Sporades, stars and silver linings
Just as I feared, Khloe Kardashian was right
Hello sailors. Hope life’s good! Heard that there’s sunshine in the UK. At last! If you’re going to Glasto, hope you have a great time. I’m not jealous at all (I am). Living on a boat is sort of like being at a festival anyway, in that it can get quite whiffy and you re-wear the same clothes for longer than is ordinarily acceptable. Even so, Glastonbury is, perhaps, my favourite place on earth, because it feels like a temporary utopia. This boat also feels a bit like that.
Be that as it may, just as the great Khloe K predicted - the big man upstairs (possibly Zeus) is wreaking havoc with our plans. Eagle-eyed readers may recall that we’re meant to be in Turkey right now. But owing to a potpourri of problems that range from some seriously strong winds, to our autopilot breaking, to something unspeakable involving the plumbing (let’s just say that we’re giving Thames Water a run for its money, poonamily speaking) - we’re still very much in Greece. Obvs much worse places to be stuck, so I’m not complaining. Although.. I have trodden on three sea urchins in the past week, so, you know, I like to think I know a bit about hardship.
As if things weren’t bad enough, the in-laws have been visiting... Charlie’s parents were on their annual Greek odyssey, sailing around the Sporades with friends. So, we planned to form a flotilla for a few days before peeling off to non EU waters. Fate, of course, had other ideas. The Meltemi - powerful winds between Greece and Turkey that really ramp up in the summer - have arrived early. Add to that the fact that our navigational instruments are down and the journey suddenly seemed unnecessarily treacherous. So, we inadvertently ended up having a week-long family holiday. Tough times.
This was lucky for Charlie’s parents, as it turns out the eight-person yacht they had chartered was really more of an oversized dinghy, so several members of their crew jumped ship to the Turtle. They included Charlie’s mum, Sian (an excellent anchor girl), plus family friends Baz and Claire, whose own deeply traumatic week really put our problems into perspective. Claire had just lost her younger sister, Lucy, and was in the ravages of grief. But - being the force of joy that she is - still boarded a plane to Skiathos a few days later, to spend time with her friends in a place that Lucy loved.
How does the saying go? When life gives you limes, make margaritas. So we did. We also sailed and swam and - in spite of it all - had a very jolly time.
The Sporades, an island group in the north east, are much greener and more luscious than the Greece I’m used to - and a regular haunt for Charlie’s family. To my shame, I had never visited before *cough - never been invited - cough* so it was lovely to have them show me around. (An experience marred only marginally by my calling Charlie’s dad, Christian, ‘bossy’) (which he is). Still, there was a very sweet moment when Christian did a ceremonial handing over of the “Captain Arden” badge, he’d previously had made for himself on the internet (case in point).
We first met up with Charlie’s fam (who I am being mean about for comic effect but actually really do love) in Steni Vala, on the island of Alonnisos. It’s a sweet little bay with a small taverna-lined dock and feels totally authentic and undiscovered by any of those pesky Brits abroad. Or so we thought. We were kicking back on deck with a Mythos (look, I’m a tourist, I’m embracing it) when some pals from London happened to stroll past. I was thrilled to welcome them on board as I had just finished mini-hoovering the galley and it really did look extremely clean (a difficult feat to achieve on a boat, let me tell you).
Still, the geology of the bay made things logistically challenging. There are lots of big rocks close to shore, which meant we had to moor several metres away from it, deploying the paddle board as a sort of shuttle bus to and fro. Luckily, all of our boat guests proved to be extremely elegant paddle boarders. All except, of course, me. After dinner on land, I hopped off the board a bit prematurely and ended up not, as planned, on the Turtle, but instead (fully clothed) in the surrounding water.
My dignity hanging by a thread, we set sail the following morning. There being another boat really brought out Charlie’s competitive streak (not that it’s ever buried very deeply) and we quickly found ourselves in a fierce neck-and-neck race with the Dinghy. It was all going well until I severely misjudged a tack (when you turn the boat into wind) and the oldies shot into the lead. Still, Chazzle and I had a marvellous time: me at the helm belting out the Best of Robbie, while he rearranged the ropes and went for several wees off the side (quite poss his favourite activity).
That evening, we anchored off the south coast of Skantzoura, an island brimming with marine life and also, apparently, quite a lot of monks. Didn’t see any monks, alas, but did see some marine life (that’s if the enormous spearfish Charlie had caught two days prior counts). While Charlie’s dad was downstairs prepping it (he quite rightly doesn’t trust my cooking after that one time I inadvertently gave him the norovirus), I was on entertainment duty. By which I mean I put Spotify on shuffle then subjected everybody to a quite lengthy series of knot-tying demonstrations.
Stomachs full of spearfish and minds brimming with bowlines, we set sail early the next day. Still reeling from the previous day’s defeat, Chazzle and I speedily unfurled the jib - only to be met with an enormous northerly gust, which (quite literally) knocked the wind out of our sails. After ten seconds of terror, during which I feared the Turtle might genuinely capsize, we performed a quick reef (bringing in a bit of sail to steady the boat) then whooshed to our destination, leaving the Dinghy in our wake.
Before we knew it, we’d arrived at the island Skyros. I could go on for days about its secluded beaches, charming tavernas and picture-perfect hilltop town. But what I really want to tell you about is the ferry. The service from Athens was cancelled many moons ago - but locals clubbed together to save it (apparently the only Greek island ever to successfully do so). Now, each evening at sunset, the vessel heaves into view, while enormous tannoy speakers blast out Strauss's Also Sprach Zarathustra (aka the theme tune to A Space Odyssey). We witnessed this in prime position: sipping a marg in the excellent clifftop bar overlooking the harbour - and I may or may not have cried a tiny bit.
What’s more (I know! How can there be more?!), the island is home to one Soula Pappa, who the Ardens first met a decade ago and instantly decided to pal up with after she dove off the jetty and re-emerged holding an octopus. (Knowing how to snare various sea creatures being exactly the sort of skill they look for in a friend) (Sian would like you to know that this was pre My Octopus Teacher). Soula joined us for dinner in a vg harbourside taverna (blue chairs, white tablecloths: perfect) and was v amusing, not to mention helpful in explaining how to forage for sea urchins (more on which next time).
I could have stayed in Skyros forever, but time was of the essence, so we raced back to Skiathos the following day, catching a big benito (much like a tuna) en route. Charlie’s mum, who stays on Skiathos for a month every year(!) took us to all the top spots, which included some really excellent rocks, an elite fruit stall AND a clifftop cafe whose loos have the most spectacular views. I mean WOW - the place has it all!
Next it was on to Skopolos, site of the famous Mamma Mia church scene(!). Regrettably didn’t spot Meryl Streep, or even so much as the donkey. But I DID get to show off my shoreline tying skills, so was happy enough. Dinner that night was spectacular. We were kindly hosted on the Dinghy (which, just to clarify, was actually a 50ft monohull) and family friend KP cooked up the benito Italian-style. This involved poaching it in a special tomato sauce she’d brought all the way from her home in Puglia (made by her friendly neighbourhood Nonna - you can’t make it up!) and serving with spaghetti (also from Puglia, obvs). It was a v lovely evening which I ruined by trying to initiate karaoke, at which point everybody promptly headed off to bed.
Humiliated, I boarded the tender back to the Turtle and - just at that moment - realised that there was bioluminescent algae in the water (tiny marine organisms that glow in the dark - real life magic!). Next thing, the women of the group were all back on deck stripping off and diving into the inky depths, which sparkled as we swam - like bathing in stars. To top it all off, there was a full moon (both literally and figuratively: everyone was in the nuddy) (apart from me, a prude, in full cossie with mask), so the whole thing really did feel quite celestial. Maybe old Zeus is looking out for us after all.
Thanks for reading Sailing Sunset! Writing this all down has reminded me of an Oscar Wilde quote, which I’d love to leave you with: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars”. (Glasto-goers, thought it might be particularly beneficial for you to think of this while you’re in the midnight queue for the long drops).
I’d have been looking for Colin Firth. Just saying.
Very very good indeed.beautiful writing and very funny. Christian (dinghy capt)