Ghost harbor on the brink of dissolution?
36° 55’ 08.0000’’ N, 21° 41’ 95.0000’’ E
We’ve heard in advance that Pilos Marina on the Peloponnese is a ghost harbor without supervision, on the verge of chaos and dissolution.
“Don’t sail in there,” several sailors write on the digital bulletin board, Navily.
Therefore, we are highly curious as we sail into the marina, which turns out to be full of boats – regular boats, abandoned boats, and a few pure wrecks. Everyone loves it when a marina is free, even if there is no electricity, water, or harbor master.
Some have spray-painted “private” on the quayside, while others have marked with chains and ropes that strangers should stay away. On a long outer pier, some boats have positioned themselves lengthwise and entangled themselves so thoroughly in three or four mooring lines that no one can dock alongside them.
Sailors warn on Navily about individuals posing as harbor masters and collecting harbor fees. “Don’t pay. They are pirates,” they write.
It resembles a harbor we’ve encountered a couple of times before in Greece. Harbors that were built with EU funds, but where the developer then can’t reach an agreement with the local authorities on an operating agreement, and therefore the harbor falls into disrepair.
Following the advice of a British sailor, we moor at the end of a pier right at the entrance to the harbor. After all, we’re only going to be here for one night. And Pilos is, by the way, a beautiful town.
Oops, where is my anchor??
37° 01′ 42.0000” N, 22° 6′ 33.0000” E
The skipper’s wife got a surprise when she tried to hoist up Ronja’s anchor the other day.
Up came the chain. But no anchor.
Darn it.
Decades apparently wore down a connecting link between the anchor and the chain, and since the anchor was stuck behind a piece of rock on the seabed, it was the end of the relationship between anchor and chain.
If we didn’t know it before, we certainly know it now: An anchor is absolutely indispensable.
Stowaway on Ronja
36° 8’ 35’’ N, 22° 59’ 55’’ E
Stowaway on Ronja
We haven’t encountered boat refugees yet.
But a bedraggled little sparrow landed on Ronja’s deck today during a rain shower. The sparrow was drenched by rain and saltwater. It huddled, tried to get accustomed to a boat’s movements in high seas, and called – according to the skipper’s wife – for its mother.
After seven hours of sailing, we reached the island of Khytera, and the sparrow flew on in life with a farewell and thanks.
Rat war all night! No thanks.
35° 23’ 3000’’ N, 25° 02’ 5200’’ E
Sailors often seek advice from each other online. As we consider spending a night in a bay on the island of Dhia, north of the main city of Crete, Heraklion, we come across this warning from a British sailor:
“The anchorage is beautiful, and the water is crystal clear. But be careful about spending the night at anchor. The island is infested with rats, and you can hear them screaming all night. Don’t attach a line to the shore, stay far from the coast, and don’t cook food with too much flavor. Rats are excellent swimmers.”
Perhaps this is just a sailor’s tale. There is no quality control even on this part of the internet.
Nevertheless, we choose to sail past Dhia and find another place to drop our anchor for the night.
Morning Coffee and Backgammon
35° 11’ 25.0800” N 25° 42’ 55.0700’’ E
Once, Agios Nikolaos was a small fishing village on Crete. Today, like many other fishing villages, it has been discovered by thousands of tourists, including a large number of cruise ship tourists.
Nevertheless, the town has retained its charm. The locals still play a significant role in the town’s atmosphere. Elderly Greek men gather every morning at the local café, where they enjoy their morning coffee and play backgammon with great concentration and perhaps a sip of ouzo.
The old men were sitting there when we left the good ship Ronja in May, and they are still sitting there now as we have returned in September.
Continuing from Agios Nikolaos, we pass by a small rocky island, Spinalonga, which served as a leper colony for 54 years from 1903 to 1957. The Cretan state forced 251 lepers to live on the island. The island had two entrances, one of which was the entrance for the lepers, a tunnel known as “Dante’s Gate.” Upon arrival on the island, the lepers received food, medical treatment, and a pension, which had previously been unattainable for Crete’s lepers, who primarily lived in remote caves, far from society.
Victoria Hislop has written a heart-wrenching novel, “The Island,” about life on Spinalonga during this period.
We hoist the Greek flag
36° 26′ 07.0000” N 28° 14′ 52.0000” E
We are “home” in the EU
The Turkish guest flag has been replaced with the Greek guest flag. We are back after a year in Turkey.
It feels good.
First impressions are that the Greeks speak better English, are in higher spirits, and have a more relaxed approach to life.
In Turkey, you moor your boat at the customs pier at an exact agreed-upon time, and from the moment you get your stamp, you are no longer allowed to set foot on Turkish land.
In Greece, it’s more like… well, you can drop by tomorrow, and we’ll take a look at it.
We will miss the Turkish cuisine. It’s miles better than the Greek. When it comes to nature and culture, these two countries are evenly matched.
Ahead of us lie Rhodes, Karpathos, Kasos, Crete, and the Peloponnese, and life is full of possibilities.
Caught in a sudden storm.
36° 49’ 98.00’’ N, 30° 36’ 37.00” E
It starts with lightning, and then another. Then the wind arrives, howling, almost insane, whipping the sea into foam and creating high – disturbingly high – waves.
Then comes the rain, but mostly, we are preoccupied with the storm, tearing at the rigging and abruptly stopping Ronja’s progress as the bow is lifted high into the air and then hammered down into a wave trough, with water pouring over the deck, and the pitometer dropping from 6.5 to 1.2 knots.
It all happens so quickly that we barely have time to close the hatches. Just a moment ago, the wind gauge showed 0.0, and the wind direction indicator was spinning because it couldn’t find a clear wind direction. And now, the wind gauge shows 20, 30, 40, 50 knots, directly at us.
We are in the midst of a thunderstorm.
What do we do? Should we turn back? Seek shelter in a Turkish cove two nautical miles behind us?
We grit our teeth. Tell each other that this must be a passing storm. After all, the weather forecast promised good weather. Isn’t it also getting a bit brighter – just a little bit – far out to the right?
After an hour, it’s over. First, the wind subsides, then the rain stops, and after a few hours, the waves also calm down.
Ronja regains speed through the water. The rest of us relax.
Broken leg and “Turkish Delight”
36° 39′ 29.7936” N 28° 51′ 10.5264” E
Sarsala Bay
May 27, 2022
And there I sit, writing to children and grandchildren that I have fallen from a mountain, but that nothing serious has happened. I even include a photo in which I stare, moved but grasped, at my left ankle, which is wrapped in an ice pack.
After ten hours of sleep, the pain has gotten worse. So now, finally, this cheering idiot is ready to listen to his wife, who has been advocating for an X-ray all along. We contact the travel insurance and explain where in Turkey we are with our sailboat, Ronja. At the same time, the skipper’s wife take contact to the boss of the restaurant, we are currently moored outside.
We are as far out in the Turkish wilderness as you can get. A small bay, a restaurant and a boat jetty. No road connections at all. All traffic is by waterway.
Skipper’s wife and the boss of the restaurant, Sezyn, have made a plan. First ten minutes in a rubber boat to a neighboring bay, which has a road connection. Then 40 kilometres with a called taxi to a hospital where the boss of the restaurant has made sure we are waited. A porter is ready at the hospital with a wheelchair. A few doctors ask questions and press on the leg and foot. Four X-rays. Then the chief orthopedic surgeon is ready with the verdict: “Your ankle is broken. The good news is we do not have to do surgery, you can settle for two crutches and the foot in plaster for six weeks.”
Jubii?
A broken ankle is big for me, who has never broken anything. But what I really want to tell is the story of how helpful, engaged and effective your fellow human beings are when needed. Turks as well as travel insurance.
And the taxi driver? He was following round the emergency department, X-ray department and plaster foundry, he wanted to know what was happening, and on the way back to the boat he drove around his private residence because he thought we needed a cold glass of water and some turkish delight (sweet candy).
Way too many Russians
36° 44′ 55.0304” N 28° 55′ 33.59” E
Göcek
The first thing we see as we look up at the morning sky is the Russian flag waving from the neighboring ship at our little Turkish jetty. Four Russian men in their 40s had the night before had the Russian flag hoisted to the top in starboard won, while toasting in small clear glasses and chanting along to the music down from the cabin.
The Russians take up a lot of space in Turkey.
Where 37 European countries have closed their airspace to Russian aircraft, Turkey still keep its airspace and airports open to Russians. The Russians are flocking to Turkey. To vacation or to avoid being in Russia. Probably most the first: To vacation.
Russian-owned yachts have been relocated from France, Italy and Greece to Turkey. Not just the much talked about megayachts of the oligarchs. Also larger motor yachts and catamarans.
“When our marinas are full this year, it’s because of the Russians. They have sailed their boats to Turkey on a large scale,” explains a marina employee in Göcek. Here the Russians do not risk their boats being seized. Here they can enjoy life, forget the war and sail in peace for the judgmental tone of the rest of Europe.
For the rest of us, it has caused the prices of a dock to explode. In just one month, the offer we have lying from a marina in Antalya has been raised no less than three times.
The Russians are everywhere. In the ports. In the bars. In the restaurants. Many of them greet, smile and say good morning. Live the carefree life as if the war in Ukraine has never been a reality.
The rest of us do not know which leg to stand on. Are they good Russians on the run from censorship and oppression in Russia? A few. Maybe. More in Istanbul than off the coast. Or are they just Russians who arrogantly hoist the Russian flag to show the rest of us that they are stunningly indifferent to our opinion and insist on continuing the good life to which they feel entitled.
Here comes your supermarket
36° 41′ 44.3704” N 28° 52′ 7.32” E
Tomb Bay
Usually, one honk in the ship’s horn means: I turn to starboard. In Turkey, it can also mean: Here comes your supermarket.
Fethiye Körfezi – the large waters that house the towns of Göcek and Fethiye as well as a myriad of small independent bays – is the most sailing-dense waters we have encountered on the entire trip from Denmark. Gözek alone has six large marinas, and they are so crowded – and expensive – that the last nautical miles before the marinas are thick with ships at anchor. Superyachts, larger motor yachts and catamarans but also individual sailboats only slightly larger than Ronja.
Thousands are in the marinas. Hundreds are at anchor.
When we sail out to the many independent bays – Tomb Bay, Deep Bay, Ruin Bay, Wall Bay, Seagull Bay – three sailing supermarkets appear every day after noon. First “Market”, which is the smallest, almost like the local mini market. An hour later comes “Carrefour”, which is a French supermarket chain. And finally, “Migros”, which was started by a Swiss supermarket chain but is today taken over by Turks.
The maritime supermarket has an OK selection of groceries.
If you cannot get to the supermarket, then the supermarket must come to you. A great offer for sailors who love to anchor and preferes to avoid the noise and chaos of cities.