A New Reality

How things have changed since our last blog. Suddenly, we all have to accept a new reality.

Back then, we had just left the boat and returned to the UK with lots of plans for further travel. We cruised down the Rhine, visited cities and countryside, went to theatres, art galleries and museums as well as doing a spot of house hunting. Neil returned to the boat to “put her to bed” before we headed off to Spain for our usual winter sojourn.

Daily life was a pleasant routine of socialising and relaxing, opportunities to explore and learn, share a meal, sample the local vino. It wasn’t all idyllic as we anxiously watched the flooding in the UK and a storm battered the seafront of Jàvea to such an extent we feared it would struggle to recover. The talk was of climate change along with the difficulties of becoming Third Nation citizens in the wake of Brexit. But life went on much as before here with seafront businesses rapidly refurbishing and reopening.

The news started to fill with reports from China of a new virus on the rampage, of its spread to neighbouring countries, the Middle East and Europe but the warnings seemed to be going largely unheard. We knew it had reached Madrid and surrounding areas, that odd cases were popping up closer. Then it was here.

The Chinese owners and staff of the many “Bazaars” were the first to pick up on what was happening, wearing masks and closing down. We all joked: “What do they know that we don’t?” We can’t kid ourselves that we didn’t know it was coming but it seemed far-fetched, somehow an overreaction.

So it still seemed sudden when the town council shut the bars and restaurants, shut all shops except for supermarkets and pharmacies and told everyone to stay at home. Still we didn’t quite get it. Then the whole of Spain was in lockdown. From midnight on Saturday, 14th March, we weren’t allowed to leave home except to buy food, fuel or medications, use cash machines or to attend to the needs of those too frail or vulnerable to care for themselves. Generally, only those in essential services were allowed to go out to work. The Guardia Civil were patrolling the streets to enforce the law.

The implications of all this started to dawn on everybody at the same time. We couldn’t go out for a walk even to areas unlikely to be populated. Shopping for food was not to be treated as leisure activity; only one person at a time was allowed in a car or walking along the street to reach the supermarket, when inside a distance of at least a meter had to be kept from staff or other customers. Of course, panic buying took over. The shops restocked​ overnight but were soon stripped to bare shelves again. Everything returned to being ready wrapped in plastic bags.

Our ferry booking home for the end of March was cancelled. The company was reducing sailings to ensure sufficient staff to operate them but we were offered another crossing a few days later. Then that too was cancelled. Neil spent over an hour on hold trying to rebook as a matter of urgency as everyone had the same realisation: if we didn’t get a ferry soon we would not be going home in the near future.

So now we wait as the situation changes daily, hourly even. The land borders are now closed and there are more ferry cancellations​. As things stand, ours is the last crossing to the UK. How long that will stay the case we just don’t know. We have a few days to pack up our belongings but it’s anybody’s guess if we’ll make it onto the ferry. Will the sea border remain open? Will we be allowed to travel eight hours to the north to reach the port? What then? 

 

Suddenly Summer

 

The weather improved the very next day. At the first sign of things settling down we were off, heading for the nearby anchorage known as Bungalow Bay and then onward to Port Kalamos.

We toyed with the idea of Kioni on Ithaca but preferred to anchor again in a bay near Frikes. It appeared a popular choice but, as the afternoon drifted on, the wind had its usual Ithaca acceleration and the lunchtime crowd disappeared. Eventually there were just the three boats and one of them only stayed for a session of kite-surfing. We’re made of stronger stuff and bounced in the swell all night.

Then suddenly, seemingly overnight, it was summer and we were looking for the cooling winds of Vasiliki and Sivota where we wallowed contentedly, doing very little for several days in each. But with my birthday approaching something a bit different was called for, the plan being to head back up the coast of Lefkada and have another day in Bungalow Bay before sneakily getting into Palairos on the mainland before the chartered boats returned.

Sweltering breezeless even at anchor changed our minds. Even I was tempted into the sea to cool off, my first swim of the year. OK, so the contrast was enough to give me palpitations but I did it. Briefly. However, the experience made us realise we’d be a lot better not tied to a concrete quay radiating the heat like a carpark.

Meganissi beckoned across the short stretch of sea with happy memories of previous years tied back to the rocks in Abeliki and Port Atheni. We picked Abeliki for the short walk to supplies at Vathy but also, the decider, its own pretty taverna. So here we linger. And the sea is perfect for a dip.

L’Albarda Gardens

Why have we not been to L’Albarda ( website ) before? Friends have long been recommending it and it’s only about 20 minutes away from Jávea. Somehow we’ve just never got around to it despite happily travelling much further afield. The last day of a glorious February was the day, though.

The sound of water is everywhere.

From the sight of the path up to the entrance we knew we were going to like it. Initially ignoring the map provided, the vision of the house itself with a few tables set up alongside, drew us to ignore the tempting side routes. What a beautiful place to live and what an amazing hotel it would make. Maybe if we won the euromillions lottery (we’d have to actually buy a ticket first, of course.)

If the roses aren’t properly in bloom yet the many orange and lemon trees still impress if you’re more used to a colder climate!

But the gardens are what this visit is about. Citrus trees heavy with ripe fruit, Arabesque fountains, Italianate statues, shady pergolas and wooded paths had me clicking away taking pictures at each turn. And everywhere the sound of water and birdsong.

A pond in the area left to return to the wild. Frogs dived into the water at our approach.

Don’t get me wrong, these are not immaculate formal gardens or even obviously well maintained (at this time of year at least.) Much has been left deliberately to return to nature but some areas have also been left to run to weed where you might expect otherwise. Perhaps it is a work in progress and probably best seen anyway when the flowers are in full bloom. We’d like to return and see. 

An early rose blooming in February. The long trellis archway covered in climbing rose bushes must be a spectacular site in season.

 

 

Sunshine

I think it’s fair to say I haven’t really been myself this month. Returning to Spain was something I longed for and yet as we were driving into Jávea a couple of weeks ago I felt decidedly down. Neil has definitely borne the brunt of this; I know I have been even more irritable and intolerant than usual.

The time we’ve spent with friends, regular exercise, perhaps, and the general way of life here have all played their part in alleviating this feeling. But, the bright and breezy days we’ve mostly had since we got back are a tonic I wish could be prescribed on the NHS. As John Denver sang “sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy”( Video here ) To be able to lift my face up to the warmth and brightness in winter is a privilege. It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped nagging Neil, mind. 

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a day that I could give you
I’d give to you the day just like today
If I had a song that I could sing for you
I’d sing a song to make you feel this way

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a tale that I could tell you
I’d tell a tale sure to make you smile
If I had a wish that I could wish for you
I’d make a wish for sunshine for all the while

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high

Words by John Denver, Music by John Denver, Dick Kniss and Mike Taylor

A Last Goodbye

 

It’s Christmas Eve and we’re sitting on a plane flying home. Except it won’t be home I go to, I’m not even sure where that is anymore. No, although we will drive to what will always be my home town, it’s a nursing home that’s our destination. Mum is dying.

I’ve said my goodbyes; I do every time I leave, never knowing if I’ll see her again. But I desperately want to say them one more time. As the plane descends and the wet streets below reflect back the wintry sun, I can only hope for that chance.

On the ground everyone is in high spirits at the approach of Christmas. The staff at the car hire company teasingly joke with each other, backs are patted and hands shaken. It all takes precious time. 

 

The pendulum of Mum’s retirement clock swings from side to side although the fingers no longer give any indication of time’s reality. It chimes randomly. I doubt anyone will wind it once the woman on the bed can no longer take comfort from its familiarity. For now, though, maybe she does. 

I sit with her holding her hand or moistening the slack mouth taking its rapid, shallow breaths. The eyes flicker open slightly, a hand rises at my touch. In recognition? Maybe, a consoling maybe. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to convince myself of any real recognition. But I’m with her. We’ve made it.

 

Time ticks by. It’s good to see my brother again. He’s been the one who has been there for Mum so much more than I have. I don’t see him anywhere near enough either and there’s so much I want to say to him, so much I want to ask but the speechless woman on the bed who bore us both makes me hesitate. Is Mum there? This vile disease that has slowly extracted every memory from her brain, every consciously controlled function from her body, has it left anything of the person, the very soul, of who she once was?

Suddenly it’s more than I can cope with. I want to leave and hurriedly make my excuses. Dave is there now, Dave will sit with her. Selfish, unbelievably self-centred me, leaves. Guilt, guilt and more guilt on guilt. Guilt washed down and subdued with red wine. 

 

Christmas morning and I sit with Mum again. The nurses pop their heads round the door and come to turn her as needed but otherwise it’s just the two of us. The sense of hearing is the last thing to go, apparently, so I should talk to her but it’s a struggle. Surely there’s stuff that should be said. I tell her it’s Christmas and that I love her. Perhaps that’s all I need to say.

Instead I put Nat King Cole on the CD player. The soaring violins and beautiful voice seem to reach her. At least her eyes flicker open if only briefly. I let my mind wander, disjointed memories from happier times.

I remember ringing several times a week on the public telephone in the nurses home and Mum ringing me back so we could talk as much as we liked without it costing me a fortune. And, boy, could we talk. I remember a summer afternoon in the back garden drinking Belgian beer with her from bottles so small it seemed only natural to have another and another. And her strange laughing cry of oh, oh, oh! as the chair gently tipped backwards, both of us powerless to do anything about it. I remember going into her office at work, the smell of ink potent in my memory, as she turned the handle of the duplicator. I still marvel when I remember the way she would add a huge column of figures in her head, not trusting new fangled calculators.

Looking at the smiling young woman in the wedding photo above her bed, inevitably I remember the woman widowed far too young and wonder if Dad is somehow watching and waiting. I cry for the first time. 

 

 

Boxings Day and the family is gathered around Mum. The irony is not lost on us. It had always been accepted that Boxing Day was the big family celebration with Mum cooking turkey and all the trimmings, declining all help with the preparation. In retrospect we have come to realise that the first time it was all too much for her was, in fact, the first indication of something very wrong.

The change in her now is apparent. We’re all expecting this to be the last goodbye. Eventually just Dave and I remain at her side, half heartedly watching the TV as the hours pass, the clock on the wall sporadically chiming. He winds the mechanism as he always does when visiting.

It’s shortly after Neil rejoins us that her breathing changes. We hold her hands, subconsciously​ catching our own breath each time there’s a pause. When the moment comes, though, there’s no mistaking it. A startled look and, yes, perhaps the shadow of a smile. She is gone. Stop all the clocks. No, let the pendulum continue to swing for there is comfort in that. 

 

Into the freedom of wind and sunshine
We let you go
Into the dance of the stars and the planets
We let you go
Into the wind’s breath and the hands of the star maker
We let you go
We love you, we miss you, we want you to be happy
Go safely, go dancing, go running home.

Ruth Burgess

Lefkas Castle

In all the times we’ve been to Lefkas we’ve never been into the castle. Despite several attempts the gates were always well and truly locked. This is probably because we haven’t been here this late into the season before and so had likely turned up too early in the day – I certainly wouldn’t have fancied traipsing around it during the heat of summer. 

 

But today it was perfect. The sun shone along with a very pleasant breeze as we crossed the floating bridge to the mainland to check it out. Aladdin must have been ​around because, lo and behold, the gates stood open. So, a few pictures: 

Views in every direction

Towards the port and marina

Old wooden boat left to the sea

Intriguing openings

The remnants of the old bridge to the castle

You can read more about the castle if you’re interested here

Wind, Wasps and Wonderful Moments

Sivota definitely has its good points but as we wanted to anchor, the bays along Kefalonia in the channel opposite Ithika seemed like an interesting prospect. The channel generally is known to be breezy and with not much in the way of wind forecast the numerous bays were a definite possibility.

One by one we explored them. Unsurprisingly those close to Fiscardo were very busy but we thought we were going to be out of luck as each one either didn’t have room to swing the proverbial cat, was too deep to anchor or was blocked entirely by huge super yachts going nowhere and presumably avoiding marina fees. Feeling the pinch, poor things.

Rapidly approaching Ay Euphemia we dropped on and dropped the anchor. There were a few other boats but each left after their lunchtime stop. Soon, we were alone in a deserted bay. That is, except for the goats. And the wasps. Hundreds of the beggers. As the temperature rose, the humidity became almost unbearable and the wasps a torment. However, we may not have aircon but, thankfully, there is the sea and that was beautifully clear and filled with fish. And as the sun set, the light breeze was refreshing, the wasps went to bed and the mosquitoes never appeared. Bliss.

Sunrise over Odysseus’ island of Ithika

I awoke the next day just as the sun was rising. I watched with not another soul in site as the colour streaked across the sky over Ithika and, as if on cue, the cicadas began their day-long tune and the air filled with the herbal fragrance of sage. These are the moments you remember when you become a dirt dweller and somehow all the rest is forgotten.

The plan, however, was to head to Ay Eufemia, somewhere we hadn’t been to for seven or eight years. The plan was also to go on the harbour wall but the harbour master had other ideas. We could have waited to see if any spaces became available but he was obviously saving at least half of the wall for the flotillas. We dropped the anchor and free-swung while congratulating ourselves on the fresher breeze, the better view and no harbour fees.

I wouldn’t rave about the town. We hadn’t been too impressed when we were last here and, although it has definitely smartened itself up since then, the problem will always be the road that runs around the harbour, blocking any view from the bars and restaurants with parked cars. The harbour wall was looking less attractive all the time. Perhaps it’s different if you’re shore based or out of season but, so far at least, I just don’t get why it’s so popular.

Mind you, we did decide to stay a second night. We wanted to explore more than just the supermarkets in the cooler early morning and to eat out at one of the tavernas. The walk never happened. Slight rain had been forecast but what hit us was totally unexpected. The first thing was the boat swinging on its anchor followed by a few spits and spots. Then a distant rumble of thunder. The next thing we knew Desi, and every other boat in the crowded anchorage, was rotating at speed in both directions as the wind swirled around and the storm threw everything it had got at us.

Forty five minutes later the storm hit

Inevitably, boats dragged, anchor chains were caught, and collisions occurred. We consider ourselves very lucky that none of these things happened to us. The worst we had to deal with was the dingy taking off and flipping over, submerging the electric outboard motor whose fate remains in the balance. We got soaked to the skin but I also consider myself fortunate that I actually had clothes on!

As to whether we go ashore tonight, that too, remains to be seen. Doesn’t everything always depend on the weather?

And We’re Back

The decision to change marina bases from Corfu in the northern Ionian to Lefkas further south changed the plans for summer. I’m not a fan of the Greek summer temperatures​ or the crowds of peak season and would always choose to get away. However, as our marina contract ended inconveniently on the last day of July somebody had to be there to move the boat out. That someone was, of course, Neil.

Single handed he sailed Desi non-stop from Corfu to Bungalow Bay and then on to Sivota, Lefkas. As I’ve mentioned previously, there have been some changes to Sivota recently that have not been in the best interest of the liveaboard community. The space on the town quay has been further reduced by the addition of yet another pontoon this summer but Neil was lucky enough to find somewhere to settle until I made the journey back.

So it was to Sivota that I returned around midnight on Sunday, a Sivota that even the taxi driver had never seen before. A day to recover with a meal at the Family taverna – still as welcoming despite their obvious fatigue – and we were ready to leave. With not only the temperature rising but also the humidity, an anchorage seemed the best solution. Well, yes and no…

As Always, The Best Laid Plans..

All things considered, we did the right thing heading north when we did. A peaceful night at anchor en route watching the lightning flash across the southern sky was a good indication. A few nights on the quay in Sivota/Mourtos was followed by a straightforward and, thankfully, dry crossing to Corfu and had us safely back in the marina before the heralded storms hit. But, as June becomes July, we didn’t expect still to be here.

As the UK is basking in a heatwave, Greece has been hit with the most unseasonable weather. No doubt the two are connected. The storms and rain just went on and on. But Sunday dawned with a chance to take friends out for the day after repeated postponements. They chose Garitsa Bay and we had a leisurely cruise around Corfu town, getting in much closer than we usually do when just passing, to allow them – and me – to get a few photos.

A leisurely lunch, a swim and a bit of sunbathing was the perfect antidote although the tricky return to the marina is always a bit stressful. Sorry if it all got a bit abrupt, guys. Undaunted, re-provisioned and refueled we headed out again the next day, destination Kalami. With light winds and a heat mist blurring the the distant hills in a beautiful haze of sunshine, relaxed and looking forward to time in a pretty bay … an alarm went off, piercing and demanding immediate attention.

The engine battery wasn’t charging. There was no way we could carry on and risk the engine not starting again. Ah well, at least we hadn’t got far and the entry back into our berth was unnoteworthy. We now await an electrician.

Lefkas Marina

The fun and games continued after we checked in to Lefkas Marina for a few days. We’re allowed up to a week at no extra cost as part of a sort of exchange scheme with our home base on Corfu so we thought we’d take advantage and booked a period that covered my birthday – shore power as a special treat. However, unlike Corfu, electric hook up isn’t included in the price. You’d better believe we had it, though!

On previous occasions in Lefkas Town we’ve moored on the harbour wall and it’s always been pretty stifling. This time, placed as we were on the end pontoon (about as far away from the facilities as you can get) we seemed to catch much more of a pleasantly fresh breeze. It would not be the place to be if the wind really did get up, mind. As it was, it lured us into going for an afternoon walk in the town much too early for comfort, the purpose being to pick up a few staples and check out a little restaurant we’d heard of for the following evening.

It never rains on my birthday. And I’m talking about well over 50 years of experience here. So when Neil dared to suggest it might and the neighbouring boat confirmed it I knew better. There had been some rain overnight but sure enough, the day dawned a bit cloudy, maybe, but nothing to change the plan to walk to the nearby big supermarket before it got too hot. I should point out that this is not the chore you might be thinking. The variety of a big supermarket is a real pleasure after being dependent on small individual shops, often with inflated prices. Perhaps not for everyone but I think i can say with the confidence that there are plenty of (probably female) crew members who will agree.

After unpacking all the shopping it was time for a little sit down in the cockpit and a ringside seat to watch the comings and goings on the quay opposite, feeling slightly smug that we were out of the firing line. However, it became apparent that it was also the day one of the charter companies that use the marina as a base let their new crews out for the first time. One of these, obviously eager and feeling macho at the helm of the biggest pointy thing he’d ever got his hands on, came charging out at a ridiculous rate of knots, misjudged the turn and ploughed into the bow sprit of our neighbour, slamming their boat into ours with a hell of a jolt.

The marinaro came tearing up on his dinghy and immediately ordered the offending charter back to his berth. We heard there was a lot of damage to the boat and our neighbour’s bow spit was bent but we’d thought Desi had got off unscathed. It was only when the heavens opened and torrential rain, the like of which seems a Greek thunderstorm speciality, cascaded down the sides of the boat that we became aware of a drip. This was quickly traced to the window frame and further inspection during one of the rare dry spells that day revealed the sealant around the frame had split. Nothing could be done about it then, just tape some kitchen roll around the inside which controlled things.

The lunch I had envisaged sitting in the shade of a nearby taverna was out, though, as was the restaurant we’d booked for that evening which has no tables undercover of any sort. They close if the weather looks wet. However, there was a break in the bad weather, long enough for us to make it to a bar in the town square with sun umbrellas now serving as rain cover. It was the ideal spot for a bit of people watching. You have to feel for those on holiday, still pale and ill equipped for the unexpected weather. Fizz was consumed.

The rain was still frequent enough for us to head to the Italian restaurant near the marina with great views from upstairs window seats. Ok, so pizza wasn’t what I’d had in mind but enjoyable nonetheless. A final tipple watching the second half of the Spain v Portugal game – one of the most exciting and skilled matches I think I’ve seen in a long time. The final goal was pure brilliance even if scored by the most irritating player of all time. So very happy birthday girl.

The window was soon sorted the following day even if rather messily. I chose to keep well out of the way with a bit of window shopping around the small town. Good move.

We’d been debating whether to stay longer in the marina but thought we’d be better off taking advantage of the light wind to start heading north again. More torrential rain was a slight deterrent, it has to be said, but the prospect of going through the swing bridge with the new batch of charterers (something that needs a bit of engine discipline, shall we say) decided it. We were the only boat going through the 8am opening and we didn’t see another boat for about three hours!