The Queen and I

Of all the 80 odd boats anchored and moored in this bay there are only two with varnished teak and mahogany brightwork.  One is the royal yacht, given by  former King Constantine of Greece, to his wife Queen Anne Marie on her 60th birthday.

 The other is mine. 

The Mediterranean sun  is so harsh it acts almost as a blow-lamp on anything varnished, causing it to crack and peal off in just a few months. So most boat owners prefer to leave any teak details grey and untreated. My boat's toe rail happens to be mahogany so it can't be left without varnish. I cover it up in winter time and at the beginning of every season I scrape, sand and patch up any damaged bits, varnish them 6 times and then give three strokes over all the rest. I've found out that instead of  standing or kneeling and  leaning precariously out over the side of the deck, I can do the whole job from the dinghy. This requires very calm weather so I won't be bouncing up and down balancing with brush, turps, rags and a full tin of varnish. Woe betide anyone who charges past with a motor boat at full speed kicking up a small tsunami enough to tip everything over, including me.

One boat that really did take the consideration of gliding very slowly past was in fact "Afroessa"  the royal yacht. I always give a  little wave to every boat that passes at close quarters so I waved my brush at the woman on deck  that I had eye contact with. She waved back with a smile. It was only afterwards I realised it was HM Queen Anne Marie. 

As we have some small things in common, we are both boat owners and both born the same year, we have both lived abroad most of our lives, the Queen in exile, myself by choice. I couldn't help thinking of our very different lives and how being born a princess and later becoming Queen doesn't make that much difference in the long run. Both she and I are human after all and we have both had our share of happiness and sorrow, very good times and very hard times, success and disaster. 

But as Eleanor Roosevelt once said:

A woman is like a tea bag- you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water.

Never give up

The other day when other boats had left, leaving me plenty of space to manoeuvre, I decided to take a short sailing trip. I slowly engined out and rolled out the genua. At first I thought I'd just go across the bay to get a change of scenery but well out there I carried on out to the open sea between the mainland and the island of Spetses.  

The feeling of freedom can't be described. It was beautiful, but I didn't want to venture too far though as the wind was getting up. Turning around I found a  lovely spot in the clear waters of the mouth of the bay. After dropping the anchor in 4 meters of turquoise blue heaven, I  went for a swim. This was what I had dreamed of doing for months, in fact I felt a surge of happiness for a moment. If only Max could have seen me now. 

After lunch and a nap the wind got stronger so I decided to wait until it died down a little before attempting to return to the busy anchorage on the other side of the bay.

Just then an elderly Danish guy came rowing over from his boat. " Can one of you help me get my anchor up?"he asked "I'm not strong enough to manage it alone"

"I'm alone too,"  I said " and I'm not sure I'm strong enough either" ( I had seen he didn't have an electric windlass)

"Never mind, - sorry I asked" he grunted and rowed off. He turned round and shouted " How can you manage such a big boat if you're not strong?"

I had a bad conscience then of course and decided to do what I could to help.

When  I went over to his boat in my dinghy I got a better look at him and could see he was way over 80.  

I told him , if it was a matter of  running the engine and steering the boat while he looked after the anchor then I could help. But he looked at me and said " No, that won't do, you're just as old as I am!"

Thanks for that!

Then I offered to take my dinghy over to another anchored yacht and ask for help.

When I got over there the english boatowner  replied:

" Oh no , not him again! - never mind, I'll go and help" which he did. 

After a lot of time and effort his anchor was finally up. Then he  inched his boat slowly forward and only 10- 20 meters further on  he dropped it again! I don't know what difference he thought it made.

In the early evening I returned to  the muddy waters of the town anchorage again after a  lovely refreshing and enlightening day.

Several days later I could still see his boat in the distance on the other side of the bay. I wondered if he was alright and if he could call for help if he needed it.

Today he passed me in his boat as he arrived at the buoyed area I'm now in. He had apparently engine trouble and was taken on tow by the boatyard's dory. 

I hope people don't tire of helping this guy.

I also sincerely hope nobody ever takes it upon themselves to tell him it's time to stop sailing, - and who would have the heart to do so ? He doesn't do any harm and he's probably much happier pottering about in his boat than he ever would be on dry land. He keeps fitter too with all the fresh air and exercise involved in living aboard.

Somebody once said - " Riding out a storm at sea is no challenge at all compared with spending your last years in an old peoples home"

Perhaps he's doing the right thing.

Learning

This is the image I see on my Anchor Alert app. The yellow blobs show where the boat has been all night. When Aquarella passes the outer red ring which indicates the limit I have set (length of chain) the alarm goes off. It sounds like a fog horn with bronchitis. Nearly all  the other boats you can see are moored to permanent mooring buoys.

After several very windy nights without sleep, wondering if my anchor would hold, I decided to hire a mooring buoy from "Franks Yacht station" here in Porto Heli for a few weeks. This means the boat is securely tied up with minimal risk of anything happening. I'm still free to go sailing whenever I want and I have the buoy to return to. I can also leave the boat if I need to be ashore for any length of time. The fee for the buoy includes the facilities at the yacht station/ boatyard including a shower and washing machine.

I was a little nervous going to pick up the buoy for the first time but the guy from the boatyard was there to help and he directed me in as if Aquarella was a Boeing 787.

The following day I took my washing ashore in the hope I could get it all done in an hour or so. 

I got back to the boat 9 hours later after a very enjoyable day.

The machine was occupied when I came and the queue of bags of washing was long. Behind a row of old boat toilets filled with blooming geraniums a group of people were sitting drinking wine at a long table under a tin roof . "Come and join us, they said" so I parked my bag of washing in the queue and sat down with them to wait.

They were all boatowners and introduced themselves. After a short time it was clear that several of them were in the same situation as myself. Marie-Louise from Germany lost her husband two years ago and has been sailing her 42 ft catamaran ever since. Mike, also from Germany lost his wife last December and is now on board his yacht with his brother Ralf. Susie from England lives aboard her catamaran on the yard together with her sick husband.

So suddenly I didn't feel so sorry for myself anymore and it was great meeting new friends with so much in common. We drank wine and talked for hours. I asked Marie Louise about how she tackles eating alone on board. She told me how she makes a special effort to prepare good food for herself and lays a nice table with a glass of wine and sits down and enjoys it. At restaurants she thought it hard at first and felt conspicuous. So to avoid other peoples stares she surrounded herself with a book or newspaper, mobile phone or ipad, whatever. But now she doesn't need this barricade anymore, it's very much a matter of your own attitude and getting used to your new situation, she said. If a waiter shows you to a table that doesn't suit you, tell him to find you another one or leave!

I really admired her determination and attitude and felt strengthened by it myself, or maybe it was the wine. 

She gave me some more tips too.

When I told her how I anchor by letting 10 meters of chain out and running back to the helm to reverse slowly. Then I run forward again and let 10 more out, run back to the helm, reverse and so on.

She said: "Don't ever run!" if you run , the chances are you will fall and theres no one there to pick you up.

That was good advice.

Then I heard about the technique she uses for returning to her mooring buoy. It's not easy to aim the boat to a tiny buoy in a cross wind with other boats at close quarters. As soon as you stop,the boat starts to drift so you don't have many seconds to tie up.

She ties an inflatable canoe to the buoy with a long line before she leaves. On return this gives her a longer scope and a much better chance of picking up the line with a boat hook .

I hope this will work for me, I don't have an extra canoe in my locker but a large fender with a long line might do the trick.

This afternoon I was invited on board Lillybelle from Scotland owned by George and Chris.

Chris showed me how to tie the highwayman's hitch, something I can use a lot when I need a strong knot that can easily and quickly be released with a single tug.

They say you are never too old to learn.

I'm learning new things every day. 

Most of all I'm learning to survive, physically, practically, emotionally and mentally.

Table for one.

As a daily reminder of the recent loss of my husband, dinner, eaten alone, is one of the saddest. It all starts in the supermarket where the portions you can buy are either"for two" or "for four" . The fridge on the boat is only small which limits the amount of leftovers I can keep. So every other day, as yet another reminder, I throw Max's portion away.
When I'm eating I usually play some music or watch the news on my ipad, more as a distraction than a consolation.
One evening, just for a change and a treat I decided to step over the hurdle of going into a restaurant alone.
Why not, I thought, there are always a number of men sitting alone at a restaurant, watching football on the telly.
When I got there all the tables I could see were ready laid for four but I sat down at one with a view over the harbour so I could keep an eye on my boat.
Groups and couples who arrived long after me were greeted and given a menu. I was ignored.
I waited.
At last, when the waiter had nothing else to do, he came and asked me if I was waiting for somebody.
When I told him I wasn't, he showed me to a smaller table with a nice view of the fridge. The good thing was that, having my back to everyone else, they couldn't see the look on my face, it might have spoiled their meal.
I ordered dinner but needless to say, I didn't enjoy it. I just ate half of it as fast as I could, paid and took the dinghy back to the blessed solitude of my boat.
I don't think I'll try that experiment again. I don't want people to feel sorry for me and I don't want special attention, I just want to be treated as a normal human being.
Perhaps I'm not.
This situation is not anything specially related to the Greek attitude to women, I've experienced the same thing at home.
Just when you think none of the other customers have noticed , the waitress comes along and asks very loudly : ARE YOU ALONE? Then everyone turns round, stares, and I feel like something the dog brought in.
My mother in law experienced the same when she was widowed in Finland twenty years ago. I thought times had changed but it must have something to do with our "culture".

Collision at night!!

After 5 nights in the anchorage in strong winds from all directions I thought the anchor must have dug itself far down into the muddy seabed. I was wrong! I woke in horror at one a.m. to the sound of scraping metal! I grabbed my life jacket and jumped on deck and saw the silhouette of a large steel boat Aquarella was leaning on. At first I thought it must have been the other boat that had drifted but realised, by looking at the surroundings, that it was in fact me. The french boat owner was very helpful and tied my boat up to his while I tried to get my anchor up. That wasn't so easy, it was under his chain! I ran back and got in the dinghy, pulled myself along the side of the boat against the wind and the waves and tried to lift the anchor off. I know there's only one way to do this but I was panicking instead of thinking, distracted by the awful sound of shrieking metal. The anchor was entangled with an old fishing net from the sea bed ( probably why it didn't hold) With the help of the other boat owner it was freed and I could climb back on board. I wanted to sail off and anchor well away from the other boats and buoys but the Frenchman took command and insisted I stay the night tied on to their stern. You're safe now, he said, get some sleep and we'll sort it out in the morning.
Well I didn't sleep much, the wind was still howling and the mooring rope between our boats tightened up and jolted the boat with every swinging movement.

My host for the night: Mimosa ll of Brest

In the morning when the wind abated I went over in the dinghy to see if there was any damage to the other boat. There was, - a long scratch in their paintwork. I offered to pay but they said I could give them a drink next time they came. Such nice people. There were a few scratches to my own boat but nothing serious.
I  moved the boat further out in the anchorage but after the french couple sailed away I could come back nearer the quay again within range of the internet hot spot in the town.

In the night when all this happened I thought; this is no good, I can't cope, I have to give up and take the boat back to the boatyard, go home and forget about it. But in the morning, after I'd anchored twice, cleared the deck, filled transmission fluid to the moaning hydraulic steering and WD40 to the squeaking rudder, I felt that I had confidence again. It was after all through no fault of my own that the anchor didn't hold, s**t happens.

First sail

Last saturday was my first sail as skipper with brother-in-law Uffe as first mate. Well to be honest "sailing" wasn't really the word. There was no wind whatsoever so we went by engine. But it was good to get under way and check that everything worked. The GPS, Autopilot, Radar etc. and my somewhat rusty navigational skills. It was only a three hour trip from Kilada to Porto Heli but a good way to start. We talked a lot about how I was going to manage alone after Uffe goes home. Some routines seem simple in theory but how they really would work single handed, in practise and in all sorts of weather will remain to be seen.

On arrival the wind had got up but we managed to anchor at a reasonable distance from the quay, the laid moorings and the other anchored yachts in the bay. I put 20 meters of chain out and Uffe reversed slowly to get the anchor to dig well in.  He then instructed me in the use of the outboard engine for the dinghy. I had never used it much before and often prefered to row instead of trying to fight with it. A dinghy with an outboard is after all a lifeline when living aboard a boat at anchor. I didn't want to tie up to the quay where there is very little privacy, a lot of noise, dust and dirt and no possibility to take a swim when it gets hot. After a few tries and Uffes patient tuition I got a little more confidence. The first time I started off on my own from the jetty ashore, I collided with a moored motorboat and got entangled in it's mooring ropes. But practise makes perfect so I am told.

Early Monday morning I took Uffe ashore so he could take the hired car to the airport in Athens for his trip home. It had been a very successful week where nearly everything had gone as planned. We had even found time to explore the countryside in the car, a great luxury.
When he left I felt very much alone.
Fortunately it wasn't for long as I had just got an email that friends Sam and Mike on Master Spy were coming after a few hours. They had sailed to Kilada to meet me but I had already left then. They anchored up within shouting distance for a couple of nights before they went on their way.It was so great to see them again and the pleasure of their company, the long talks, the laughter and mutual memories made the transition easier. The night after they left, strong winds started howling through the rigging at two in the morning. I had to go on deck to take the sun awning down, yet another job Max and I always did together. It took some time to wrestle with the flying and flogging canvas to get it all under control in the pitch black night, good I remembered to put my miners lamp on so I could see but I thought afterwards that I should have had my lifejacket on too.

The next morning the boat was covered with the typical red dust from the rain during the night. It sticks to everything and I had to climb up over the cockpit to the solar panel on top of the bimini to clean it. I'm dependant on the solar panels for charging the boats batteries.

Greece at last

Last Monday I flew to Athens accompanied by my brother in law Uffe who kindly came along to help for a week. We hired a car and drove through the pouring rain for four hours before we reached the boatyard on Pelaponesos where "Aquarella" was standing waiting. I was apprehensive about seeing the boat again which had been our summer home for so many years. While Uffe started cleaning the hull I went about emptying the boat of all Max's clothes. I didn't want to be confronted with sad memories every time I opened a cupboard. So I quickly threw everything in plastic bags and carted them off. The boat was left last summer in badly organised chaos and it didn't help to add all the luggage to it. One bit at a time most of it was put into place and the next day Uffe and I went to work with an exaggerated amount of energy. Up and down ladders we went, cleaning inside and out, waxing, polishing and painting the antifouling. Thursday was booked for launching and we were ready in good time.

Uffe showing me how to mount the zinc anode on the propeller 

The launching ramp at the boatyard has only  enough room for two and a half boats so if you can't move out of the way as soon as your boats bottom gets wet, there's a problem. Everyone has to wait. There was a problem. The engine wouldn't start. I stared down at the big chunk of complicated metal and tried to think of something. Bleeding the diesel was the only thing I had ever tried so Uffe and I did what we could but to no avail. Each time I tried to start, a loud moaning noise filled the air, followed by a choking sound. Fortunately a kind German mechanic saw and heard our plight and offered to help. He started by asking how old the batteries were. About six years I said (in fact they were 8 ) "You'll have to buy new ones" he proclaimed. Off the men went by car to the town while everyone around the launching ramp stared impatiently at me, willing me to move away so they could embark on a circumnavigation before lunch.

In next to no time the men were back with two new batteries, but after they were connected the engine still wouldn't start. The mechanic found out that one of the two fuel filters was blocked and after opening the reserve filter the Yanmar jumped into life and even consented to spitting out cooler water after all the black smoke had subsided. With a an audible sigh of relief from all the impatient spectators (and myself) we got under way and sailed out to the anchorage.

You have to watch out for turtles before dropping the anchor