patients gathered around him in attentive listening to his prescriptions. Marcus again by plane to Athens tomorrow to be first in Rome and in the evening in Bolzano. I am only a rearrangement boat, to read and wander Marzia expecting that will change tomorrow afternoon with his brother.

Tuesday, 12 October 1999. Kos.
I continue to discover the city and the excavations. I'm making some of ’ caboose and finally arrives in the late afternoon Marzia. ’ C is a masquerade party for the streets around the port. Many people with beautiful costumes, especially young tourists, many music and free sweets for everyone. We do not know why. So spend a few hours before putting in a restaurant and then go to sleep. Tomorrow we resumed the journey.

Wednesday, 13 October 1999. From Kos to Leros. 20 miles.
Finally after two days of inactivity we start sailing today. But it is easier said than done. By Marcus we anchored so firmly that, despite the many efforts and turn on ’ yet we fail to deliver. We irremediabilmente loans. A heavy heart that we call a diver to poor (!!!) 450 drachmas, equivalent to 250,000 pounds, sets us free. ’ It's true that he had to dive between the discharges of many floats visibly ceases watercraft, but we believe the request excessive. In future it will be good to have on board a cylinder 5 liter d ’ air for these incidents, although it will be hard to convince the family of the diver to dive. We have done 11 hours and it is too late to aim the bow on Amorgos, where we were seeking. Well supported with a breeze pushed us in the channel between Kos and Kalymnos and bell ’ surrounds this island until you reach the close relationship between the latter and Leros. Close angusto that cross well with some attention, but the charts do not show special dry. In short we are on to reach that Platanos 16th Moored side by side in a boat occupied by a Finnish couple and lovely couple. After strolling and made (by Marzia) 382 images with live actors (ducks) and dead (chairs), we sit at the usual tavern where patrons find the usual, including the old man, always annuente before his bottle of wine. Eat with great gusto a plate of roast Pescetti and there we go to sleep.

Thursday, 14 October 1999. From a Levitha Leros. 30 miles
A day of sailing in the sea ahead of the gods. The barometer 1025 mb marks. We leave the mills, a wind, we leave the fortress of Gerolosomiti, ghost of a world of passions and fears disappeared over time, we leave Leros with its memories still vivid of war and blood shed by people and friends are aiming the bow towards the west. Our goal is Kinaros unknown island and to calls stingy. But at 16.30 we attacked the desire of land known and refuge for the night in the Bay of Levitha. While the banks scoliosis ’ accompany us in trying to enter with the eyes of our friends islanders. There he is, in fact, that Tavros shake his hand happy to meet again.
Six other boats have decided to spend the night ’ in fragrant embrace of sun-dried herbs d ’ August. Mild and the wind is already fresh from the north. For the fisherman next to us, guests of this call, we ask some ’ fish to buy and them, with the generosity of its simple people, we give a sufficient quantity to justify the effort to turn the barbecue on board .
We make sure well with the peaks on the ground, and we salute the gentlemen of ’ island. Among the white rocks in the night incipiente rustico climb the path that leads us to the house.
Let's go back in the silent darkness.
The stars have a mass of immensity which is crushing us into an awareness of our infinite smallness.

Friday 15 October 1999. D Levitha to Amorgos. 30 miles.
The white house Tavros and his brothers spy from afar our morning departure. The siren to play a greeting and a seafaring look among the gray stones of limestone 'Acropolis if some ghost notes Achaean our wander between the islands of Ulysses.
Here Kinaros, harsh and uninhabited island. No safe harbor would have received yesterday evening. The thirst for new knowledge would have been badly off by fear of sharp rocks that populate our dreams ii nights spent at the wheel.
Without the wind, pulled into a sea to shining reflects the high wall and red on the coast south of the island. We seek the profile of the dog, but Kinaros is called so for other mysterious reasons.
At noon we arrived at the easternmost tip of Amorgos. From this landing, we expect a lot. We have read that it is little frequented by tourists, which is one of the islands found Mycenaean civilization, which is rough and wild, but also green olive spread on highlands sweet. The fact that the tourist industry of the mold surface and denuded infrequent Amorgos is for us the mark of quality, the equivalent of a DOC Cycladic. Maybe we do not know even the soft drinks in cans.
Hidden coves, ravines blue open before our eyes, so is the east coast facing the Meltemi that blows when, pushing the foam to the Aegean shores and pebble lonely. Steal your eyes with images from the dream Aa, so monotonous, day city.
To 16:30 entering the Bay of Katapopalos where five other boats at the dock waiting for us.
The country is spread out in three groups of houses facing the sea. The remains of the ancient city arise spontaneously in the gardens of modern houses in a 'harmonious fusion of the time.
With motorini we climbed towards Chora, looking again for the candor and passed Cilcadi Venetian glory of which are testimonies cliffs. The blue bay below us and the evening incipiente raise a sweet and melancholy silence.
Dinner open ground in the tavern where few tourists it feels fraternal comrades of shared feelings.

Saturday 16 October 1999. From Amorgos to Antikaros. 6 miles.
The monastery is spread Horoviotissa a half of a coast overlooking the sea. Scenario always known through the cards offered in kiosks and shops of souvenirs, and yet again discovered in an emotion as a protagonist. The barometer marked 1019 this morning at 7.00. In the sky not a cloud has upset our expectations when we launched our scooters and we climbed towards Chora. Then a steep highway pass through herds of goats and timid intrigued by our presence came to disturb their eternal communion with Pan. The sea reflects the sunlight to a vaguely clouded horizon dall'incerta shadow of Santorini.
We are in twelve to climb the steep path that leads between numerous turns at the foot of the monastery. The walls and the rock are melted together and together they share a passion for the white Cycladic modern feed for their modest homes. In the past, white was the certainty of doom and the houses are confused in the color of the stones, hoping to pass unnoticed the eye of the rapacious marauder turkish.
An icon of the Panagia, the mother of Christ, escaped the destructive fury of the iconoclasts, is laid on the rock and was immobilized with a nail from a brother to fortunosamente this miracle.
A secular us in visiting the monastery, and we show icon and nail. Then, meeting in a room gives us those sweet, so widespread in the eastern Mediterranean, with a sort of hard and soft gelatin, cut into cubes and floured in icing sugar. Sitting around a table like the apostles do our communion between members of different peoples.
From yellowed photographs hung on the walls, bearded pope observe strict attempts of some of us to evade the attention of the leadership and get rid of the gift.

For a road go in search of Minoa, the city founded by the ancient Cretans, that the tide of time el'oblio men hannno reduced to a few stones on the yoke of the mountain. The blocks of limestone walls of cyclopean look with the indifference of the objects dead beautiful and quiet coves that promoted the spread of the Minoan civilization on the island. Yet life in the city feel the presence of life of the "people of the sea." Breathe the breeze that rises from the coast and that brings with it a vague thought of autumn. It 'the same as that for centuries the waves caressing and steals the particles sailors' s soul, who remain suspended as long as other animals, above and below them along the coast and up the foot of the hills, do not steal too to mix with all other molecules that carry the soul itself. Death, liberating them, the spreads again in the breeze, the breeze that fills the sails and which supports the wings of seagulls, which calls on the waves murmur on the pebbly shore.
We do not feel tourists, we feel hungry and happy razziatori molecules soul.
We start with a fever of a sailor who has been too long on land.
But not before they have experienced an unfortunate mishap and educational. We have recovered the mixture with which, for an error estimation of distances to be traveled on, we had filled the tanks of motorcycles. And we have put in recipenti plastic bottles of some of that here in Greece, in the absence of soda, are very thin. In the hold in the stern locker, motor on, and still have berths, one of them is broken, and saturated with the gas engine. Unnecessary attempts to shut down the engine, feeding the fuel through the air, deaf to our prayers and our abuse, increased forsennatamente power. For long minutes, or perhaps for a few seconds dilated anxiety, we feared to lose the boat in a spectacular blaze.
Now the fuel is robust canisters in the bow locker and we ammorba.
In front of us, just 6 miles away, there Antikaros. This island is deserted, says portolano except two people who live here permanently, a fisherman and a Frenchman misanthropy.
A narrow channel between the island and a small island hosting the satellite rotates.
"Kalispera" he shouts the fisherman rowed towards the end of the day and into the small white house that you see on the high hill. "Kalispera" we cry, back, happy and disturbed by this presence that interrupts our charming isolation from 'humanity. Meanwhile we explore the folds of the land with curious eyes to search the other quarter of humanity. There's her house (we are sure that it is for her, mathematics deduction), but we do not see the man. The house of the French, too simple, but more full of fantasy, it appears abandoned. A little far from the coast, but not so much seem to be shy, it is there, mysterious, waiting with us, the next day to tell his life and release the soul of the molecules that retain many.

Sunday 17 October 1999. From a Antikaros Koufonisia. 20 miles (?)

The storm, which at night made us change the mooring twice, it was dissolved by the first light of dawn, leaving behind the calm sea and no wind refolo. Impatient, vorrremo immediately descend to the ground and at the same time, we would like to postpone the meeting with the House we feel full of melanconci messages. We are attracted to it and fled the weight of thought held in his rooms. Descend to earth and quiet, respectful way we reach the threshold for the small court. The doors, lock and nailed with boards, have been infringed by others and is open immediately to our gentle push. The rooms were suddenly almost deserted. Dusty objects of daily life are in vain before being placed in life by a master who, we know with certainty, would not return anymore. Some French magazines reported last date: October 1983. Books, mostly novels yellow, a French-greek dictionary, cassettes of classics, songs of Ives Montand. A deep melancholy there remains a desire to communicate with us. Silent, almost on tiptoe, we bypassed for those who tell us, guests for the event, pieces of the solitary life "French." A pair of myopic glasses, boxes of food, a hand pump for water, in the kitchen, a rudimentary solar water heater (solar panels but there are more). On a nail hung a jacket of mutton, eaten by moths. He dropped to the ground a hair and piles of complaint, he more than all the other things, the end of a life.
No water, hidden, for modesty, in a closet, tell us about the long solitary hours spent painting and listening to songs in their own language and the song of the sea in the universal language. Meet a single note of joy to a room upstairs. A bed, a chair and on it, neatly folded and fresh, two sheets and a blanket. Someone, recently, and perhaps even repeatedly using the home and to justify the existence of life as a habitat and not as a container of melancholy memories.
Asking to be forgiven for our invasion, we descend again to the shore.
We leave the island at midday direct further north. Iraklia, the so called unknown destination and just want to get what we want to call a technician. Our eventual goal is Koufonisia. Koufonisia to have read and longed. And 'our Thule, last resort. The idyllic imagine.
Aghios Georgios is called the "capital" of Iraklia. E 'located at the bottom of a narrow coastal Calanco Northeast and a Moletto should invite all'attracco. But the wind raises short and harsh waves that break snappier on the stones of the pier and we drive on. Naxos is the closest alternative. Appears impressive and not very inviting, and we do not know why. Maybe we bring with us that feeling of "fine" and "death" trasmessaci by the House, that we do not want to accept just because we feel a true and just as appropriate to the nature struggente beautiful Aegean sea and Naxos is too serious, in the distance. And while we sail close to windward, we see a white house on Koufonisia. There should not be, in our portolano, but they are there to tell the fate of this day of sailing and the passion.
Are placed outside the pier sovraflutto, where there is no backwash. The bay is the harbor that the country is full of fishing boats.
Koufonisia is for a small fishing village, but with vague Tourist quite disturbing to us. We imagined a primitive and sincere and we see, after so much loneliness which were used yesterday and this morning, too mundane. We meet two Italian tourists in search of lonely beaches. This is not enough to accept their vocation. Have "tourists" and not love them. We feel outside the world of souvenrs, cans of Coca Cola, the shops with fake products typical of the "all inclusive" of all this, then, that each level of the world attractive to tour-operetors. We want to feel superior to this. Sin perhaps small bourgeois pride and ambition of superiority, presumption, or are we really different from the crowd? We can not know whether other, more erudite, more intellectual, more "navigated" we look with the same scorn that we reserve "for the tourists." I hope not. Lose the esteem of ourselves or, for not losing it, accused them of presumption.
A serious blow to the consideration that I have this evening I myself come from a banal "dip a brush that performs to the moon and some sardines, bringing with me, at sea, bag, wallets, money, airline tickets and telephone.

Monday, October 18. From Koufonisia to Patmos. 50 miles.
The tour ends. At eight, let Koufonisia now seems simple and genuine, with its fishing boats rocking in the surf and the beach alone, last night full of boys playing football. We see the next horizon, the high cost of Karos and the distant horizon celestrino the contour of Amorgos. Even Levitha occhieggia in the mist and snow from the top white Chora of Patmos. 16.30 all'inglese moored in the port of Skala. We sailed alone, with little wind, good fishing and lots of feelings to be considered in the quiet pace of Gattadapelare. Speaks little, and think of the hours passing fast, and will lead us again soon with the newspaper made of solid, simple, necessary reality.