On board diary, sailing around Turkish coasts

Sailing from the Turkish coastline to the Mediterranean Greek islands

 

I arrived on 22 May 2002 in Antalya via Istanbul to prepare Gattadapelare firm that is here for a year. The political events last autumn and the winds of war have discouraged the crew that I had collected. I expect many problems to put the boat under sail. I have been in agreement with his friend because I Erdal involve a worker who goes to the masthead to verify the arrival of draglie and Forestays. The engine seems locked and I have to ask the mechanic. Nothing serious. The batteries are recharged. Replacing the bilge pump with a new one that I brought from Rome. Rearing, release, control, paint, put a new gasket to the cup of success, close the hole in the keel did a year ago to dry thoroughly. And finally launching. E 'on June 25th Marzia arrive tomorrow and Gino in the same plane from Istanbul. The weather was good, but the wind, rather tense, always comes from the east. E 'in the direction we must take for the first leg of our trip: Finike.

Sunday-26 May 2002-Antalya
I go to collect the crew at the airport with a car rental. We are all in a good mood and this just went in the old town to dine in a restaurant on the harbor crusader. Everything is favorable, the food, the landscape, the moon, the company. Among the range of bids submitted in March to choose the next day to visit the ruins of Thermessos. Excellent choice. The site is up and we expect a cool, relaxing day before commencing the first stage of 50 miles.
You go to sleep to the Navy.

Monday, May 27 Thermessos.
We start with easy to make a few kilometers away from the mountains of Antalya Tauro.
We stop at the small restaurant that we saw a year ago along with the "girls" and together with the food we order a good bottle of wine Ciancaia cold. Marzia Turkey Ciancaia drinks only!
Going up the hairpin bends that lead us to share in Thelmessos perceive signs of a sleep postprandial we can not ignore, so you are on the plateau at the base of the ruins of the old city, monumental tombs of interesting accoglienti eternal sleep of old characters, we content with a modest, temporary, nap caressed by the cool breeze that comes down from above.


The theater, well preserved and can be reached with difficulty going up a path in the woods. But it's worth it. We are alone in the light winds in front of us and the red wall limestone mountains of the colors and shapes of the rocks Fedriadi at Delphi. Sitting on the ancient stones, let us carry the feelings and sense the presence of people with whom we share, in a line of timeless emotions, the same scenario.

Dinner before arriving in Antalya Gattadapelare, which start tomorrow a new adventure.

Tuesday, May 28-Antalya-Cavus Limani 40 miles
We start with light breeze with the intention of reaching a Finike 60 miles east of Antalya, but we see immediately that it will be difficult to get there. The wind is against, and stretched off the waves are annoying. We make several tacks closer from time to time to the coast where we are more protected from the sea, but we can only proceed at the engine. We left, contrary to the intentions in the morning and made the evening we reached that we are still far from the goal. We also consumed more fuel than expected and underestimation of the conditions of navigation I have not made full in Antalya. We simply must find shelter before it gets dark. The portolano us about a possible anchor in a cove at the head Cavus. It proves more enjoyable and comfortable as expected and spend a quiet evening at a table in a restaurant of the long sandy beach. The waiter promises us a tank of diesel in agriculture.


Wednesday, May 29. Cavus Limani Finike-20 miles.
We start early with good time and slight breeze, but the contrary. After a few miles through the Turkish coast guard leads us back because of military exercises in the area. Go-ahead after 14.00. Return reluctantly because it is important to pause to Finike only to diesel and continue to Kekova regaining the lost days. A boat Irish, initially mistaken for Italian because of the white flag and red and green, followed by our own fate. We are so far in front of the beach with the backdrop of the Taurus mountains in the still white with snow. Bathrooms and small maintenance work to deceive the expectation and then restarted. Now the wind is stronger, and repeat the experience of yesterday with the aggravating circumstance that the eye of the pen of staple tears and we have to lower with difficulty. The high roller dell'avvolgifiocco leaves the channel and risks damaging.
The overnight stay in Finike is now compulsory. The Marina is for the inhabitants of this town a meeting that evening you are walking or taking an ice cream. Some local animate the nightlife, otherwise absent in the rest of the city. A long promenade and public gardens with furniture artistic attempts to betray the intention of the directors to do Finike a modern tourist town. But tourism is not seen much this season.


Thursday, May 30. Finike-Kekova. 15 miles

Show us a little sail away from the Marina and Gino, laboriously, we bring you the genoa to be repaired. E 'by a German and his companions (we have the impression that leading a menage-type "complex") that have moved here many years ago. We promise to make repairs before the late morning. We are almost resigned to starting tomorrow to Kekova. Gino is harness, tied, hooked and sent to the masthead to repair the roller dell'avvolgifiocco.
At 18.20 Gino suggests leaving anyway. The weather conditions are good, there is no sea and light wind to help the engine with a bowline un'andatura. The evening descends gently in front of us while you open the stretch which hosts our next port. You enter a few lights on the coast and your profile stands out increasingly dark water glow.

31 May 2002. Kekova

"Kekova is the name of a village with no shops, only to get there by sea, because the bank behind the mountains are high, wooded and impassable.
An unexpected sight, a random stop, but we did see a forgotten tribe that seemed to run backwards, all paid back in a world like this one, that drives everything forward.
Few people live in houses of stone and wood with the cows, goats and chickens. No grass, few trees in front and a small arm of the sea calm as a fjord, there are no paths, but which tracks the beasts go into their range at will and that only the men below.
Women, men, boys and girls were facing the windows and doors to our arrival, a hot and muggy reigned in after the first wonder and curiosity, doors and windows were closed and the small village was left blind in the sun as if it were abandoned.
We were stopped in the bay because we had noticed some graves on top of the hill, the steep climb after the ruins of a castle appeared likely the graves. They were huge stone sarcophagi with the same shape as those left to us from medieval times, senz'ordine were scattered along a trail on the ridge of a hill on one side looked on the fjord and the other a small valley.
It was the city of the dead, where the grandiloquence form of massive weight had no explanation. They were tombs of kings and chiefs, did not name, there was nothing inside. The wonder of discovery, the heat death of the truth had broken us in the water balance. There was not wearing a 'dell'asprezza the place and people like us come into the hard rough stones of all those roses wind saline. The stones were everywhere; stone construction falls, rocks that appear everywhere for a little above, black powder terra.La ruins of buildings, tombs, houses, men and their lives were a clear sign of reversing, a contrast despair with the world today progresses. They sleep on the roofs for the warm, protected by black blankets, and the women wear large Turkish trousers and keep the face veiled, and the girls with the same broad trousers seem dressed for gioco.La life is limited to the arm of the sea and hills and the valley behind the hill, the rest of the world could not exist if someone who knows, that may overwhelm the past and present will come here ... "
Chickens Vittorio describes in his book "The crust of the Earth" the village of Kekova in 1971.

We arrived late last night, lighting up in front of the head with a flashlight to discover the hidden dangers of the rocks in the sea. The water is calm as it is protected from the long island that shelters the Turkish coast and the village of Kekova by wind and waves. The village will see, illuminated by little lights on the black background of the hill. Note the signal lights on the shore, the calls come to us. First one, then another. We invite you to direct the boat towards improbable berths which are not trust us. Do not trust us because we do not know the backgrounds but also because quell'agitarsi the coast, those calls bright quell'insistenza to call awakens images of priming used in the past pirates to plunder ships on the rocks so finite.
This came in the form of Kekova few simple tavernas that are projected with their shaky piers to boat on the way. On their ends indistinct men fight among themselves in the daily gestures of a docking sopravvivenza.Abbiamo chosen at random to give a knowing resigned displeasure to others. The tavern is called Rome, another sign that the village visited by Vittorio Chickens has changed.
This morning I put my head out of the tambuccio and I saw it. Licia's tomb rising from the sea.
It is to them a few meters away from me as I have pictured on the cover of portolano. An image that made me dream for years and that I did not think I ever really met.
The houses of the village are still the same stone and wood, and the women always wear the wide Turkish trousers. But they have changed. No more curious and sullen, but ready to help you (I like to think of themselves, perhaps sinning presumption, a visitor and not a tourist). Can be randomly bring you show the path that tangle between the houses to reach the tomb, or acropolis, and other attractions of the place. Accompany you with dignity at the end of first offer the simple crafts that for gratitude ably triggered, buy mocking, almost apologizing not to buy the most expensive.
I go back to the boat. Marzia and Gino are awake and photograph. The arrival of the boat of bread refers to the majority of the population. Here there are still roads and supplies arrive by sea. Within minutes all the bread is sold and men, women and children if they return to their homes with the loaves in their hands in a ritual procession that happens every morning.
We climb to the acropolis, to the ridge strewn graves licie.
Let the scattered houses and turning turn between them along the path that follows the logic to reach all levels of the village. We are preceded by some women with their baskets filled with items SHIELDS that each expects to sell us. Do not bother, do not offer walk in front of us and sometimes turn to look at whether the seguiamo.Una of them speak Italian, a little, but enough to finish a small business with us. And 'demonstrated that even here in order to succeed you need to know the languages. There is also a store, a resale of all, with his fridge full of Coca Cola and Heinecken and a dolphin-lifebuoys plastic hanging under the portico which rotates slowly in the wind. Dear Chickens, finally see that this has come so far, unfortunately for us romantics "visitors" in search of the past. But even if rudimentary pansyniolari that we visited has its www.Kekova.tr (but I can not imagine where it will be hidden on your computer) the graves are still like you described. We walk among the stones of the castle cliff and visit the place chosen by ancient peoples for the last sleep in the arm of the sea and the lagoon inside. Sleep disturbed by predators who have practiced in all the tombs a hole for removing the treasures buried with the deceased. Who knows what they found there, who knows who was buried there? Unanswered questions and lazily surfacing while the mind wander around the hill accaldati from the sun to this end in May 2002.
On the afternoon to spend Tersane a 'cove in front of the same name on Kekova.
Even here the remains of Greek and Byzantine walls.
Spend the night in their quiet lagoon and away from the village. Here the "civilization" came overbearing. Many yachts to the wheel and a tank vessel that supplies of diesel. On land we can accept a village far more "modern" of the other. An asphalt road, a small bazaar, a mosque and several taverns. Pleasant dinner, we order the bread that we bring in a boat in the morning and speak in English with the owner at ease.

1st July 2002 - Kekova island of Kastellorizo. 15 miles.

We feel like Greeks. Marzia last night had the idea to make a stop in Kastellorizo, the southernmost island of Greece in the few miles from the Turkish coast. This unexpected dip in the sounds, tastes and smells of Greece excites us as a day of vacation at school. Feel for the first time that we have been too long away from her and we see what we are more similar to that world than to this, while fascinating, friendly and welcoming, however, matter. Courtesy of the Turks is a fact of life and their hospitality is traditional, but you always suspect that you want to sell something.
The village of Kastellorizo is formed by a strip of houses at the bottom of the bay. Separates the sea from a narrow street on which there is the life of the community.
The houses are two storeys, with roof slopes and the pastel-colored facades. Every so often you have to leaving out a small square where some low trees create shadows under which gather, sitting on wooden chairs vividly colorful, the old country.
But the atmosphere rarefied narrated by the film "Mediterraneo" is not even a trace, except that the last scene where you see the mass arrival of tourists.
A cruise ship has brought here four hundred tourists from Rhodes. They have occupied all the rooms available. Many of them, older people, speak an Italian hard, learned English at the time of the Dodecanese, and are happy to have the opportunity to attack us with speech. Thus we find that Gino is a "Red".
When we arrived we docked at a Moletto which are the tables of a tavern, and we had to move the mooring rope between the feet of customers. We sat at a table we let him slide down the feelings of all our Mediterranean, Latin and greek, made of olives, almonds, figs and wine, a salinity that we paste the hide of a pagan sense of the divine we dragged away in time and myth.
The first glass of Retsina and the first sirtaki. We are in Greece!
From top of the cliff overlooking the village, it has managed to achieve, we see the sun set into the sea gods.

2 June 2002 - Kastellorizo-Kalkan. 12 miles.

On route to Kalkan, a 3 miles from Castellorizo, there is the island of Agios Georgios or Ro. An open bay south us for a swim in calm waters and bright. The island is uninhabited and the only human imprint is represented by the ancient stones of a temple, or perhaps an acropolis. They are up there at the top to dominate the sea, a few stones that tell us of the imagination, but not casual visitors too, the myths of the "peoples of the sea."
Angling enough for a tasty barbecue organized ahead of Gattadapelare.
The gentle breeze that comes from the earth alive brace and a smell of roast fish arrives at the well where waiting and sipping retsina deceiving your appetite with marinated olives.
We continue to navigate after a brief exploration of the Acropolis.
The wind is weak and erratic. Every time we go to the engine.
19 to arrive.
Kalkan is a pleasant village with a marina unpretentious but comfortable, all dedicated to tourism, its streets are a succession of stores, shops, taverns, restaurants. In one of these come back willingly, Marzia and I, because I heard two years ago, the beautiful music. Nothing has changed, lying on the ground, supported by several pillows, we enjoy an atmosphere that would be artificial, mercenary, specially created for tourists and that, instead, for the heartfelt participation of musicians, it's true and we absorbed with emotion .
We slowly come back on board with the expectation of tomorrow and the stage that will lead us to Cala Kapi, a port known and loved.

June 3. Kalkan-Cala Kapi. 10 miles.
The sea also gives us today the gift of his indifferent beauty. The Gulf of Fethyie embraces this stretch of the Mediterranean that is about to become the Aegean. The mountains, not high, covered with conifers, fall to tap water. Where the ridges into the sea forming peninsulas, the valley is transformed into creeks, bays in the valleys. In one of them, seem protected enough to a mountain lake, we enter a sail through a narrow, deep channel between two lands. On our left we see the landing in the bottom of a close haul. A tavern and a few boats that we receive. The call is clear and encourages to laziness, but we are a crew of knowledge too delicious to remain on board. So tell Gino to the nearby village so that we hit, Marzia and me, for its simplicity and miserable now wake your curiosity. So we are through the olive trees and oaks to a path just traced, but we are uncertain about the route. Asking a man and a woman who rose behind us the right way and 'man invites us to follow him. It 'simple people, of poor appearance, walking slowly, the man continued, the woman a few steps behind. Not speak, and despite everything, there is the deep bond that unites them to the common destiny. He speaks incredibly good English, she is silent forever. Invite us into their poor house made of tin and cardboard and offer us the traditional tea. Seated on a mat on the ground incredibly clean, and she weaves the ever silent carpet (I suspect that, like Penelope, at night the disfaccia to have something to show to tourists) and we drink a tea of sage unlikely, l 'man tells of his son who is studying medicine in Ankara and their home in Anatolia.
We also learn that the owner of the tavern Cala (organized like a club) live in the house next to it, obviously no electricity and, of course, to sanitation, we begin to see this reality with others, surprised eyes. Almost we regret that poverty and backwardness that we identified with the genuineness of our experience of people and places is not that a personal choice of our guests.
To buy the usual Sdebitarsi necklaces and bracelets and we return to the boat that awaits us at the patient and insonnolita Moletto wood.
Dinner table and you go into a berth.


June 4-Cala Kapi-Goecek. 4 miles.

Alarm clock with convenience. We do not have more to do than to sail to our pleasure in this marine lake waiting for a berth Goecek, the last stop for Marzia. Breakfast comes from a boat that offers Crèpes with cheese and herbs cooked on the fly on a plate.
Spend the day sailing here and there with a good wind and sailing with the choices at will. Bay and islands we visit, we baths, drink good wine Ciancaia bought on the fly from a tavern Moletto seasonal, and we let him slide time.
At sunset, head over Goecek. The country is entirely dedicated to pleasure boating. The Marina hosts several charters and restaurants are everywhere and local authorities in front of which it was persuasive barker radius of tasty dishes. In doing cambusa know Assuan a sailor who speaks a little Italian who offers to arrange the trip to March for this night, the airport of Dalaman. Among the puzzled and grateful we set an appointment for 4 o'clock in the morning with a colleague, as he embarked on a large private yacht of a wealthy Libyan VIP.
With Marzia establish a series of telephone signals in the form of rings, to tell us if all goes well during the transfer by car.

June 5. Goecek-Rhodes. 50 miles.

Alarm clock with three and a half. Marzia now completing his vacation Gattadapelare. There is in the few words exchanged in the darkness of the pier sadness of departure and the concern for this transfer. Punctual to arrive at 4 in a prestigious car carried by a drive of the yacht. Polite and professional driver loads the luggage of March and the two start the night about to end.
By Gino await signals defendants. The first ring after 15 minutes shows us that the journey is smooth and quiet. At 4 and 30 Marzia call that arrived at the airport and that the driver has refused any compensation for their service. Relieved and grateful for such kindness, soft and mooring, among incipiente, sneak to leave the Navy. The offices are closed and no one asks us toll.
We are a breeze for this time and there is no wind. Proceed with the motor position lamps which gradually turned pale nell'accendersi dawn. From the mountains behind the sun and feel warm shoulders. Before we step between the two islands and the open sea.
In Rhodes we meet this afternoon with Eleonora and Federico arrived yesterday on 'the island and will be our new traveling companions, and wandering among the islands.
Imagine that with the advance of the hours will wind from the west north-west and that will be the last miles with the sea and wind on the nose.
The predictions come true and effort not just to reach the port of Mandraki we find along the quay to the left.
Later a meeting with friends and dinner in a restaurant outside the old town, indicataci, the first time we were here, from an Italian skipper.

June 6. Rhodes.

Gino does not know and Eleonora Rodi and Federico have been here many years ago. Although for me it is the fourth time and the curiosity no longer move my feet, the charm of this city is felt forever. Is transmitted by severe walls of defense, the streets of the neighborhood of the riders from the overlap, mix, Stratton testimonies of Christianity and Islam which have been consolidated over time and make Rhodes a unique case in the history of the Mediterranean.
The amman of Suleiman the Magnificent is still being restored and we must give up one more time to a real "turkish bath."
Gino discover that under the shorts does not carry the pants. To denounce is a waiter from the eye end, a greek vicious that we need at the bar.
We make plans for tomorrow. Leaving soon to be before they Simi lift the "meltemino" which would control the channel between the island of Simi and the Turkish coast. Simi night, possibly in a bay already visited in 1998.
The crew is the new system into the cabin to the bow and prepares to face the first night on board.

June 7. Rhodes-Simi Island. 20 miles.

We have some problems with the anchor that was wicked in some submerged peaks.
No breath of wind blows. Never seen a sea most of this dish we have in front of the bow of Gattadapelare. Our boat is mirrored fendi and gently, without Consequently, almost in silence with which these waters so there impeto contrast in the other occasion.
The arrival in Simi carried out according to the roadmap.
The village looks like in the style of homes to Kastellorizo, a little bigger and just as important and enjoyable. Cambusa we do and we move into the bay known.
To reach it you go slowly, very carefully through a narrow channel and low and then exit to the north of the island. E 'a completely uninhabited, visited only by goats and a few fishing boat appearing towards evening to control creels taken in the morning.
We bring the equipment ashore to grill and beverages. In the silence of nature is left free to express themselves without the presence of man and his machines, with the exception of us who see ourselves as witnesses rather than troublemakers, listen belati the strong and weak, far and near, the goats scattered on the steep hill overlooking the bay and the quiet lapping of the sea on the rocks of the shore. Gattadapelare, the wheel a few tens of meters from the shore, there waits. We are aware of his expectations and his hospitality and aware of our return home.
Under a starry sky, after eating the uncertain light of a lamp oil, they come back on board, enriched by this new journey of remembrance.

June 8. Simi-Cnidos. 20 miles

Again a day with little wind. Our goal today is Cnidos, the ancient city known today for his discovery of a Venus.
It leaves the still having recovered items left on the beach. I hoped that this time, as the other, the goats were clean, licking the night, the grid and the dishes. But no. It is obviously not swim.
Like yesterday, there is no breath of wind. Good conditions for sighting dolphins, but do not see, if not vague dark shapes in the distance that could be everything.
The Moletto wooden Cnidos is always shaky, as the first time you dock. Turcoilcorto is always there to welcome the crews and to calculate what they could earn with his tavern.
Moored to English. There are several other boats and the sea is inviting for a dip.
Gino monster in the wreck of the boat lying at a depth of 4 meters. It was filled with concrete and probably used to extend the pier.
Eleonora Federico and while still in the boat, we will go hunting for "Coccetti", with moderate results. These fragments with no objective value, but for us will be the memory of this place.

June 9. Cnidos island of Kalymnos. 40 miles.

Calm, but we are happy because we have to cross the strait between Kos and Turkey and we know how hard it can be done with the wind. We start, therefore, intend to motor dub Kos before it can stand up to the breeze.
Gino sale in the masthead to take the original photographs. This, officially, is recognized as the true cause of the route that led us to hit the island of Kos to the east instead of tap. An error of six miles due to the presumption of a sail in a sea view which is surrounded by land anywhere indistinguishable.
Towards the two pass in front of a small island north of Kos, where, remember, there is a lovely cove for a refreshing bath. So do these in a thorough and transparent.
But today is a day to collect medals. The skipper on the paper identifies the village placed at the bottom of a fjord where ceneremo a welcome feature and tavern already visited on another occasion with Marzia. Ship's perfect, the GPS working, but mistaken identification. So we spend in front of the entrance to the fjord without seeing and when we see the error is too tiring to go back and too late. Repair in an inlet where, I know, there is also a seasonal taverna. Two other boats were at anchor with the top ground. There is little room to swing and decided, after detailed analysis and assumptions about the direction of the breeze at night, wearing a top traverse much ground to the north-west. There is no trace of the tavern, but we find a hundred meters inland, where we meet the other two crews.
Dinner is based on grid and stories of Nicola, the owner of the tavern. Cook, fisherman and sponge elementary teacher depending on the season. It tells of the hard life of fishermen in sponges of the past and their families forced to live in this valley and rocky hospitable only for goats, six months to a year pending the return of their men, with no other resource that milk and cheese. No road, no electricity, in houses that look more like small stores for the tools that a shelter for men.
Eleonora today rudder and bought a sponge. It 'very satisfied. Federico has no rudder and is not satisfied. For the sponge.

June 10. The island of Kalymnos-Leros-Lipsi Island. 10 miles.

In the morning we are pleased to see that our top was put in the right direction and the other two boats had problems. By Gino we congratulate each other. We start sailing to show us how good the other boats and after many turns us out of the haul. There is a good wind hauled large, almost a cross, to sail with joy. We exchange the government Gattadapelare between Eleanor, Gino and I, with polite impatience. In the transition between Kalymnos and Leros the wind increases, reduce the sail, the boat and buy a more comfortable. Now row to 8 knots. We decide to stop at Leros in time for lunch.
Difficult to find a place in the small port, but after many maneuvers and even doubts moored to English.
Lunch at the usual (for me) tavern on the shore. The crew is excited, the place charming, very good mood. But I sleep and crushed a nap on board while the other reached by taxi, the monastery-fortress Gerosolomitano that, with its ruins, dominates the island.
In return, we decide to proceed to the island of Lipsi. The afternoon was already advanced, we risk arriving in the dark to a mooring that says portolano, it is inconvenient. The wind is even more tense, islets and reefs, near and far, confusing the route and make it dangerous (!), But finally, at dusk, we find the entrance to the bay. You enter with the wind and waves and there are now, with relief, a long pier where there is so much the place. Moorings, however, not peaceful because it is an outstanding building, you pass under the waves and the boat seems always at sea. The country is nice, moderately tour, with a few taverns and inns. In one such dinner and then, tired, we pulled into the boat where cradled (beaten?) Waves met us asleep. A beautiful day for sailing!

June 11. Lipsi island-Marathi. 6 miles.

We leave the berth with a comfortable and clockwise along the island of Arki sull'arcipelago head. On the left the island of Patmos appears at the top with the whiteness of the houses of Chora. The wind is now the garden and to row to Marathi and serenity of quell'approdo.
Michelis, the owner of the tavern, we sight and recognizes Gattadapelare just been dubbed the island that shelters the bay from the south-west. Moored to a dead body and Gino and I descend to earth.
Kalimera, hello, packs on their shoulders, "sticani", "comostai". The usual Italian-greek repertoire.
Fortunately there is Gino. Months that have studied the greek. Boat spoke alone for hours and hours and so can finally put to the test what they have learned e. .. oh wonder! Michelis understand ..!
Sitting under the incannucciata, a few meters from the shore, let us go to the sweet laziness, drinking ouzo and eating olives. We know a pharmacist in Thessaloniki, who speaks Italian, and his young companion. They live by Michelis and invite us at the table with them. These are the four in the afternoon, but it is a nice surprise to lobster and other fish, including retsina and ouzo and great hospitality are well appreciated and enjoyed. Eleonora and Federico, remained on board, are not like us.
Marathi is a little 'change in these two years. Two new buildings remind us that progress is not sparing even our Thule. "last resort" In addition, the enterprising Dutch restructured the magazzinetto which has become a "shop". Sells stones paintings, pictures of goats and Michelis, local shells, etc.. But the point is not commercial: there is no transition. Old Tarlati, room Marzia Coca Cola wanted to buy two years ago is still used as a casket store. It was not for sale then and it is not today. A piece of rare antiques too.
Another old friend, Stavros, the fisherman is here this evening. Goes to fall below Lipsos networks, networks that tomorrow morning sail together.
Like all the other times that I was here, peace fills my heart and I am indifferent to the time that flows. I could stay hours to fix the sea before me, drinking Ouzo, listening to Greek music. Especially the songs of Alexeion and the atmosphere created by Vangelis
Some rare boat arrives, somebody else part. We observe the maneuvers and judge the ability of crews. Arriva also a boat in Italy. The skipper was heard while the words of appreciation for Gattadapelare. Nice! A true connoisseur.

12 June 2002. Marathi.

This morning we went Gino, pharmacist in Thessaloniki and I on the boat Stravos. There is also the father, an old fisherman minutes without a forearm, lost years ago at work. The boat is an 8-meter trawler powerful and functional. We start very soon and the rest of the crew of Gattadapelare remains idle bow cabin.
The center is made. We reach the point where they have been let down your nets last night and we begin to set sail. It is 1500 meters in the network that comes up slowly with little prey: a pair of lobsters, 7-8 cicadas, a dozen redfish and some other fish. We learn from the pharmacist that Stavros has invited us all to dinner with the fish apart from the lobsters and the cicadas, which are its gain of the day. Look at the prey with other eyes.
Serena spend the day and dinner is excellent.
Tomorrow we have to reach Patmos. The time is ripe to think about preparations for the return.

June 13. Marathi-Island of Patmos. 6 miles

Sailing salute Michelis and direct the Blue Lagoon, an inlet to Arki so named for the color that the water on the sandy seabed. There is an appreciable wind from the north-east, but
not disturb us much while we do the bathroom.
I try to draw something, to no avail.
We start around 14 with a great wind to large slack. Gino offers, please, to the rudder and Eleonora Federico, but at the earliest opportunity if they enriched and did not leave anymore. Gattadapelare proceed with exciting pace and Gino is also enthusiastic.
Landing Grikos, a pleasant village with 5 kilometers south of Skala. We put the one with the stern Moletto and descend to earth for a hike in motor. None of my colleagues know the island.
Skala is a dinner after a few small purchases. We also booked a cabin on the ferry to Athens, starting tomorrow evening. A cabin for four. The only still available. There seem to be still on our boat.

June 14. Patmos.

Now the adventure is over and this diary is reduced to a list of facts. We winged Gattadapelare usual site, the only one of Patmos. In greek shipyard Carnaio says, and that always makes me a little 'effect. While I do with the operation of towing the rest of the crew visited the island. Appointment is in the village of Chora, the restaurant Vangelius.
Spend the afternoon at the beach. The final hours are spent in preparation and arrangement of the boat.
23.00 depart by ferry.

June 15. Athens.

We arrive in the early morning after a quiet and, with some difficulty we arranged in a hotel near the Plaka, the neighborhood characteristic of Athens. The curse of the cat pursued us: not that we find a room with four beds. But now ....
Morning at the National Museum, the Acropolis in the afternoon. Dinner at dusk at the edge dell'agora while the Roman acropolis turns on the lights.
Then to bed. Everyone prepares his alarm and his luggage. Gino part in 3, and Federico Eleonora at 7, I at 13th Thus, the sneak, the team dissolves. We were good, in harmony and without any moment of friction, which is pretty rare when it is loaded into "little boat" for several days. A good crew, then. Experience to be repeated.