We spent our penultimate night at the small but protected
harbor at Neo Klima on the island of Skopellos. A freshening breeze from the
northwest became a minor gale (a number 6 on the Beaufort scale). Come morning
we decided we weren’t going anywhere until the wind dropped off slightly. Any
crossing from Skopellos to Skiathos would have presented some large swells and
whitecaps. We opted instead to swim the lee of the town jetty at Neo Klima.
Lambros and Cynthia snorkeled along the rocks in search of a octopus and
instead came face-to-face with a moray eel, which they watched warily cross a
safe distance. But where there are eels there are octopii, so the search for a meze (appetizer) continued.
Jonathan ran four miles at around 6 p.m. when the day’s high
temperature of 40 C. (about 104 degrees F.) had sunk to the high 30s (mid-90s
F.). A little later the eight of us strolled to a nearby taverna with wireless internet and everyone
reveled in our new-found connectivity: the children on their various devices, the
adults checking emails, bank balances, and a few messages from distant
publishing clients—out of sight but never entirely out of mind. We had dinner
in the same taverna, at around 10 p.m., with a nice view of the sailboat. Our
lines were holding nicely even though the wind continued to blow.
The following morning we delayed our depature, deferring to
a big sea and a continuing gale. Finally, at noon, we untied and set off for
Skiathos, a twelve-mile open water crossing. With the head sail hoisted and the
trusty Penta diesel chugging dependably, we rode over the six- to eight-foot
swells effortlessly, the sailboat performing like a surfboard or a snowboard
crossing a mogel field.
Skiathos harbor was chockful of sailboats and motor yachts
of every description and it appeared that each slip and most moorings had been
taken in advance of the weekend. We attempted a stern-to approach at the town
pier but our anchor hooked another boat’s anchor and the cross winds made
disengaging difficult (the boat has no bow thrusters). Then, seeming out of
nowhere, the 300-foot car ferry arrived in the harbor, adding another dimension
of uncertainty. It was a harrowing moment, during which our skipper remained
calm while his crew scampered around the deck, fending off other vessels,
tending the dingy, and holding on for balance to stanchions, cleats, and
winches. The ferry’s wake was large and the vessel’s propellors churned the
water, causing the moored boats to swing unpredicably. We remained stationary
between anchored boats and the ferry—which made us feel like a dingy beside the
Titanic in a heavy chop. As soon as the car ferry departed we disengaged from
another boat’s anchor line, hoisted our own anchor, and retreated to a quieter
nearby cove, where we ended up spending our last night on Skiathos. The cove was protected from the predominant
NW wind but was exposed to the open ocean. Fortunately the wind remained
northwest and we were protected by the steep headland.
We spent the rest of the afternoon swimming off the transom
in about 40 feet of translucent water, clear enough to see straight to the
bottom.
Another reason to avoid Skiathos harbor was the general
drunken rowdiness that issues each evening and carries across the open water,
making sleep all but impossible in the harbor. The clubs don’t open until
midnight and the party continues until 6 a.m. Adding to the general pandemonium
was the international Mr. Skiathos competition, a gathering of gay men from all
over Europe. On Saturday the participants and onlookers began to
arrive—boatloads and planeloads. In the town we passed hordes of young men
dressed in feather boas…and little else. Our older children found this rather entertaining.
Our boys—Manny and Alexander—were quick to remove the blue toenail polish that
Nia had applied earlier in the day.
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The following morning, we hoisted anchor at an ungodly hour
(from the big kid’s perspective) of 8 a.m. and motored back to Skiathos harbor,
where we would catch the hydrofoil back to the mainland. The detritus of the
previous evening’s mayhem were apparent—empty bottles, lost boas, and abandoned
partners slumbering on park benches by the waterside.
Back on the mainland, we found a slow ferry heading to the
large, adjacent island of Evia, where we had planned to visited British friends
that Jonathan has known for more than thirty years, in an oceanside valley a
few kilometers south of the town of Limni.
On the ferry Jonathan struck up a conversation with an Evian
firefighter named Archelaos. He was traveling with his wife and child to the
northern tip of the island for an afternoon swim. As he said, “the beaches here
are virgin and it is a perfect place for children to swim”—a fact that Jonathan
has known so well since 1980, when he first visited this mountaineous, heavily
forested place. During the course of our trip, Jonathan and Manny have taken
every opportunity to engage in conversation with our fellow firefighters.
From the little harbor of Ayio Gioryio, Jonathan negotiated
a taxi to Limni for the girls and Ann; and another for himself and Manny, but
only as far as the hot springs at Loutro Epidsos, where our friend Denise offered
to pick us up in her old Suzuki 4x4.
Evia
Described by one travel writer as “an island apart,” Evia is
a special place—famous in the classical era (Aristotle wrote about the 6 daily
tides that occur at the island’s southern end—a geological phenomenon that is still
not entirely clear to oceanographers), during the Middle Ages, and during the
Ottoman Turkish period and later.
The northern part of Evia is a continuation—in terms of
geography and ecology—of the Pelion peninsula. Like the Sporades, which we had
just cruised, Evia has sharp, steep mountain ranges and is very rich in pine
forests. Some of the worst summertime fires occur here, as there is a steady
wind through the parched forests and any forest fire is all but unstoppable.
Our friend Denise put the girls into the cottage annex,
while Jonathan and Manny stayed down in the valley in the κυλλη (a stone
building used to house the visting priest), which is located a five-minute walk
away. Still there is no electricicty here, so kerosene lanterns provide the
evening light, although the western sky still has sufficient light for walking
about until 10 p.m.
We sat on the veranda eating dinner and sipping the local
wine until midnight and then enjoyed our first “stable” (i.e., non-rocking)
night in a week. The kids slept until 10 a.m., while Jonathan was up for run
and a swim at first light.
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