The Return of The Karen
We have nearly 25Nm to go before reaching our anchorage which is more or less our daily average. Except that due to the long stop at Lefkada marina and the temperamental bridge operator, we are starting at 1.30pm. As usual, we are beating into the wind and into a small swell. One day we will really have to start going down wind for a change. The upside is that we start to feel pretty comfortable trimming the whale now and we manage to reach near light-speed, that is about 5 knots.
As we sail north the number of anchorages is reduced to a trickle and most of them are exposed to a North-westerly wind, which has been the prevailing wind for the past 2 weeks. Being outside of the main charter hub I was hoping for a not too busy anchorage. My hopes are shattered as we approach Two Rocks Bay. Nearly 20 boats fill up the space leaving us with 3 less than optimal options:
- Getting close to the beach with the risk to run aground
- Getting close to the rocks on the east side of the bay with the risk to foul the anchor or hit an uncharted boulder
- Anchoring at the entrance of the bay in deeper water and less shelter from the swell
After a little drive around the place and letting everyone know that new idiots have arrived in town, we go for option 2. By now the sun is really low over the horizon and Kim and Jana have a really hard time distinguishing the sea floor. We try our luck and drop the anchor. Before releasing too much chain and settling in for the evening, Cousteau jumps in with her mask. After a quick look around, Kim tells us to abort the mission, we are not at all above sand but a rocky bottom. She climbs back on board, we pull up the anchor and go for another round. By now, every other boat owner is probably nervously looking at us and secretly praying that we won't drop our anchor in front of them.
We decide to try our luck with option 3. We drop the anchor in more than 12m except that we weren't facing into the wind and by the time Kujira has turned around, released enough chain for this depth, we are very close to another boat. Some boat owners must be amused, others cursing the new anchor idiots.
We pull up the chain once more and go for a 3rd try nearby. This time we are happy with our position, the anchor digs nicely into the sand and we should be able to swing without getting into anyone's way. Sadly this “kafefe” took us more than an hour and it is now too late to enjoy the sunset bar on the hill. Instead we have another tasty meal on board and a game of cards before hitting the sack.
Having slept outside I wake up early and go for a discovery paddle along the coast. It is full of little caves and holes in the cliff. After a while I find an entrance just big enough to get in with the paddle if I kneel on it. I have just discovered "a blue cave". Just about every tourist destination along the eastern Adriatic coast seems to offer a boat tour to "THE blue cave", they usually charge you €50 at least to take you to a hole in a cliff of some shape and size. Some of them are not even caves but just a dent in a cliff. Being away from any tourist trap, this is however not charted and I suddenly find myself in a large chamber with a colony of bats. While these animals have not been particularly popular over the past couple years, I am not planning on turning them into a soup and therefore everyone should be safe.
Back at the boat, everyone is chilling, having breakfast or trying to make some coffee. The place is really stunning, the snorkelling is good and having been racing for the last couple weeks, we decide to treat ourselves to a day at anchor and to stay another night, without having to move or try to pick an anchorage which isn't overcrowded with beach bars blasting music day and night, full of killer bees, pirate rats or swarms of mosquitoes. Today, we are going to relax and have a sundowner at the bar. We feel pretty happy with our location in the bay and being on the outskirts we should be left alone. So of course, not long after that, a moron on his floating fortress, that is a huge catamaran with a fly bridge, that is a second floor, decides that unlike everyone else, he is not going to drop an anchor and swing around but do a wild Med mooring…
The bay was almost empty.
With about 60cm draft he could have gone anywhere and just as close to the beach as he wanted. But of course he decides that right next to us is his place of choice.
When anchored, if the wind turns, all the boats swing around their anchor more or less at the same time to always face into the wind. If everyone has roughly the same amount of chain or isn't parked in your face, it mostly goes well. There are 2 scenarios in which things go wrong: when someone drags and decides to go flirt with the neighbour or when some anarchist decides that they have to be different and prevent their boat from freely swinging.
What was meant to be a relaxing afternoon is suddenly turning into a stressful situation. I can tell with the radar that he is too close to us. After a while I decide to take my anchor alarm for a paddle to verify my suspicion that he is indeed within my swing circle.
I slowly paddle closer.
And closer.
And even closer.
The alarm still hasn't gone off.
I now paddle past the front of the boat.
Still no alarm.
Only once I reach the back does the alarm go off. He is definitely way too close. One of the crew members is lazily sunbathing at the back.
"Excuse me sir"
"Hum?"
"I am the captain of the boat in front of you and I believe we have a situation"
"I'm not the skipper, I don't know. Hoy George, there is someone for you"
George rises from his throne on the fly bridge like king George the 1st about to be annoyed by the yammering of a peasant.
"I am listening"
"I believe we have a situation, you have anchored your boat way too close to mine"
"Hum? No"
"I assure you, I have just checked with my anchor alarm, it went off once I was at the back of your boat"
"You can't swing north, it's impossible, the wind would have to come from the south, it is impossible"
"...? But.."
"Have you checked the weather forecasts?"
"No, but.."
"I have, I have checked them all, there is no wind coming from the south"
".. But, what about local effects? Recirculation zone?"
"Don't worry, if you swing around it won't be with much speed, you'll just touch our boat"
"..?!"
Easy to say for someone who stands on top of a chartered floating fortress. For us however, if Kujira was to rub his butt against them, he would likely damage our solar arch.
"Can't you just shorten your lines? You have lots of space behind you"
"No"
In front of such idiocy I see that I won't achieve anything. Paddling back to Kujira, I was already fantasising about removing their anchor at night.
Back on the boat I am really not at ease. My gut feeling tells me that I am right. I check the track of the past night on the plotter and indeed, we swung 180 degrees to be exactly where that moron is. We don't have a choice but to re-anchor, again. We raise Rockna from the depth, move a few meters to the side, let 50 meters of chain out and we find ourselves next to one of the neighbours who was peacefully relaxing.
So we raise the anchor once more.
To anchor 5 times within 24h in the same anchorage is definitely a personal record I shouldn't be proud of but at least now, we are far away from King George and aligned with everyone else. As it is still too early to go to the sunset bar I decide to get some boat work done and climb the mizzen mast with Mike's help to install the radar reflector. Kim takes a dive to attach a yellow buoy to the anchor and cleans out her sinuses in the process.
By the time I am done the wind has completely died which results in a very undesirable situation : the desynchronisation of the boats. It is an absolute chaos, just like a kindergarten on a Friday afternoon. Every boat is facing a different direction and to my horror, Kujira has decided to go flirting with a catamaran close to us. He is just about to rub his butt against theirs. The family on the cat doesn't seem to mind at all and the skipper neither, however I now feel like a moron as we were second to arrive. Not certain what to do and definitely not keen on a 6th anchoring I wait and watch with Mike. Meanwhile another old whale, a.k.a. a Maramu, joins the party, anchor once pretty close to us before re-anchoring a bit further. As we are seriously considering re-anchoring our luck turns and the cat leaves and most of the other boats in the anchorage, being part of a flotilla, decide to recreate a scene from Waterworld and turn their boats into an atoll. Suddenly the anchorage feels empty and spacious, finally!
Time to take Kim, Mike and Jana to the bat cave before heading to the sunset bar. They are excited to see my discovery as we all duck under the cave entrance with a rolling swell making the timing critical. We light up the cave with our torches to see a couple hundred bats flying around or dangling upside down.
The rest of the evening is lovely and peaceful. We head to the cute little Cabana on the clifftop and enjoy a great sunset. Kim and Jana get the cliche Apero Spritz, an amber coloured Italian cocktail made of sparkling wine, digestive bitters, soda water and plenty of ice.
When we wake up the next morning, all the boats have swung north. Had we stayed where we were, Kujira would likely have lost his virginity with King George ..
Heading north is not a simple task, the wind and the waves make the progress slow and tedious. They are either against us, or non existent. The conditions are changing all the time and furling and unfurling the genoa gets boring after a while. The lack of good anchorages is not making it any easier. Not wanting to arrive too late we don't have a choice but to aim for Paxos, a.k.a. rat Island. Based on the reviews found on Navily, if you set a rope on the island you will be boarded by pirate rats. Not really keen on this prospect we decide to anchor for the night and use the dinghy to have a quick visit to the village of Loggos next door in the morning. The anchorage is beautiful, calm, the water clear and we all enjoy swims, paddle boarding and snorkelling.
Feeling lazy in the morning, we decide to move Kujira around the corner to be closer to the village and Kim volunteers to stay on board while we go for a quick coffee. It was a wise decision as Kujira, like a horny teenager, tries to rub his butt against the nearby cliff. I don't know how much longer we will be able to keep him away from other boats, cliffs and rocks.
The town is, as the lonely planet promises, a mini-gem of a place. It has a pretty waterfront with several bars, cafes and restaurants. The vibrant bougainvillea, flowers, vine leaf canopies and the charming cats, some of whom even walk the aisles of the local supermarket, make it a pleasant place to meander around.
When we return, Kim excitedly announces that she has found a small abandoned anchor on the seabed a short distance from the boat that could be turned into a recovery mission.
“It looks about the right size for the back locker, so we could use it as an emergency anchor. We are really supposed to have one of those. It’s not so heavy that it can’t be lifted and I think we could bring it back to the boat. Let’s go get it”
Kim is already getting the dinghy ready, putting the Torqeedo engine together. I stop her right there and suggest to have a look at it first. I swim toward the beach and have no difficulty finding it. After a quick investigation I swim back to the boat.
“OK. I see three reasons why it’s a really bad idea.
- It is too big. There is no way it will fit in the back locker.
- It is way too heavy
- It is not abandoned, it’s being used. It’s keeping the swimming buoys in place”
Mike is cracking up and Kim is feeling a bit sheepish.
Before reaching the island of Corfu, we have time for one last overnight stop. We pick a beach in an inlet near the town of Thesprotia. It is another great anchorage with 2 beaches nearby and the town. Tonight we shall go out for dinner. Everyone has a shower and puts on some fancy clothes, which in my case is a clean T-shirt and we hop on the dinghy.
What happened next (according to Ben)
It isn't much more than 5 minutes away but after a couple minutes Kim noticed that a lot of water is gushing in. We have had a few small water ingresses in the past and had therefore bought a repair kit that we had planned to use once in Corfu.
Mike starts bailing out with the bailer Kim installed literally a few hours ago but it appears to be as futile as trying to empty the sea. He is trying hard but by now, the bottom membrane of the dinghy is lower than the sea surface. I ask Kim to "do something”, so she does: she panics. While not really useful, I have to admit that my instructions were kind of dubious and she did after all “do something” as requested. With 4 adults sitting on the dinghy rubber tube, I am not convinced we will have enough buoyancy to prevent everyone to end up in the water. I also don't want to take the risk of losing our brand new Torqeedo electric motor. I change direction and aim for the nearest land, the port breakwater. We make it just on time before an entire side comes undone. Mike, Jana and Kim jump off the leaky boat. Now that I am on my own, the tube has enough buoyancy to keep me afloat and I slowly motor to the town. We will worry about the return trip later.
What happened next (according to Kim)
The 4 of us all pile in the dinghy in our nice clothes. This dingy is on borrowed time I know. I’ve been complaining about it and suggesting to Ben that we should maybe get a new one since we were doing boat work in La Grande Motte earlier in the year.
“Don’t you think we should get a new dingy Ben? We really need something reliable. We don’t know how old it is or even if it stays inflated. Imagine you are trying to go somewhere or trying to get back to the boat in some wind and swell and then you hear air coming out of it, or you start sinking!”
It must be said at this stage that since we bought Kujira, I have imagined all kinds of worse case scenarios. I don’t consider myself a person who is easily made anxious. I feel like I’m quite laid back in my attitude to life. I’m a yoga instructor after all and have spent many hours learning about and observing the mind-body connection and how to deal with the ups and downs of life with grace. I’ve even learned how to relax and sing when I’m stuck in an Auckland city traffic jam.
But boat life has been really confronting. I’m anxious about so many things while living on a boat. Maybe that is because there are so many variables that are unknown and sometimes the choices you make are critical to keeping your home and body safe. What are we going to do if..? How are we ever going to fix this motor which neither of us know very much about? Put up the gennaker now? But we are only 2 people and that is a very cumbersome and heavy pole you’re holding up on a wobbly boat on a wobbly sea. Plus I don’t know what to do if it all turns to custard! What was that noise? Is water seeping into the boat? Are we are sinking? Tie on the line, quick! But which knot is correct in this situation? Damn the wind is pushing the boat and the line I am trying to hold onto has a lot of load on it now. And in this moment my brain panics and I can’t think which knot is best.
Is that a boat I see in the distance in the pitch dark while I’m sailing on my own at full speed at 3am? Maybe it’s a star? Check the radar. Looks like nothing there. Probably a star or a night hallucination. But what if it’s not…..
You get my drift. Ben back in January kept on saying
“It will be fine. The dinghy stays inflated. We’ll use it for this season and then get a new one before we cross the Atlantic.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We should probably get some use out of it if you think it’s still ok.”
We have been going along in the dingy for a couple minutes.
“Ben, water is seriously coming in the front of the dingy.”
“It will be OK Kim, we aren’t going to sink”
“No, it’s REALLY gushing in now. What should I do?”
“Do something”
“Yeah, but what do you suggest?”
“I don’t know, try to block it”
“Ok we’ll try. (Jana and I lamely try to block the hole with our hands from the inside) Ummm it’s really coming in fast and filling up! We can’t stop it”
“Don’t panic”
I’ve been panicking since we left La Grande Motte.
“I’m not panicking. I just don’t think there is anything we can do to stop water coming in”
At this point Ben realises that I’m not over-reacting and he makes a B line for the breakwater. The 3 of us climb out awkwardly and manage to keep our clothes dry and our bodies unscathed. Ben assures me he’ll be fine to take the dingy around the corner and we loosely agree to meet at the sign for the town which is lit up.
The 3 of us walk around the corner while I imagine Ben in the dusky light, half sinking with the dingy and our brand new electric outboard. It is a great relief when he walks towards us on dry land a few minutes later.
The town is lively and extremely busy. There are many restaurants to chose from, many ice-cream parlours for desert. The sunset is nice, the company is great, we get a round of free drinks from the waiter, life is good. That is, until we need to go back to the boat. Then life becomes hilarious.
I take the dingy back to the boat while the others walk to the beach right across from Kujira. Not wanting to go back and forth with one person at a time and honestly not certain whether the dinghy would make it, I decide to tow the paddle-board to the beach. The choice is easily made, Kim comes with me on the sinking dinghy while Mike and Jana go on the paddle-board. Being nicely dressed up and not wanting to get wet, they conclude that their best option is to go on all fours, Jana at the front and Mike behind. It now looks like we are towing a modern day, live interpretation of some ancient Greek kinky art. Mike literally has his face in Jana's behind who can't stop laughing. Miraculously we make it back to the boat without losing anyone in the water. The only thing that might have been lost in the process is a little dignity.
Now that we no longer have a dinghy, no one can go to shore for a coffee or a walk on the beach therefore we decide to go straight to Kerkira, the capital city of Corfu. The marina is booked only from the next day onwards so we anchor right outside the fortress for the night. It’s always a neat experience to anchor outside a fortress. Tomorrow will be a busy day. I need to go to the port authorities to have Kujira's transit log stamped, laundry and groceries needs to be done, the water-tank needs to be filled up and Kujira needs a good wash as he is starting to look like a salty hobo. So of course we are disappointed to be told not to arrive before 11.30am.
It is almost an hour walk away and I truly hope that I won't be turned down for missing a document. It is a typical administrative building with a large empty entrance or hallway, a reception desk at the far end and a couple doors to the side. There is also a desk in a corner with a huge pile of documents which, I discover later, are the photocopies of all the boat documents from visitors; there is also a shrine for a fallen coastguard and a large table. A handful of people are waiting in the most disorganised way. I am just about to walk to the reception when a petite woman storms out of one of the offices, puts a stack of paper on the table and starts barking at a couple people.
I've just found Karen.
Once done with her first victims, I make a move towards her.
"Excuse me.."
"Wait over there", she barks and points in the direction of the desk before moving towards an old couple of French people who have just arrived from Italy and need to check their boat into the country. She asks for documents, leaves, comes back, hands them a few forms to fill up and sends them away to get a stamp from a different office.
My turn has now arrived..
"We are a New Zealand flagged sailboat, we need our transit log to be stamped"
"Are you leaving today?"
"No, we just arrived, I'm here to get our arrival stamp"
"What, why?"
Once again, I am shocked to see that they don't know their own pain in the behind procedure and that I have to explain to them how it works. She looks at me as if I had made it up just to make her day a little bit more miserable. I get the transit log out of my folder and show her the page with a column for arrival and a column for departure.
"What is that?"
She takes the document and starts flipping the pages back and forth like a maniac expecting some sorcery to happen. I show her where we need the stamp and she finally takes a minute to look at the page properly.
"It says your next port is Lefkada"
"I know, that's what we thought when we left Patras but we ended up not going to Lefkada"
"I can not sign it", she barks and walks away leaving me speechless in the middle of the hallway.
The French couple comes back with their document stamped and Karen storms out of her office like a devil from a box. She ignores me, takes the documents of the French and starts barking at them.
"What is the boat length"
"Quoi?"
"Boat length"
"Euh, I comprendre not"
"Boat length I said, don't you understand English?!"
Obviously they don't but she is too busy storming away to realise it.
I help them out.
She comes back, takes the document, leaves again, comes back with new documents and a bunch of photocopies. She puts some of them on the pile on the desk, probably never to be looked at again, and tells the man to go to the customs building, 5 minutes walk away, to get another stamp, then she turns towards me.
"I can not stamp it, you have to go to Lefkada" she barks while slamming my documents.
"Wait, what?!? We are travelling by sailboat, it would take us at least 2 days to go there” I say in disbelief.
One of her colleagues walks by. She grabs the opportunity to get some support but he seems to tell her to just stamp it. She looks even more annoyed and storms away to come back a minute later with someone else who also says that there is no problem. She tries to point out the fact that it said our next port was going to be Lefkada but he doesn't seem to be bothered by this either.
Yet, she still refuses to stamp it and grabs a 3rd person who just walked by. He also tells her that it is not a problem, to simply write down that we came from the Ionian Islands. She finally caves in and asks me for my other documents : skipper licence, boat registration, insurance papers, crew list. She looks at the insurance papers.
"We have new rules and regulations since last month, that is for the old regulations"
We knew about this and it is an updated version I have. At this point, I am absolutely baffled by the energy she is spending being a Karen while all she needs to do is put a bloody port stamp in a box and write the date underneath.
She asks me to fill up a new crew list while she makes photocopies of all my documents and puts them on the pile. Then, she finally puts the holy stamp in the transit log before kicking me out of there with more documents to fill up for when I will return to get my departure stamp.
Based on this terrible experience, I start to wonder whether checking out of Schengen wouldn't have been easier if I was travelling under my New Zealand passport so that, Kim, Kujira and myself are on the same page. It turns out that Albania is literally across the bay and high speed ferries are taking tourists in 45 minutes 5 or 6 times a day over there. It sounds a bit silly but the more I think about it, the more I am concerned about Karen's tantrums. By dinner time my mine is made up. Tomorrow I shall visit Albania.
I wake up early to catch the 8.45 ferry which turns out to be a slow one. I check out of Greece and therefore Schengen with my French passport. I check into Albania with my French passport as I discover on the ferry that they may have Covid requirements in place for non-European citizens. I spend a couple hours walking around a completely artificial seaside resort town with no history, no monuments, just fancy restaurants and tourist traps. I check out of Albania on my French passport, enjoy a ride on the high speed ferry which seems to be straight out of the Russian cold War era and I check into Greece and therefore Schengen with my New Zealand passport.
I feel like Jason Bourne.
Once back Mike updates me on the situation. Apparently we are in the berth of a full time resident who 4 hours ago was coming back “any minute” and the marina doesn't seem to really care whether the captain is here or not, nor apologises for fucking up yesterday as they knew we had booked for 2 nights. The place they want us to move to is the one just to our left, which was also empty when we arrived yesterday. The easiest solution seems to walk Kujira over by the lines. We go get the marina staff, assuming he was going to give us a hand but he just acknowledges us and walks away. This marina will not win an award for friendliest, most helpful staff of the year. I think to myself that he would make a great pair with Karen. Once this is done, we head to town for our final meal in Greece. Tomorrow we are leaving for Montenegro, that is if we manage to come out victorious from our battle with Karen…
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