A Greek Ballad

The plan was simple if truth be told

Two days to Athens if weather would hold

We had no clue what Neptune had in store

After one night it blew 40 and more

Shelter was found but ‘twas no Shangri-La

The charts named our rock Astipalia

Wind howled through the rigging, we were in its teeth

But safe in a lee, our anchor snug beneath

In Athens wait an Austrian babe and stout Irish lad

But Slappy was stuck and desolation drove us mad

Our friends understood having worked long at sea

The delay they guessed wherever we be

Winds finally changed as they’re apt to do

In Paros a hull lay at anchor, we know who!

Palapa Palapa, this is Slapdash on one-six

We’re really here and this time no tricks!

He slept through our calls, on Slapdash a frown

We’ll side tie to his boat and shut the engine down

The clamour brought Captain Hayward on deck

Bright eyed? No way. Aloha boxer shorts? Check

For two days and one night the Paros marina was a treat

20 miles from Mykanos, 15 euro? Sweet

From there we made contact with babe and stout lad

Seats on a ship bound for Mykanos they had

In little Venice the stage was set

For the reunion, how little we slept

 Chris was now shaggy and Nina a blonde

Those whose hair I’ve mentioned we are very fond

The next morning we woke and Little Venice it rolled

Sheltered water ‘round the corner (or so we’d been told)

Roger was right and a sandy bay we found

Revelry and hilarity abound all around

A pause here for an auspicious day of note

July third had special meaning on this boat

On that day an undisclosed amount of years prior

On faraway continents two children were sired

In Austria ‘twas Nina, in Canada, me

Years later met Chris, Nina, Seth ‘n Jaime

I could go on but this is filling a chapter

We share a birthday, my thirty fifth, and… ask her

Our finery donned we made for the town

If garb matched behaviour we should have dressed down

On this night we soared beyond modest means

seaside and seafood like rock stars you’ve seen

Were we finished or kicked out, no one knows for sure

This we pondered with models on leopard spot fur

Back aboard on the Slapdash things soon went awry

What’s the deal with that flip flop? I don’t know this guy

We danced in the dinghy, on deck, even dodger

8AM, hung over, whose knocking? Bloody Roger

Keel haul him! No wait, get the water board

Oh he brought coffee? Then ask him aboard

We broke fast together the coffee it did save me

With heads full of webs we sailed to Santorini

Two days later the crater of a volcano we found

Its last eruption grand but now views astound

Sailing through the crater, “still active” said the guide

Lunch was Spaghetti Bolognese that Chris had supplied

No slackers on this boat we drank Slapdash dry

In a fisherman’s harbour we replenished supplies

Palapa dredged its way in to meet this friend George

The next day on quads into the country we forged

10 days had passed so the conclusion we reached

To visit an anchorage nearby its name was Red Beach

Before we knew it and far too soon

Winds shifted again their departure loomed

Our last night at anchor did not go to waste

But alas morning came time for us to make haste

In a cloud of dust their cab disappeared

It’s a magical life with friends so dear

Transients and travelers can form bonds in iron cast,

Their time together is sweet for they know it won’t last

Kythira beckoned after another week at the volcano

So we ate one last gyro for luck and were good to go

A twenty four hour sail from the crater

We pointed due west and 100 miles later

White sand and azure water beckoned the hull

Hello Kythira, a sleep and a swim please that`s all

Avlemonas held us captive in her Mediterranean stare

A sleep and swim be damned, 10 days later? Yep, still there

Whilst we played landside a cozy berth Slapdash did need

Here`s one with power and water. What else? It`s free!

Further waylaid by Austrians we met at the bar

Over ouzo they admitted to having a rental car

The next day at breakfast we made plans for the day

A hike and a swimming hole that blew us away!

On July 28^th our Greek saga did end

Playtime over now the high seas we would fend

We wondered where to go (only half in jest)

No problem, whenever in doubt we always go west

I hope you`ve enjoyed this ballad of the Greek isles

Because my cup of wine is empty and it took quite a while

I’m no poet so hope our pictures picked up the slack

If not then blow me a kiss, I`ll plant it firmly on my crack.

Slapdash out.

Gobble gobble

Lightning strike repairs continued in earnest for the remainder of the week. Panels and covers were removed to expose the guts, veins and arteries of our boat. Separate piles were made for repaired, to be repaired, the yet to be diagnosed, and the totally effed electronics. We were living in a world of wires and crimps, multi meters and soldering guns. Blood and money.

Somewhere in the midst of all this Jaime had a breakthrough. The AIS (Automatic Identification System) which had been inop since Singapore, who’s manufacturer for months had ignored our phone calls and emails, finally had a hope. We were referred to “Garmin Europe” and our first attempted contact generated a prompt reply. The reply included an actual number for an actual human being with an actual name. Unprecedented! Careful not to get our hopes up Jaime contacted the human. We were referred to a Garmin distributer in Istanbul who in turn referred us to a Garmin retail outlet in… wait for it… Marmaris! The same day we were in the shop face to face with an actual representative. Even then we kept our optimism in check, after all we had been in an actual Garmin shop once before. The reps in Thailand (Boat Lagoon) were as useless as they were clueless. It might as well have been an automotive muffler shop. They didn’t even know what an AIS was but were happy to hand me a catalog pointing to various VHF units and electronic chart chips priced at $300 each. With that in mind perhaps you can understand our pessimistic outlook?

The Marmaris dealer turned out to be completely different. He immediately understood what I was saying, was familiar with the model and outlined what we felt was a reasonable course of action. First he would need proof of purchase. We were prepared and had it with us. He would also need to verify that it was a faulty unit and not an installation problem. We agreed. He would send a tech to the boat with us to test the unit. If it was an installation problem he would fix it and we would pay him for the service call, if not the tech would bring the faulty unit back to the shop with him and they would have it replaced. We had all but given up hope on ever having an AIS again so quickly agreed. I asked when the tech would be in, the guy said, “in five minutes, I’ve already called him”. I nearly fainted. Within the hour I had the tech in my dinghy and we were on the way to Slapdash.

It took 10 minutes for him to test the unit. Surprise! It was clearly broken. I was sure that he was going to comment on the mess of wires and eventually surmise that we had been hit by lightning and then blame that for the malfunction. Looking around, it was surely a compromising position and one could be forgiven for making that conclusion, but in point of fact the AIS had not been installed since it quit working in Singapore, any damage was clearly the result of this old manufacturers defect and not new damage from this lightning strike. Happily he was not a particularly observant tech, and I was spared from having to explain all of that to a guy that didn’t speak much English. He confided to me that this happens all the time, that the stuff is crap, and that he has lost count of all the times that this has happened. So it wasn’t that he was unobservant, he was just going through the motions, providing due diligence for his employer before reporting back with the inevitable conclusion; this stuff is crap!

We are happy now to report that we have a fully functioning, installed AIS system happily reporting critical information to our plotter to help us navigate our way safely through busy Mediterranean waters. What really pisses me off about all of this is that we are meant to be grateful for it! So after installing the piece of crap, suffering for months with a paid for non functional piece of crap, diagnosing that the piece of crap is actually a piece of crap, giving up and un-uninstalling the piece of crap, and finally (only after considerable time, expense, and frustration trying to get the makers of the piece of crap to take some responsibility) getting them to replace it with another piece of crap we reinstall it. All at our own time, our own expense and all without an apology or any recompense other than to hand us a new one and all but say, well good luck with this one. It’s unfathomable to me that this has just become an accepted way to do business for marine electronics manufacturers. There is a special place in hell reserved for them, right between the cockroaches and the people who say “you are so lucky” to boaters who have been struck by lightning.

I digress.

At about this time Roger phoned us and kept going on about this place called Goecek. I forget the name of the bay, but it was about 50 miles east and according to Roger’s colorful descriptions quite a nice bay to play in. We felt an obligation to get things finished on the boat while we had the momentum going but he eventually reasoned that there wasn’t much we wouldn’t be able to do there at anchor, and that the little town although not as well stocked as Marmaris had a few marine shops of its own.  I wasn’t keen on making a passage without functioning electronics but we soon succumbed to his logic. Besides, as Jaime pointed out, it was well into May by now and all work no play had made Slapdash a decidedly dull girl.

We packed up our tools and made an uneventful overnight passage east. We pulled into the bay at daybreak and made our way to Palapa’s last known position. We waited until a reasonable hour and then gave him a call. By this time we were only 7 or 8 miles away. I told Roger that we were still in Marmaris having had some made up trouble with the anchor. Very familiar with our bad luck and drama by this point he didn’t even question the story, so was surprised to find out we were in the neighborhood.

By brunch-time the boats were Med moored beside each other in pretty remarkable surroundings. Roger wasn’t exaggerating; this was a very beautiful place. We had breakfast on Slapdash and made some rough plans for the week. Later Roger came over and made good on his promise to help me install the new VHF antenna. This is a brains and brawn job. At one end of the line you have the brains soldering some electric connections 50 feet up in the air at the top of the mast taking all the credit. At the other end of the line is the dumb hump who gets to sweat it out on the winch lifting the other each of those 50 feet to the top of the mast one painful turn at a time. Guess which end I was at?

Well the dumb hump did a pretty good job. I mean, Roger was successfully raised and lowered without injury right? As for the brains department, well I’m not saying anything here but it took him three round trips to get that little job done, so draw your own conclusions. Sure he will go on about broken rivets and the right tools but I think maybe he was trying to kill me with multiple trips up the mast, or maybe he just really liked the view (by the looks of this picture he took of Palapa it was a good one although I prefer to admire the shiny new VHF antenna with its 4 new rivets in the foreground). Anyways I’m just the winch guy. It’s not my department so I really shouldn’t speculate.

We are happy to report that Roger was totally correct in his assessment of this bay and give him due credit. We didn’t have access to the massive marine supply retailers but hanging off a free mooring in the protection of a beautiful bay floating in clear water that we could dive into to celebrate every boat chore ticked off the list more than made up for that. It was one of our most enjoyable weeks on the boat. We would have happily spent all summer there.

At some point between beach barbeques, boat fixing, and the occasional beer, I took a Palapa stern line ashore in the dinghy and lept out straight onto a sea urchin (if you are unfamiliar with this animal, picture a little porcupine with no arms legs or head). I hopped off the urchin, transferred my weight to my left foot which found another urchin, which apparently breed prodigiously in these waters.

With broken shards of urchin quills now peppering the soles of both feet I light-footed it up the beach in the manner of someone walking across a bed of hot coals. Stern line secured I hopped back in the dinghy and returned screaming for a Palapa field medic. After the requisite jokes about peeing on my foot (not sure what that has to do with being stabbed by a hundred tiny needles) Roger broke out a fancy pair of sharp tweezers that have a dime sized magnifying glass mounted on them. I was handed a beer while Roger happily began boring holes into the soles of my feet with his device, maybe a little too happily? Jaime found the scene amusing and helpfully snapped as many pictures as she could of the especially agonizing moments.

Other special events included Rogers 39^th birthday (his fifth by last count) celebrated on Palapa in full pirate regalia over brimming glasses of Jaime’s ‘Dead Man’s Punch’ tastefully garnished with a rather lifelike severed hand. Stu took away the evenings ‘best dressed’ award (the stuffed parrot on his shoulder clinched it) while Roger (who went to all the trouble of wearing a hat for his costume) would surely have won worst dressed but he was the judge and jury and a bit of a wizard on the grill; a prized skill which overrides all manner of piratical shortcomings.

Eventually our working holiday came to an end and we returned to Marmaris for *gasp!* A JOB! Yes, it can even happen to the professionally unemployed. Mustang is a big bad red mono hull and we became good friends with the crew who we first met back in Sri Lanka. They were in Marmaris and had a bunch of work to do on the boat before the owner and his family came out for charter. They had enough work for both of us. We like hanging out with them and given our recently acquired financial crisis how could we say no? Slapdash was anchored, so we would dinghy to shore each morning and catch a ride with the chef. We would meet up with Captain Chris and First Mate Jen in the cockpit and go over the days list while sipping on a hot coffee. At one point I stupidly told a story about cutting into a shit pipe during a plumbing job I was tasked with when we were helping out on Kauhale Kai. It’s a funny story and got a few laughs. I thought Chris was laughing at the story, turns out it was the irony; he immediately handed me the filthy stinking job of changing 20 meters of black water pipe connecting Mustangs three forward heads and their vacuum tanks to pumps and eventually the ships holding tank. I will spare you the gruesome details but suffice it to say Jen and I were up to our elbows in shit for the better part of four days. That was the worst of it, and after that story it may surprise you to hear that we really enjoyed our time on Mustang. We lunched and stayed for dinner most nights often getting back to Slapdash well after dark. We learned some new tricks of the trade, picked up a bit of beer cash and enjoyed the camaraderie of friends suffering in the pursuit of a common goal. Plus free t-shirts, hello?

Like our arrival in Turkey, work ended with a bang. The whole crew was hosted by Soner, a local Turkish yacht agent, to a traditional Turkish street side barbeque. Soner made sure that our glasses were never less than half full of Raki while his friend Rich manned the grill serving up course after course after course of deliciously charred meats. We nearly ate and drank ourselves into a coma, fortunately Soner had the perfect remedy; Red Bull and Vodka!

We were off to Bar Street, an aptly named strip in Marmaris lined from end to end with booming clubs, tattoo parlors, liquor stores, kebab shops and shady bars. What happened next was a bit of a blur, okay a lot of a blur. I distinctly recall a bucket of ice with a bottle of magically self replenishing Vodka on our table surrounded by cans of Red Bull. What happens on Bar Street stays on Bar Street, but I will say that at some point someone must have stole our camera because there’s a bunch of pictures on there of people acting like maniacs that bore a disturbing and uncanny resemblance to our good selves. These lookalikes seemed to be in a giant bar filled with foam and felt the need to dance on anything but the floor; tables, mezzanine, speakers etc. Glad we didn’t know them.

It was a great night, but we paid for it in spades the next day. Somehow we managed to wake up on the Slapdash though, not an unremarkable achievement.

During all of this our home team was in hot pursuit of hockey’s Holy Grail, the Stanley cup. We had been keeping tabs on the Canucks Bruins series, not an easy task given the time zones.  After taking an early lead in the series the Canucks did what they do best and choked, giving the Bruins opportunity to come back in the series and eventually force a game seven.

The unlikely reunion we had in Goecek with our friends Paul and Sima started to seem like fate. They are from Boston, hockey fans, bloody Bruins fans at that! We met them in Vanuatu and last saw them in Tonga. Now here we all were in Marmaris at the same time with our home teams about to begin a rare winner-takes-all game seven with professional sports’ hardest won trophy on the line!

Paul and I had a flat of beer riding on the outcome of the series and when it went to game seven we had to see it live. It would mean another all nighter, but Chris didn’t want to come between two Canadians and their hockey and had already told us not to bother with work the next day. All good so far but we still needed a place to watch the game. Sima was born in Istanbul, their baby Alexander was born in Turkey, and Paul has done a good job picking up the language; if these guys couldn’t find a place to watch the game in this country no one could. I’m happy to report that all of this family’s history, Turkish roots and local knowledge were just enough to overcome the challenge. They didn’t find just any place either; a better venue in Turkey could not exist.

They packed a baby, we packed a keg and we all met at this little hotel 30 minutes outside of town. The owners put the game on their massive poolside projection screen (also on the flat screen behind the bar for good measure) and then left us with the run of the place for the night. Paul and Sima already have a good description of the night on their site, and since every Vancouverite (hockey fan or not) knows how this one ended I’ll post the link here and let them take up the story.

http://sailingleander.com/2011/06/23/ourcuprunnethover/

By mid June everything was finished up on our boat and we were making arrangements to meet up with friends Chris and Nina in Greece. We said our goodbye’s and despite Paul’s protests I managed to sneak the flat of beer I owed him into their cockpit. We were ready to go.

We had a false start after some trouble with our steerage, a ‘sticky’ helm which turned out to be some wayward bearings in our wheel mounted auto pilot. It was an easy fix but it cost us a day and our weather window was closing. On the evening of June 24^th we pulled up the anchor again. This time everything went well. It was a beautiful night; calm seas under clear skies full of countless bright white stars.  It was a perfect night to sit outside reflecting on the past months in our host country while watching the lights on its horizon fade.

We really enjoyed our Turkish experience and left with great memories, a few extra pounds, great friends, and a bunch of new electronics. An unchanging plot line of high high’s and low low’s, what a trip.

We sailed southwest through Rhodos Straight that night before beginning our climb north towards our next goal, Athens.