Two go to Greece

So we are off sailing again.

This is quite a short trip of 6 weeks with family and friends, so really just an extended holiday rather than an expedition of any sort.

We had in fact wondered whether we should forego doing a blog for this trip but in deference to our dedicated readers (well, my Mum), we decided we should.

And as always things turn out perhaps more interesting than expected.

We set off from home in the wee small hours by walking to the Bus Station to get the 04.20 to Gatwick. Surprisingly not such a desolate service as I had thought with several passengers boarding with us. We passed various Swansea Jacks on the way home from the clubs and the kebab shops were doing a fair trade.

Through boredom I often indulge in attributing life stories to unknown companions on such trips.

 So there was a Chinese family probably off on a long journey back home to visit venerable relatives, a few in shorts and straw hats obviously off the Magaluf flesh pots for a bit of whooping it up. And then boarded Mr & Mrs Ernest Worthy. Retirees of a certain age., but very fit and spritely in walking shorts, ruck sacks and hiking sandals. Almost certaonly an actuary or accountant.

It was not long before, after checking his watch several times to make sure he was not too early to bring forth breakfast, Ernest Worthy ceremoniously delved into his ruck sack and brought forth two large screw lid pickle jars half full of cold porridge. These were duly consumed with ancient silver soup spoons. I attributed their holiday plans to either hiking in the Pyrenees or the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostelo. 

I was probably wrong on all counts but it passes a bus journey.

The travelling experience was further enhanced by the characters on the flight to Turkey. We were surrounded by an extended family of about a dozen Cockneys. There were probably four generations present consisting of every larger than life character in the East Enders screenplay list.

There was the ancient dominant “Hard as Nails” matriarch who kept order with a combination of clip round the ear, cuddles and jokes. 

A huge bloke in his thirties, he must have been six foot six and twenty stones of solid muscle with a permanent grin. Clearly nobody wants to get on the wrong side of him so life is worth a grin. So again I wrote mental soap opera episodes involving the various characters in the plot, until we touched down at Dalaman Airport.

Our transfer to the Marina was quick but uneventful (well done again Marmaris Transfers), and we successfully found Summertime and a lone, previously rejected bottle of Rose, if a bit on the warm side.

In the morning it was hot, very hot. It is a different kind of heat from that which we have recently had in the UK and seems much more humid and debilitating. Even hot days in Northern Europe are relieved by a coolness in the breeze, but here the breeze was like a blast furnace being opened.

Everything seemed in order on the boat. I checked through the various systems while M organised some essential provisions. By early afternoon we were in shape to set sail. After completing formalities in the Marina office, off we went.

And it was a nice shake down sail. We were soon hoofing along at 6 knots and practising reefing and manoeuvring under sail. We berthed in Ciftik for the night and enjoyed a Taverna meal at Mehmet’s place where they do the best vegetable casserole in the village.

There are always a few technical issues. We found that our starboard navigation light was not working, one of the solar panels had failed (again) and the chart plotter on the binnacle had gone dead, with just black and white stripes on the screen.

However none of these were show stoppers. We had no real plans to sail at night, we were getting just about adequate support out of the remaining solar panel to keep the beer cold and the chartplotter was just one of several layers of redundancy in navigation kit. So we sallied forth.

Late in the day I had remembered that Turkey has a restriction to the days spent in the country on an ordinary tourist visa. I had tried to do the calculations with our trips earlier in the year and what we were planning now. It is a bit complicated as the 180 day time frame keeps advancing as you are doing the sums, but fortunately I found an on-line website that does the calculations and as expected we were wildly in excess of what is allowed.

So it became imperative to return to Greece for much of this trip, which is fine, and gives us another opportunity of addressing the Greek’s somewhat perverse interpretation of EU regulations relating to Brexit and VAT!

The plan was to aim for Bozburun and check out of Turkey there. We had made the acquaintance of an agent there, Gurkan of Pera Sailing, who was efficient and effective and a pleasure to do business with. So we planned to engage him again. I sent him a message and received an immediate reply saying he would meet us at 8am the following morning.

Coftlik to Boznurim

We had a good sail down the coast of the Marmaris peninsula and round into the gulf of Bozburun. The gulf was very busy with many dozens of boats anchored round the coast. As we rounded the coast to get sight of the village we were astonished to see a brand new massive block of flats on the outskirts. It subsequently turned out to be Bill Gates’ super yacht! It had been there for 3 months and he had not been ashore. 

I turned on all my Linux computers in protest.

Dont buy any more Microsoft

We were summonsed into a berthing spot in Bozburun harbour by a very bossy 8 year old Marinero in full uniform with a loud pea whistle. Just as it became clear he had no chance of handling the ropes effectively his big brother turned up, and all was well. I think Marinero duties are very much a family affair being handed down through the generations.

A pleasant evening was had in the Gordon restaurant and off to bed tired but happy. (hic).

Gurkan arrived on the dot at the appointed hour and effectively took charge of the process for signing us out of Turkey, and off we set.

The first task was to take down our Turkish flag and run up the Greek flag and the yellow flag indicating that we were in need of immigration and customs services.

M pulled down the flag pennant line and tied in the new ones. But it would not re-hoist. The pennant line is somewhat narrow and somehow had lodged itself between the roller and side wall of the block it ran through under the spreader.

I went forward and put together a new line using a spinnaker halyard. However on hoisting, it became clear there was quite a lot of friction caused by the line having hardened in the baking heat and salt water. 

Suddenly things fell apart. In fact the yellow flag ripped. Given that it was in fact a yellow cleaning cloth, perhaps as a source of failure, this is not totally a surprise. However I was now left with the free end of my halyard dangling at the level of the first spreader, with my Greek flag attached.

Getting it upside down being sorted

Now they take flags very seriously round here. You get fined for not flying them when required. They also insist they are in perfect condition. So in my quest to enter the hellenic state to do battle with its unwieldy bureaucracy, this was not going to be a good start.

So we turned round and headed back towards the harbour and dropped the anchor to try and sort this.

I got two boat hooks and lashed them together and by standing on tippy toes and wishing very hard I managed to get the hook to ensnare the halyard and bring it back down to the deck! Pheew!

Fully flagged we set sail for Symi and tacked out of the gulf of Bozburun, but were running out of time to get the best of the Hellenic system so motored the last chunk.

Bozburun to Symi

Having been here before we knew there was a spot for boats needing customs on the harbour wall beside the police station so we headed for that. There was nobody around so we circled for a bit and then got ready for a stern-to mooring. 

Approaching Symi

As we reversed in a bloke in official looking garb appeared and stood beside a lazy line. These are lines attached to fixed mooring blocks of concrete some 20m off the harbour wall that you pick up and tie to the front of the boat.

As we arrived M gestured in her best Greek to ask him to give her the lazy line. At this point he (we will call him Giorgiou) offered the advice that the lazy line was non functional and we needed to drop our anchor. So out we went and did it all again. The problem was that three boat lengths off shore we were in 40m of water and there was no chance of the anchor holding, but we tried. Giorgiou seemed amused.

So out we went again. This time Giorgiou indicated that we should come in along side the wall instead of stern to. As we approached he vanished!

Fortunately a British guy with his family were sitting on a bench enjoying the entertainment and he came forward to help take our lines and all was well. It turned out he was also sailing and his boat was in the main harbour. But he obviously knew this was the best spot for entertainment. 

He also told us that Giorgio worked for a Shipping Agent, and as we were not his clients, he was having a laugh! Next thing as a ferry went past there was an enormous judder as our keel hit the bottom. The along side position was in just over 2m of water and was  untenable. So off we went again!

Just in time to witness two other poor souls engaged in similar chaos trying to berth on this bit of wall get it all wrong and come together with a wallop bow against stern at about 6 knots. Beats Netflix any day.

Finally we got a berth in the harbour. Now was the moment to engage the Greek authorities. We went to the Immigration Police. Not the ordinary Police, which the immigration Police is a subset of, but the trained specialists who have the stamps you need on your Passport. They also issue with the official Crew List which has all the details of the boat and crew, just in cade you did not know, and stamped with a Blue Stamp and signature.

The Immigration Policeman was very courteous and kindly told us that we needed to go to the Port Police and then Customs. The Port Police is on the opposite side of the harbour about a mile away. This seems always to be so. It clearly is due to some statute in the Greek Port planning regulations, not sure why. I think they watch each other.

Now the Port Police has recently had a lot of investment, A few years ago many harbours did not seem to have anyone official at all but now they all seem to have a newly re-furbished building with lots of young men in para-military uniforms. Presumably this is all due to the refugee crisis. 

Confusingly the Port Police can also be known as the Coast Guard, the Harbour Master and the Harbour Authority, the terms all seem to be used interchangeably. Except they all take great offence if you misidentify them.

Anyway, the smart young policeman informed us we had got it wrong, we needed to go to the Customs Office first. [was there a hint of a wry smile there?] The Customs office is equidistant between the two Police stations, and in we went.

We were greeted by a pleasant young lady who told us she was new to the job and her English was not perfect. However she was very attentive.

I explained that our boat was bought originally in France where the VAT had been paid. I showed her a letter from the boss of of the Greek tax agency stating that UK flagged boats in our situation were eligible to have an unlimited transit log.

She listened well and wrote down various dates I gave her and notes of our situation. She had been doing her homework and recognised she had seen the same letter in Greek and got it out of her folder to scrutinise. 

Several times as she tried to interpret the regulation she was interrupted by guess who, Giorgiou. I was beginning to not like this guy. 

She persevered and suddenly seemed to get it. My spirits soared, I was going to get an unlimited Transit Log.

She then said that she could not make a decision but would need to refer to her boss. My heart sank again. She took our contact details, issued a temporary transit log, and said she would get back to us the following day.

So off we went to the Port Police again. The guy there put blue stamps all over our new Transit Log and Crew list, checked we had paid or Tax online (another long tale), and hey presto, we were legal.

He then said that when we were leaving the Island we had to come and get stamped out and declare our next destination!

It would seem that Greece has reverted to being a loose federation of independent mini states, each with its own version of immigration controls. This is all very bossy, Big Brother is watching! I suppose that if this is where civilisation and democracy started, it is apposite that this is where civilisation ends as well. Beer time.

The next day we had a down day and did some footering about on the boat. 

The following morning M duly visited the Port Police and checked us out to sail to Chalki, an island some 30 miles SW of Symi. 

She also visited the Customs Office. The Boss had now got hold of the situation and was having none of our arguements. I think it descended from logical discourse to volatile emotion. But we were scuppered.

We set off to sail to Chalki.  Time was a bit tight so we went through a passage between the N end of Symi and an uninhabited island. This would save about an hour on the passage but the charted least depth on the channel was 4.4m. This is a bit marginal for a 2.2m draft yacht if there is any sea running. Although it was breezy, the sea was calm and we went for it. Anxiety was not refuced by  a large catamaran stopping to let us through first. Unusual behaviour! 

it turned out that our planned destination of Chalki was not feasible given the distance and wind direction. So mid passage we changed our destination to Tilos.

I am not sure what the fine will be for not going where you thought you were going because of 20knots of wind on the nose!