In the ruins

We are really quite depressed about our experiences at the moment. Everything on the boat is breaking, we are spending much more money than we have. We've had to buy a new anchor and chain to go with the new windlass (Another Euro 1300 on top of the E3000 for the windlass). Our engine needs a whole new transmission (gearbox) on top of a new clutch (around E1500). We've just spent E8000 on a new generator and windlass. And then there's all the accident damage to repair. It never seems to stop, things keep breaking. We've had to fit a new shower sump pump as the old one kept getting blocked and stopped pumping. And on and on it goes. So this post is metaphorically, as well as literally, into the ruins....

Meegs and Michael

One of the most distressing things is that Michael, Megan's son has arrived, only to find our boat broken and disabled. The vision of 'cruising in the Greek Islands' has been replaced by the grim reality of mooring in the industrial port of Lavrion for his time here. Not what any of us had in mind. We've determined that in future, we must warn everyone who is thinking of coming onto the boat, what cruising is all about. IT IS NOT A VACATION, it is not a care-free existence sipping pina colada's under palm trees. We live and breath under the exigencies of wind and weather, mechanical failure, bureaucracies and other random factors. When those things are going well, life is wonderful. But when they are not..... life can be very difficult.

The ancient palace at Mycenae.

So, as some sort of recompense, we hired a car for a few days. Yesterday, we drove down the coast to Nafplio, a sea-side resort on the Peloponnese. After a swim and a few cappuchino freddo's to calm our frazzled nerves, we headed to Mycenae, center of the Mycanean culture, contemporous with the Minoan culture and Knossos.

Lion's Gate at Mycanae

Close-up of the be-headed lions

The entrance to the citadel is one of the most famous, the magnificent Lion's Gate. The large stone blocks of the walls around the gate are called cyclopean blocks, the myth being that Cyclops were used to build the walls, as ordinary humans could not lift such massive blocks.

Circle grave tomb

Circle grave tomb in the large

Death mask recovered from the grave tomb.

The palace at Mycenae was reserved for burials and thrones, and the business of government. It was not a residential centre. The massive round circle tombs, burial site of kings, preserved an impressive array of pottery, jewellery and artisan works, attesting to the high culture and artisan life-style of the Mycenaeans.

Classic style museum at the Mycenae site

Pottery from one of the circle tombs

So while we're recovering in Athens, and figuring out creative ways of paying for all our damage, we can still find time to look at 'piles of old stones'.

Entrance to a circle tomb

Circle tomb from above

Mycanean jewelery

Things will improve.... I have been promising Meegs that while our first year might be hard, everything will be easier in our second year.  Let's hope!

Into the industrialized wasteland

Pavlov has taken a beating lately. What with emergency 'Pan Pan' tows back into harbour (failed engine transmission), anchoring mishaps, clutch plate problems, failed generator and a windlass that has given up the ghost, it was time to take some remedial action.

Sousaki petroleum refinery

We were lucky to meet a skipper down in Crete who recommended a British mechanic, David Hartley. Mechanics are a rare and priceless thing in Greece, such competence is hard to come by. So we hooked up with Dave in Spinalonga, who shook his head at our (comparatively) new Mastervolt generator. It had so little use, but it had died a premature death from under-use. Its strange, but on boats, things die when you don't use them. Anyway, he said that a new generator was a cheaper solution than repairing the old.

Abandoned boat yard.

Megan had also had a gutful of our recalcitrant windlass, which she wrestled with on a daily basis. Our chain had been re-galvanized (wrongly, we discovered) in Turkey, and now jammed up at the slightest provocation. This is always highly stressful. In Greece, there are no tailing lines to the dock. You must drop your own anchor about 50m out from the dock, back down to the dock and then attach your stern lines. If the anchor jams, then the wind is at liberty to blow the boat wherever it may. Stress city! Our schemes to measure the length of chain that we'd laid had also failed (paint wore off, coloured lines jammed the windlass more). So we decided, a new generator and a windlass was the ticket.

Pavlov's new home.

We arranged in Crete to meet Dave at his home boatyard in Sousaki, just outside of Athens in the Saronic Gulf. In our travels up there, we were damaged by another boat (necessitating some fibreglass and teak repairs), and our engine developed some transmission issues. So it was a godsend that we were on our way to meet some-one who could make it all better!

Parliament building at Syntagma, Athens

However, Sousaki is located in an industrial wasteland in the depressed hinterland of Athens. Our neighbours were a large petroleum refinery and a roadstead of huge tanker ships. To escape our rather bleak surroundings, we took a trip by train into Athens. Our first stop was the Ministry of Silly Walks, or should I say, the changing of the guard at the national Parliament in Syntagma.

Here comes the band.

Check out the pom-poms.

Man, these guy's know how to march! The crazy asymmetrical steps with one foot extended to shoulder height before being slammed to the ground, the opposite hand fluttering in the air, with a different step on the other side, made for quite a spectacle.

Longer skirts and flashier boots.

The senior guards were distinquished by longer skirts and stripy boots, but they lost the pom-poms.

These guy's had little daggers!

Quite an impressive display of pomp and ceremony, perhaps only outdone by the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace.

The incoming guards.

We also wandered around the Plaka and Monistraki, and took a wander through the Acropolis.

A trophy, Ancient Greek style

Heat exhausted Megan, taking shade in the Plaka

Break dancers in Monistraki

The Pantheon and temples on the top of the Acropolis were stunning, and recreated a sense of ancient Athens.

Doric column at entrance to Acropolis

Heavy reconstruction on the front of the Parthenon

Temple of Athena, with carved statues.

Another view of the Parthenon

Beyond these marvels, Athens showed advanced signs of urban decay. The economic crisis is real, with people complaining bitterly of cut salaries (one teacher we spoke to went from 1200 Euro per month to 800) and increased taxes. Perhaps the ever present graffiti is a mute testament to urban unrest.

Ancient graffiti or current angst?

But the industrial blight around Athens inclined us to up-anchor and move to a pretty part of the Saronic Gulf.

Perdika, on Aigina.

We headed for Aigina, a weekend and holiday destination for Athenians. We bypassed the main town and settled in Perdika, a picturesque little village

Quayside and church at Perdika

Another view of the quay.

So Pavlov can rest here awhile, replete with new generator and windlass. Then its back for another round of repairs at Lavrion, another major port in Athens.

Pavlov currently in repose

Skinning a stingray - tough eating fish!

I guess we've come to accept that things will be tough in our first year. We're shaking down the boat, everything seems to be breaking all at once. I know that our second year will be easier, but I'm hoping for a low-maintenance few weeks to recover from this current onslaught.

Into the Saronic Gulf

We'd taken quite a beating the last few days in the Cyclades, what with falls down the companionway, being uprooted in the middle of the night, sea rescues and failing engine transmissions. During this time, we were constantly experiencing F5 - F6 winds, which are a feature of the Cyclades. There is a 'racetrack' of wind that curves through the Aegean, down the middle of the Cyclades and then splits either side of Crete. We thought we could do with some respite from all this, so we departed from Kea and took a long reach westward deep into the Saronic Gulf.

Tranquil anchorage in Epidhavros

We ended up at Epidhavros, a sail of 55 nautical miles. Now out of island culture, we had come to rest on the Greek mainland.

Crowded port at Epidhavros

The municipal dock was very crowded with flotilla and charter boats all rafted up 2 and 3 deep. We opted to escape from the madness and spend a few days in  a tranquil anchorage in the adjoining bay.

The Amphitheatre at Epidhavros

Epidhavros is famous for having one of the best preserved amphitheatres in Greece. This amphitheatre has extraordinary acoustics, I could hear Megan perfectly when she whispered at the centre of the stage. Remarkable, as I was on the top tier of the amphitheatre, which can seat an audience of 12,000.

I could hear Megan's whispers perfectly from here!

So, being a pair of larrikin Ozzies, we decided to test the acoustics. Megan and I started singing a rendition of Rolf Harris's 'Tie me Kangaroo down, Sport". When Rolf sings this, he accompanies it with a 'wobble board', a 1 meter square sheet of masonite. So to mimic the wobble board, I had to sing 'A wubba wubba wubba'. Of course, when singing such a lyric, its kind of natural to mime the movement, to jiggle (and in my case, wobble) a little (or a lot).

Acoustical theatrics of the tour guides... apparently ok.

Wobble board impersonators ... immediately banned!

Deb and Pete, our partners in Wobble board crime

All of a sudden, whistles were blowing, and uniformed security guards were rushing to the scene. We were a bit oblivious, caught up in our performance. They were frantically yelling 'No Dancing, No Dancing'. We were effectively silenced. Obviously, it was okay for tour guides to demonstrate the acoustics of the place, but 'Tie me Kangaroo down' , along with wobble board impersonation was a bit beyond the pale. I think our British friends were mortified, and immediately disowned us.

Superb condition of the amphitheatre.

The site was also home to the Asclepius, the god of medicine. There were fine ruins of a medical centre and a temple.

Asclepius, God of Medicine

Prototypical hospital in ancient times.

Sympathetic reconstruction of temple walls.

Statuary described using serpent bites to heal. One wonders if the cure was worse than the ill.

Statuary from the site.

The healing centre

Enough of this rest and relaxation, and cultural adoration... it was time to get down to business. We had a hurt boat that needed to be fixed: a new generator and windlass to be fitted, the fibreglass and teak damage to be repaired and a transmission to be rebuild. Hi ho, its off to work we go. So we upped anchor and sailed the 20 miles to Sousaki, an industrial wasteland on the edge of Athens. There was an abandoned boat yard here where we could get some repairs done.

We soon had the trusty Brommies out, there was no civilization in sight, so we had to ride many kilometers for necessities. We crossed the Corinth canal on the way.

Corinth canal

Looking around us at this model of urban decay and hinterland neglect, we both wondered, where on earth have we washed up now?

Is it Flotsam or Jetsam... nevertheless washed up!

Having a nice holiday...?

I'm always a little amused when people say things like 'Are you having a nice holiday', or 'You must be enjoying your vacation'. It brings to mind iced G&T sundowners on the rear deck, snorkelling in crystal clear waters with palm tree shores, romantic sunset dining in cute taverna's on the beach, and so on.

The perpetrator identified!

Life on a boat is SO not like that. Sure, there are moments like the above, but the reality is that living on a boat is hard work, interspersed with moments of sheer terror. Its also a very full time job. Here's an example of why 'Having a nice holiday?' just doesn't capture the experience.

Dawn discussion and information swap

We were tied up at the port of Kythnos, was our second day in port. We noticed a small yacht pulling into the dock, really with no idea where to drop their anchor. Later on, Megan noticed that they were hitting the dock, but didn't really know how to pull off the dock properly. 'French charterer's...', we said, with our slightly superior airs!

The offender up close, at least they came into the dock!

The night was windy with an unpleasant chop in the port. The wind was 90 degree's across the boats, blowing about 25+ knots. Sleep was uneasy, Megan was up worrying about every unusual sound. All of a sudden, Megan is screaming for me to get up. Its 0300 and I'm groggy with sleep. I stagger up into the cockpit, just in my knickers. Why is it on boats, that you face every crisis just in your knickers?

The morning after

The French boat had decided to depart the dock at 3.00 am, pitch dark in 25 - 30 knot crosswinds. Lunacy to begin with. As soon as they released their stern lines, they were being swept down on top of us. That was the source of Megan's screaming. After fending them off somewhat successfully (Megan carries a map of the operation as bruises all over her body), they pirouetted in front of us, only to smack into the large catamaran next to us. We yelled for the crew of that boat, who weren't keen to come to the scene of the crime.

Soon, there was a whole cast of folk in their knickers, trying to disentangle the French boat. They' snagged an anchor as they tried to raise their own, and it was dangling from their bow! It didn't take long for the realization to dawn that that was OUR anchor, and we were no longer moored out the front. A mad scramble for keys, fire the engine into life, and we just managed to hold off the dock. Well, almost. The port corner of the transom was collected by the concrete and rock dock, and we lost some skin and teak capstripping.

Damage to the transom

Least of our problems at the moment! We were now twisted 45 degrees to the dock, bearing down on the catamaran, with the anchor piled up around us, pitch dark with a howling cross-wind, motor running full revs to avert catastrophe. The crew of the catamaran now just started screaming at Megan for us to 'Get Off', repeatedly and maniacally. Of course, this was not so simple. We managed to retrieve the anchor with no further snags, but were trying to rig a long spring line back to the dock to straighten Pavlov enough so that we could pull off without hitting anything else!

Somehow, we picked the right line to release, the boat straightened, I yelled to Megan to drop ALL the lines, RIGHT NOW, full throttle departure, and we managed to get off. Still in knickers, now 4.00 am.

A not-so-repentent skipper from the offending boat.

Now, we had to anchor in a strange harbour in the dark. Of course, our faithless windlass chose this moment to seize up completely. I had to go below (during which time, the boat is drifting in strong winds) to try and free the tangled knot of chain in the chain locker. I'd fallen down the companionway the previous day and had strained my hand and wrist quite badly. Needless to say, I failed in unravelling the winch. Poor Megan had to go down and literally beat the chain into submission.

We had anchored, but really had no idea how much chain we had out. We needed to stand watch, but both of us stayed up. It was pre-dawn, and we were too shaken to sleep. In the aftermath, we needed to persuade the French boat to come back to the dock, so we could exchange details. (They were strangely reluctant!). After a breakfast and a brief rest, we decided to depart for Kea, our next stop along the way.

We'd motored out into a rather sloppy sea, and were about 1.5 nm from the rocky coast, when abruptly, our engine just stopped with a PHUT (got to use your imagination for the right sound). Tried to fix the motor, couldn't understand what had happened. Tried to sail, not a breath of wind and we were drifting into a very inhospitable shore, steeply shelving with little chance to get an anchor out.

Some young Russian sailors saw our plight and attempted a tow. Their vessel was too light, and their helming too reckless so we abandoned that attempt. Out of idea's, we issued a 'PAN PAN' distress call, and requested assistance into the port. Megan, on the radio, was directed through a variety of rescue agencies, until we got onto the Port Police in Kythnos. A wonderful officer there left her office, went down and commandeered a fishing trawler. On the VHF radio, she said to Megan "I'm on this white boat and I am coming to you". Sweet words indeed.

We successfully towed in and docked back at the place of our nemesis the previous night. 100 Euro for the fisherman's time, and then we had to face Greek and Australian bureaucracy. The port police took our boat papers, and we had to obtain a certificate of seaworthyness before we would be allowed to depart. We'd determined that the cause of the problem was a gearbox empty of automatic transmission fluid. (Its funny how all the symptoms seem so clear in retrospect!), and had filled up the gearbox. Leak was from blown oil seals in the gearbox, but we should be all right if we keep the gearbox topped up with ATF. It could have been a very expensive exercise to get a mechanic onto the island to survey the boat, but our port police angel came to the rescue. She called an ersatz mechanic that surveyed the boat OVER THE PHONE! 5 minutes, and 200 Euro later, we had our certificate.

10 hours more of dealing with bureaucracy (Australian Embassy had to give their approval for our release, along with the Greek authorities), and by this stage, we'd been away for about 40 hours. Finally, the paper work was completed, we could slink home to bed.

Not really my idea of a vacation!