Northern Kykládes
Nísos Kýthnos
Órmos Apokríosis
Friday May 19 - Wednesday 24 46nm, 7hrs 40min
Anchored in 6m
Friday May 19 - Wednesday 24 46nm, 7hrs 40min
Anchored in 6m
Friday, before heading into town, I had my first morning swim of the trip. It was ‘fresh’.
The bakery opens at 0530, but when we arrived at 0630 the shelves were empty and we were told the bread would be another half hour. Fortunately for me the bougátsa shelf was full, so I purchased one of those and a Freddo Espresso and we decided not to wait for bread. The guy behind the counter was clearly not as enamoured by my perfect command of the Greek language as others have been, and we think we saw him wince a couple of times when I ordered my coffee. It could have been a tic though. I asked Colin why people often speak English back to me when I speak Greek to them. I can’t figure it out.
Colin must have felt competitive towards the people in the rental boat yesterday and decided to play ‘chicken’ with the Lider Bulut, a 4,650 tonne car carrier 141m long and 21m wide. It’s not the kind of vessel you want to be seeing head on charging towards you at 14kts when you’re only going 6kts. Colin wiped his brow when the side of it finally came into view, and we escaped unscathed.
Anchoring up in the bay of Apokríosis, and away from the popular ‘Sand Bar’ bays, we were one of only two boats.
Click images to enlarge
The bakery opens at 0530, but when we arrived at 0630 the shelves were empty and we were told the bread would be another half hour. Fortunately for me the bougátsa shelf was full, so I purchased one of those and a Freddo Espresso and we decided not to wait for bread. The guy behind the counter was clearly not as enamoured by my perfect command of the Greek language as others have been, and we think we saw him wince a couple of times when I ordered my coffee. It could have been a tic though. I asked Colin why people often speak English back to me when I speak Greek to them. I can’t figure it out.
Colin must have felt competitive towards the people in the rental boat yesterday and decided to play ‘chicken’ with the Lider Bulut, a 4,650 tonne car carrier 141m long and 21m wide. It’s not the kind of vessel you want to be seeing head on charging towards you at 14kts when you’re only going 6kts. Colin wiped his brow when the side of it finally came into view, and we escaped unscathed.
Anchoring up in the bay of Apokríosis, and away from the popular ‘Sand Bar’ bays, we were one of only two boats.
Click images to enlarge
Saturday we resigned ourselves to staying in this delightful spot a little longer than anticipated due to a meltémi blowing dogs off chains outside the bay. Colin got busy scrubbing the decks.
Sunday the wind was up so we kept our land exploration within view of the boat. Colin had no end of entertainment as the boats streamed in for the night. I heard mumblings from the cockpit, and the musings of the captain on why people would sail past other anchored boats to drop their pick right on top of them when there's plenty of room in the bay. One boat got shouted at by two others, and promptly moved to a more considerate anchorage. Bewildering. Meanwhile we've got the south side of the bay to ourselves while yachts cram in on the north side. Also very curious, but you won't hear any argument from us.
Click images to enlarge
Sunday the wind was up so we kept our land exploration within view of the boat. Colin had no end of entertainment as the boats streamed in for the night. I heard mumblings from the cockpit, and the musings of the captain on why people would sail past other anchored boats to drop their pick right on top of them when there's plenty of room in the bay. One boat got shouted at by two others, and promptly moved to a more considerate anchorage. Bewildering. Meanwhile we've got the south side of the bay to ourselves while yachts cram in on the north side. Also very curious, but you won't hear any argument from us.
Click images to enlarge
Monday
Sunday night I had my first evening dip, and although Colin flatly refused to join me he set the bar for morning swims, jumping in straight after doing his stretches and exercises and before coffee. Rats. I can’t resist a challenge, but I can delay one. I waited until after my morning tea. I got Colin to check the water temperature from the depth sounder. He reported it was 19 degrees, which I decided is complete bollocks. It's way colder than that.
The bay is so quiet in the mornings we can hear the crow of the roosters echoing around the valley, and today a donkey added some braying to the morning’s aural delights. Though we’ve not seen any donkeys we’ve seen ‘evidence’ of them, and we saw goats on our way up to the Vryokastráki Archeological Site. We also passed a shepherd heading in the opposite direction on our walk to and from the site, so perhaps he’d taken the goats out after breakfast and was on his way home. At the top of the climb, which was at an elevation of 119m, we also saw ‘evidence’ of cows! Colin thought that shepherd was pushing the friendship a bit far taking cows up there.
It blew up a little as the afternoon wore on, and a yacht did the very thing Colin was musing about on Saturday night, but on our side of the bay. A 46’ catamaran cruised in past the other boats and dropped anchor right in front of us, putting his stern only about 20’ from our bow. Not cool. Colin was up and down the companionway like a yoyo, checking if they were drifting onto us. Eventually I think their captain got as nervous as Colin was and weighed anchor, but the poor man was so inept at anchoring that he failed six or seven attempts in other parts of the bay then just left! I felt a bit sorry for him, but I also find it baffling that someone who would charter such a large vessel would not know how to anchor it.
The weather in these parts is interesting, as is the forecast. The rain always brings red dust from the Sahara Dessert, and the Greek Meteo has a ‘dust’ forecast. Last year we were surprised to see it has a ‘mosquito’ forecast, and now we find one for dust. This forecast’s got everything! Unfortunately rain means you have to clean your boat of the red dust the next day, which is not what one would expect to have to do after a downpour.
A friend of mine, Pete, who was an electrician, said this of his work: A job can’t be fast, cheap, and good - you could only have two out of three. So if it was fast and cheap it wouldn’t be good, if it was fast and good it wouldn’t be cheap, and if it was good and cheap it wouldn’t be fast. I was starting to formulate a similar postulation for the weather in Greece. You could only have two of three conditions - calm, warm and dry. So if it was warm and calm, like Sunday evening, it wouldn’t be dry. It would be bucketing with rain, like Sunday evening. If it was warm and dry, like today, it wouldn’t be calm. It would be howling winds, like today. And so on and so forth. To date it holds fairly true.
Pete also had a sliding scale of payment that always made me laugh. There was his regular hourly rate, plus an extra $10/hour if you wanted to watch, and an extra $20/hour if you’d already tried to fix it yourself. I always check with my mechanic if he uses a similar scale before I watch what he’s doing.
Click images to enlarge
Sunday night I had my first evening dip, and although Colin flatly refused to join me he set the bar for morning swims, jumping in straight after doing his stretches and exercises and before coffee. Rats. I can’t resist a challenge, but I can delay one. I waited until after my morning tea. I got Colin to check the water temperature from the depth sounder. He reported it was 19 degrees, which I decided is complete bollocks. It's way colder than that.
The bay is so quiet in the mornings we can hear the crow of the roosters echoing around the valley, and today a donkey added some braying to the morning’s aural delights. Though we’ve not seen any donkeys we’ve seen ‘evidence’ of them, and we saw goats on our way up to the Vryokastráki Archeological Site. We also passed a shepherd heading in the opposite direction on our walk to and from the site, so perhaps he’d taken the goats out after breakfast and was on his way home. At the top of the climb, which was at an elevation of 119m, we also saw ‘evidence’ of cows! Colin thought that shepherd was pushing the friendship a bit far taking cows up there.
It blew up a little as the afternoon wore on, and a yacht did the very thing Colin was musing about on Saturday night, but on our side of the bay. A 46’ catamaran cruised in past the other boats and dropped anchor right in front of us, putting his stern only about 20’ from our bow. Not cool. Colin was up and down the companionway like a yoyo, checking if they were drifting onto us. Eventually I think their captain got as nervous as Colin was and weighed anchor, but the poor man was so inept at anchoring that he failed six or seven attempts in other parts of the bay then just left! I felt a bit sorry for him, but I also find it baffling that someone who would charter such a large vessel would not know how to anchor it.
The weather in these parts is interesting, as is the forecast. The rain always brings red dust from the Sahara Dessert, and the Greek Meteo has a ‘dust’ forecast. Last year we were surprised to see it has a ‘mosquito’ forecast, and now we find one for dust. This forecast’s got everything! Unfortunately rain means you have to clean your boat of the red dust the next day, which is not what one would expect to have to do after a downpour.
A friend of mine, Pete, who was an electrician, said this of his work: A job can’t be fast, cheap, and good - you could only have two out of three. So if it was fast and cheap it wouldn’t be good, if it was fast and good it wouldn’t be cheap, and if it was good and cheap it wouldn’t be fast. I was starting to formulate a similar postulation for the weather in Greece. You could only have two of three conditions - calm, warm and dry. So if it was warm and calm, like Sunday evening, it wouldn’t be dry. It would be bucketing with rain, like Sunday evening. If it was warm and dry, like today, it wouldn’t be calm. It would be howling winds, like today. And so on and so forth. To date it holds fairly true.
Pete also had a sliding scale of payment that always made me laugh. There was his regular hourly rate, plus an extra $10/hour if you wanted to watch, and an extra $20/hour if you’d already tried to fix it yourself. I always check with my mechanic if he uses a similar scale before I watch what he’s doing.
Click images to enlarge
Vryókastro
Vryókastro (Greek: Βρυόκαστρο) is an archaeological site in Kýthnos. It is considered as the ancient capital of the island. It was inhabited from the 12th century BC until the Early Middle Ages. It was called Kýthnos in the ancient times and the island was named after it. A shrine dedicated to the goddess Demeter used to stand at the top of the ancient acropolis, and on a plateau along the brow of the hill lie the remains of a temple dedicated to Apollo and Artemis.
(Taken from Wikipedia and Aegean Islands)
(Taken from Wikipedia and Aegean Islands)
Critters
Stone Walls
Órmos Áyios Íoannis (Bay of Saint John)
Wednesday May 24 - Friday 26 18nm, 3hrs
Anchored in 4 - 5m on sand east of harbour
Wednesday May 24 - Friday 26 18nm, 3hrs
Anchored in 4 - 5m on sand east of harbour
Wednesday we were up at the crack of dawn and weighed anchor early to beat a forecast headwind on the east coast. We needn’t have worried as the wind wasn’t worth mentioning and we motored most of the way.
Arriving at Órmos Áyios Íoannis around 1045 we had the bay to ourselves, though our isolation didn’t last. By midday there were four other boats in the small bay, though two left after lunch. By evening we were three, and settling in nicely when a late entry arrived. The captain had the courtesy to ask each boat where their anchor was and how much chain they had out, but instead of anchoring further out - as we mistakenly anticipated - he plonked his boat right between us and the nearby catamaran and tied back to a little sapling on shore. Luckily it was a fairly still night, because if the westerly had picked up and our chain stretched to its limit we’d have been saying ‘hello’ to his midship with our stern, a close encounter nobody wants.
Just as the sun was setting the evening came alive with birds swarming like bats in the pink sky, picking up the bugs that must be prolific at this hour. They were an amazing sight and sound.
Click images to enlarge
Arriving at Órmos Áyios Íoannis around 1045 we had the bay to ourselves, though our isolation didn’t last. By midday there were four other boats in the small bay, though two left after lunch. By evening we were three, and settling in nicely when a late entry arrived. The captain had the courtesy to ask each boat where their anchor was and how much chain they had out, but instead of anchoring further out - as we mistakenly anticipated - he plonked his boat right between us and the nearby catamaran and tied back to a little sapling on shore. Luckily it was a fairly still night, because if the westerly had picked up and our chain stretched to its limit we’d have been saying ‘hello’ to his midship with our stern, a close encounter nobody wants.
Just as the sun was setting the evening came alive with birds swarming like bats in the pink sky, picking up the bugs that must be prolific at this hour. They were an amazing sight and sound.
Click images to enlarge
Thursday the other boats headed off early, making it easy for us to unwind the chain which had wrapped around the anchor in the changing winds yesterday. Driving forward we circled around it then pulled back on the chain to make sure we were still holding firm, then off we trudged to find the church of Saint George (Ágios Geórgios).
Up hill and down dale we hiked, not completely convinced the church even existed, and every time we neared a crest we hoped we would see a sign (not a biblical one) that our steep sweaty walk was not for nought. We were afforded spectacular views of the bay, however, and it’s good to get off the boat once in a while, so it would never have been a wasted trip.
Only one wrong turn was taken. I was surprised Colin didn’t question it when I turned off the barely beaten track onto one even less travelled, and the multitude of unbroken spider webs should have been a warning. Follow the donkey poo, says Colin. The donkeys will have broken all the webs, he says as he walks straight into one. Anyway, thanks to modern technology we were able to track our erroneous turn and get back on the right path.
The flowers and grasses brought bugs, and a number of large ones were following me (reminds me of a Neil Diamond song about horseflies…). I asked Colin if there was something in my hair because the buzzing of a large insect around my head had suddenly stopped. He had a cursory glance and said no, so I very tentatively swiped at my hair and dislodged a big black flying thing! Thanks Colin. I'm sure I saw him stifle a giggle.
After hiking uphill to an elevation of 130m, with increasing concern about the existence of the church, we turned a corner and there it was in all its splendour, nestled on a hill above a valley of pink flowering plants. After taking a photo of Colin disappearing through a gap in the wall I completely missed it myself, and followed the path down to the bottom of the valley to climb back up to the church on the other side of the wall.
Returning to the boat hot and sweaty, and ready for a swim unencumbered by such social niceties as bathers, we decided to first pull in a few meters of chain thinking 25’ was excessive in such shallow water. Just as we did, a catamaran arrived. There goes the nude swimming, we thought. Colin put on bathers, and I met the social niceties half way by putting on bather bottoms. Nobody cares except us anyway, and as Colin says, why get your bathers wet if you’re only going to take them off to dry again?
The catamaran had departed by the afternoon and we really thought we would have the bay to ourselves for the night. Sitting in the cockpit we watched and listened to the sheep descending from the hills, enjoying the clinking of their bells and their woolly antics. It wasn’t until after nightfall, as we were going to sleep, that three boats came in, one anchoring only minimum safe distance from us. Colin was up and down the companionway making sure we were not at risk of colliding, and could only rest once satisfied. We heard our neighbours pull in some chain to better ensure this. The other boats sensibly anchored out deeper.
Click images to enlarge
Up hill and down dale we hiked, not completely convinced the church even existed, and every time we neared a crest we hoped we would see a sign (not a biblical one) that our steep sweaty walk was not for nought. We were afforded spectacular views of the bay, however, and it’s good to get off the boat once in a while, so it would never have been a wasted trip.
Only one wrong turn was taken. I was surprised Colin didn’t question it when I turned off the barely beaten track onto one even less travelled, and the multitude of unbroken spider webs should have been a warning. Follow the donkey poo, says Colin. The donkeys will have broken all the webs, he says as he walks straight into one. Anyway, thanks to modern technology we were able to track our erroneous turn and get back on the right path.
The flowers and grasses brought bugs, and a number of large ones were following me (reminds me of a Neil Diamond song about horseflies…). I asked Colin if there was something in my hair because the buzzing of a large insect around my head had suddenly stopped. He had a cursory glance and said no, so I very tentatively swiped at my hair and dislodged a big black flying thing! Thanks Colin. I'm sure I saw him stifle a giggle.
After hiking uphill to an elevation of 130m, with increasing concern about the existence of the church, we turned a corner and there it was in all its splendour, nestled on a hill above a valley of pink flowering plants. After taking a photo of Colin disappearing through a gap in the wall I completely missed it myself, and followed the path down to the bottom of the valley to climb back up to the church on the other side of the wall.
Returning to the boat hot and sweaty, and ready for a swim unencumbered by such social niceties as bathers, we decided to first pull in a few meters of chain thinking 25’ was excessive in such shallow water. Just as we did, a catamaran arrived. There goes the nude swimming, we thought. Colin put on bathers, and I met the social niceties half way by putting on bather bottoms. Nobody cares except us anyway, and as Colin says, why get your bathers wet if you’re only going to take them off to dry again?
The catamaran had departed by the afternoon and we really thought we would have the bay to ourselves for the night. Sitting in the cockpit we watched and listened to the sheep descending from the hills, enjoying the clinking of their bells and their woolly antics. It wasn’t until after nightfall, as we were going to sleep, that three boats came in, one anchoring only minimum safe distance from us. Colin was up and down the companionway making sure we were not at risk of colliding, and could only rest once satisfied. We heard our neighbours pull in some chain to better ensure this. The other boats sensibly anchored out deeper.
Click images to enlarge
Stone Walls
Nísos Sýros, Órmos Foínikas
Friday May 26 - Tuesday 30 21nm, 3hrs 15min
Anchored in 5m, good holding in sand
Friday May 26 - Tuesday 30 21nm, 3hrs 15min
Anchored in 5m, good holding in sand
Friday before leaving St Ioannis Bay there was a white swan on shore, just swimming back and forth. It seemed out of place, being the first we’ve seen this trip or the last trip. Less out of place was the gentle sound of sheep bells clinking. That sound always makes me happy, and I’m out there like a shot, straining to see the woolly beasts on the hillside.
The wind was a steady 20kns, gusting up to 25kns. These conditions I refer to as 'boisterous', and Colin refers to as 'lovely'. When I asked him, during a particularly strong gust, if he thought we’d tip over (because it sure as hell looked to me like we would) he said the boat was 8 tonnes, and that 7 of those were in the keel. I felt reassured, plus I know if the boat tips over it rights itself…eventually.
The northern end of the bay, east of the harbour, was empty when we arrived, so we got a primo position in 5m depth close to shore. Colin thinks we’re a magnet for dickheads. By that he means people who insist on anchoring within spitting distance of us when there’s a whole large bay to anchor in, where all the other non-dickheads are anchored. I say it’s just that we seem to often be first in to an anchorage, and dickheads like to go as close to shore as they can, regardless of who else is already there. Oh well.
Arriving in town to get provisions we were delighted to be greeted by ducks. Well, not really greeted. In fact, the drake stood up and honked loudly when I got too close to the ducks. We got to know each other though, the drake and I, and so he seemed to stop worrying about me.
Saturday was another win for the Freo Dockers, their fourth in a row. The captain spent the morning listening to the ABC broadcast, risking the bakery running out of nice bread and bougátsa, both which were not as important to him. I understand the bread, but not the bougátsa! We were in luck though, and both were still available when we finally made it into town.
We stocked up on a few other provisions we didn’t get yesterday, just in case the forecast was accurate and we got stuck on the boat for a few days.
The water temperature is definitely rising, and I can actually stay in long enough to swim to the anchor and back before going numb. Good stuff.
Sunday the forecast meltémi was a bit of a nonevent, but it was at least strong enough to keep the battery full while we made water, and to dry some hand-washing.
Monday was still blowy but nothing to write home about. We explored the town a bit more and picked up a few more provisions. Although we’d had a pretty good run since Friday, our magnetism for dickheads was clearly still strong as a charter boat zigzagged through all the boats to get to the front and drop their anchor right next to us. Fortunately (but not for them) they anchored amongst the swimming buoys (these were super-dickheads) and realised they would have to move. A lovely little burst of entertainment for the captain.
Click images to enlarge
The wind was a steady 20kns, gusting up to 25kns. These conditions I refer to as 'boisterous', and Colin refers to as 'lovely'. When I asked him, during a particularly strong gust, if he thought we’d tip over (because it sure as hell looked to me like we would) he said the boat was 8 tonnes, and that 7 of those were in the keel. I felt reassured, plus I know if the boat tips over it rights itself…eventually.
The northern end of the bay, east of the harbour, was empty when we arrived, so we got a primo position in 5m depth close to shore. Colin thinks we’re a magnet for dickheads. By that he means people who insist on anchoring within spitting distance of us when there’s a whole large bay to anchor in, where all the other non-dickheads are anchored. I say it’s just that we seem to often be first in to an anchorage, and dickheads like to go as close to shore as they can, regardless of who else is already there. Oh well.
Arriving in town to get provisions we were delighted to be greeted by ducks. Well, not really greeted. In fact, the drake stood up and honked loudly when I got too close to the ducks. We got to know each other though, the drake and I, and so he seemed to stop worrying about me.
Saturday was another win for the Freo Dockers, their fourth in a row. The captain spent the morning listening to the ABC broadcast, risking the bakery running out of nice bread and bougátsa, both which were not as important to him. I understand the bread, but not the bougátsa! We were in luck though, and both were still available when we finally made it into town.
We stocked up on a few other provisions we didn’t get yesterday, just in case the forecast was accurate and we got stuck on the boat for a few days.
The water temperature is definitely rising, and I can actually stay in long enough to swim to the anchor and back before going numb. Good stuff.
Sunday the forecast meltémi was a bit of a nonevent, but it was at least strong enough to keep the battery full while we made water, and to dry some hand-washing.
Monday was still blowy but nothing to write home about. We explored the town a bit more and picked up a few more provisions. Although we’d had a pretty good run since Friday, our magnetism for dickheads was clearly still strong as a charter boat zigzagged through all the boats to get to the front and drop their anchor right next to us. Fortunately (but not for them) they anchored amongst the swimming buoys (these were super-dickheads) and realised they would have to move. A lovely little burst of entertainment for the captain.
Click images to enlarge
Nísos Rínia, South Bay
Tuesday May 30 - Wednesday 31 25nm, 5hrs 30min
Anchored in 10m in sand/weed
Tuesday May 30 - Wednesday 31 25nm, 5hrs 30min
Anchored in 10m in sand/weed
Our nearby neighbours were a little concerned when our weighing of anchor brought our boats very close together. Colin and I did some expert strategic manoeuvring to avoid bumping bows, and their captain came up from below to help fend off if required. No need. Trained professionals that we are we pulled off a smooth departure with not so much as a scratch on either vessel.
Motoring, sailing, and motor-sailing we made our way to the island and archaeological site of Délos to explore the ancient ruins, but neither of us felt compelled to anchor in the channel and go ashore, so we took some photos and returned to Nísos Rínia to anchor in South Bay. Colin hadn’t wanted to trim his hair in Sýros because he would have to swim nude afterwards to get all the clipped hair off his body. I thought it was because there were too many people around, but now I know it’s because there were not enough! He waited until we were in this crowded bay, surrounded by boats and dinghies. Show off.
Click images to enlarge
Motoring, sailing, and motor-sailing we made our way to the island and archaeological site of Délos to explore the ancient ruins, but neither of us felt compelled to anchor in the channel and go ashore, so we took some photos and returned to Nísos Rínia to anchor in South Bay. Colin hadn’t wanted to trim his hair in Sýros because he would have to swim nude afterwards to get all the clipped hair off his body. I thought it was because there were too many people around, but now I know it’s because there were not enough! He waited until we were in this crowded bay, surrounded by boats and dinghies. Show off.
Click images to enlarge