Quarantine
We are still stuck in Preveza. The reason being illness.
On briefing the new crew on the boat I pointed out that only the forward heads (inside the master cabin) has a holding tank therefore appropriate diligence needs to be applied. I was not really expecting anyone to need our heads as we would be at sea in the morning. I was therefore a bit surprised to find it in use in the early hours. The reason being that Ebba had been struck down with colossal gastroenteritis.
It soon became clear she was seriously unwell, drifting in and out of consciousness from hypotension. Ebba has a medical condition, Addison's, that means her body cannot respond to acute stress. We administered her steroid injection but despite this she was very unwell.
The team in the Port Office were splendid. They phoned an ambulance which arrived within 10 minutes (that would not happen in Swansea), and with kindness and efficiency whisked her off to the local hospital.
Ebba will recount her experience of the Greek NHS but in summary she spent the next 2 days on a drip being rehydrated and receiving medication.
Two days later, as the ward round considering her discharge was taking place, Chris suddenly headed for the loo. The doctors then had to perform their clinical deliberations with a background sound effects of Chris hosing at both ends (his phrase). Presumably a dodgy falafel in Beirut airport.
They finally made it back to the boat - Chris spent the rest of the evening close to the heads. One of the good things about being ill on a boat is you are never more than three or four paces from what you require.
I made a light meal of pasta, of which Ebba managed a small portion. I then became aware of feeling a bit seasick - which is unusual in a moored boat.
Never mind, Margaret and I went for our evening "volta" and found a bar on the front. Beer: what can't it cure. However I still felt seasick and it dawned no me that I had it too! A night wracked with nausea and colic was ahead. Apologies to the falafel vendors of the Lebanon.
Almost certainly this is Norovirus. A highly contagious little piece of RNA that can devastate a closed community, like a boat. So far Margaret has not got it. She has the gastrointestinal fortitude of a Minoan bull and laughs in the face of common illness. And just as well as she has been heroic in looking after the rest of us.
It feels as if this trip has been cursed - does anyone know of a witch out there who might have taken the hump at us?
So we are still in Preveza. Being on a town quay like this allows you to get to know some of the other characters and yachties. The local Port team have been very friendly and a joy to do business with. All the locals had become concerned about our interface with the ambulance service and showed joy and felicitations at our survival. Hugs and handshakes all round. Thanks all.
On our starboard side we have an older Dutch chap, built in the image of Edward G Robinson. We had engaged him in converation a few times but he did not seem to speak speak much to anyone else. He basically spends all day sitting in his cockpit and occasionally goes for a huge tub of ice cream.
He told M that he lives for 9 months of the year on his 25ft speedboat with his wife, which can't have much space. She had been dispatched home to earn some money and he had been waiting 2 weeks on his boat for the local canvas guys to rebuild his sprayhood and bimini. All the time we have been here not much of that has happened which may explain why he is a bit grumpy.
On the other side a spanking new 53 foot Jeanneau arrived. It was parked with great care by the skipper over a period of about 20 minutes. The owner turned out to be large Russian chap, well muscled, tanned, gold necklace and now a bit overweight in his mid forties. His crew is a girl at least 20 years his junior. An attractive young lady it has to be said.
We helped with the ropes but it was clear no conversation was to occur. Similarly several others from the liveaboard community have made pleasantries without much response.
Last night about midnight as we were considering our gastrointenstinal symptomatology, there was suddenly a huge clatter and a large splash. I sprung (barely) on deck thinking our gang plank was in the drink. However I found our Russian neughbour splashing about in the water. One of the ropes holding his boarding passarel had come undone and tipped him in.
A large crowd gathered, but to be fair, he stuck to his principles of independence when I offered help, and insisted on his crew lowering his own boarding ladder to allow him out. Unfortunately the optical properties of his white silk simmet and shorts had been adversely affected by the soaking and the spectacle for the on-shore observers was enhanced.
I personally doubt if the skipper would be so careless as to have tied a defective knot so it remains a subject of speculation as to how it came undone. I am not sure if this counts as prime face evidence of a controlling deity, but it is suggestive.
However this morning the Jeanneau skipper did approach us and asked for our assistance. A bit of a blow was forecast and he wanted to go out to lay a longer anchor scope. Chris and Ebba helped him with his ropes.
He proceeded out of his berth in careful, slow procession, relaid his anchor and with grace and precision glided slowly back into his slot.
However just at the point of no return, a small scruffy 25ft yacht flying a German flag suddenly appeared on his port side and tried to get in ahead of him driving forwards. At the last minute the German boat reversed back out and then came down his starboard side. This would be bad enough but the interloper had no fenders deployed, no warps ready, the lady of the team was standing on the prow as it headed landward holding the unattached anchor warp in her hand. At that point they ran out of scope and she nearly did a header over the prow. After a huge amount of invective between skipper and crew, they finally attached another length to the anchor warp and laid it as a kedge.
It then became clear that his shore lines were only about 3m long and totaly inadequate for the task. Eventually we took pity and tied them up alongside us. At which point the skipper uttered the immortal words "She does not understand my instructions"!
Once ashore the drama continued as our Russian neighbour laid into the new arrival, understandably. The substance was that the small yacht was underfendered and would scratch his pride and joy and that he should go somewhere else. In fact the new arrival had plenty of fenders but all tied to the bow and not in services. He also had a huge child's blow up dinghy on the back as his tender, which actually worked quite well as a fender.
This all went on for quite a while and they parted on unfriendly terms. Later this evening the German chap was still trying to recruit us to his cause but I am staying neutral. To be fair the Russian chap did later thank Ebba and Chris for their help and patience during this rather frought interraction.
On briefing the new crew on the boat I pointed out that only the forward heads (inside the master cabin) has a holding tank therefore appropriate diligence needs to be applied. I was not really expecting anyone to need our heads as we would be at sea in the morning. I was therefore a bit surprised to find it in use in the early hours. The reason being that Ebba had been struck down with colossal gastroenteritis.
It soon became clear she was seriously unwell, drifting in and out of consciousness from hypotension. Ebba has a medical condition, Addison's, that means her body cannot respond to acute stress. We administered her steroid injection but despite this she was very unwell.
The team in the Port Office were splendid. They phoned an ambulance which arrived within 10 minutes (that would not happen in Swansea), and with kindness and efficiency whisked her off to the local hospital.
 |
| Chris and Ebba recovered. |
Two days later, as the ward round considering her discharge was taking place, Chris suddenly headed for the loo. The doctors then had to perform their clinical deliberations with a background sound effects of Chris hosing at both ends (his phrase). Presumably a dodgy falafel in Beirut airport.
They finally made it back to the boat - Chris spent the rest of the evening close to the heads. One of the good things about being ill on a boat is you are never more than three or four paces from what you require.
I made a light meal of pasta, of which Ebba managed a small portion. I then became aware of feeling a bit seasick - which is unusual in a moored boat.
Never mind, Margaret and I went for our evening "volta" and found a bar on the front. Beer: what can't it cure. However I still felt seasick and it dawned no me that I had it too! A night wracked with nausea and colic was ahead. Apologies to the falafel vendors of the Lebanon.
Almost certainly this is Norovirus. A highly contagious little piece of RNA that can devastate a closed community, like a boat. So far Margaret has not got it. She has the gastrointestinal fortitude of a Minoan bull and laughs in the face of common illness. And just as well as she has been heroic in looking after the rest of us.
It feels as if this trip has been cursed - does anyone know of a witch out there who might have taken the hump at us?
So we are still in Preveza. Being on a town quay like this allows you to get to know some of the other characters and yachties. The local Port team have been very friendly and a joy to do business with. All the locals had become concerned about our interface with the ambulance service and showed joy and felicitations at our survival. Hugs and handshakes all round. Thanks all.
On our starboard side we have an older Dutch chap, built in the image of Edward G Robinson. We had engaged him in converation a few times but he did not seem to speak speak much to anyone else. He basically spends all day sitting in his cockpit and occasionally goes for a huge tub of ice cream.
He told M that he lives for 9 months of the year on his 25ft speedboat with his wife, which can't have much space. She had been dispatched home to earn some money and he had been waiting 2 weeks on his boat for the local canvas guys to rebuild his sprayhood and bimini. All the time we have been here not much of that has happened which may explain why he is a bit grumpy.
On the other side a spanking new 53 foot Jeanneau arrived. It was parked with great care by the skipper over a period of about 20 minutes. The owner turned out to be large Russian chap, well muscled, tanned, gold necklace and now a bit overweight in his mid forties. His crew is a girl at least 20 years his junior. An attractive young lady it has to be said.
We helped with the ropes but it was clear no conversation was to occur. Similarly several others from the liveaboard community have made pleasantries without much response.
Last night about midnight as we were considering our gastrointenstinal symptomatology, there was suddenly a huge clatter and a large splash. I sprung (barely) on deck thinking our gang plank was in the drink. However I found our Russian neughbour splashing about in the water. One of the ropes holding his boarding passarel had come undone and tipped him in.
A large crowd gathered, but to be fair, he stuck to his principles of independence when I offered help, and insisted on his crew lowering his own boarding ladder to allow him out. Unfortunately the optical properties of his white silk simmet and shorts had been adversely affected by the soaking and the spectacle for the on-shore observers was enhanced.
I personally doubt if the skipper would be so careless as to have tied a defective knot so it remains a subject of speculation as to how it came undone. I am not sure if this counts as prime face evidence of a controlling deity, but it is suggestive.
However this morning the Jeanneau skipper did approach us and asked for our assistance. A bit of a blow was forecast and he wanted to go out to lay a longer anchor scope. Chris and Ebba helped him with his ropes.
He proceeded out of his berth in careful, slow procession, relaid his anchor and with grace and precision glided slowly back into his slot.
However just at the point of no return, a small scruffy 25ft yacht flying a German flag suddenly appeared on his port side and tried to get in ahead of him driving forwards. At the last minute the German boat reversed back out and then came down his starboard side. This would be bad enough but the interloper had no fenders deployed, no warps ready, the lady of the team was standing on the prow as it headed landward holding the unattached anchor warp in her hand. At that point they ran out of scope and she nearly did a header over the prow. After a huge amount of invective between skipper and crew, they finally attached another length to the anchor warp and laid it as a kedge.
It then became clear that his shore lines were only about 3m long and totaly inadequate for the task. Eventually we took pity and tied them up alongside us. At which point the skipper uttered the immortal words "She does not understand my instructions"!
 |
| Battle lines drawn |
This all went on for quite a while and they parted on unfriendly terms. Later this evening the German chap was still trying to recruit us to his cause but I am staying neutral. To be fair the Russian chap did later thank Ebba and Chris for their help and patience during this rather frought interraction.
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