Storm Crossing

Traveling Classroom^™

Storm Crossing

We awake to gray skies and a light breeze, but no rain. Over coffee we resolve that, if the weather holds, we can set sail for Mykonos this morning. Remembering the breakfast pastries we had yesterday, we set out to find a bakery. Along the way we see two computer stores on the same street, so Duane and I decide to see if they can help us with our connection problem. The first store cannot help at all, but a man in the other store is more familiar with ISP protocols. He says he can get the computer back to us tomorrow. Duane tells him we sail for Mykonos this morning. The man writes the word "Skagias" and a telephone number on a piece of paper. This is where we can get technical assistance on Mykonos.

Even though it means another delay in our project, we are glad to have a Mykonos contact. We return to the street and our quest for baked goods. Following our nose, we walk until we find an open bakery. The queue of people outside is a good indication of quality product. We get in line and wait our turn to enter this tiny storefront. There is a wonderful array of goods, all hot from the morning oven. We buy our pastry and several loaves of bread for our larder. Now we can go to the area where the produce stores are located. There are individual stores for everything: clothing, antiques (one of my favorites), books, cleaning supplies, propane tanks … specific stores for single items. Most of the food stores in Ermoupoli seem to located on one street.

Back to the main square to find our bearing, we steer west through some narrow back streets to the market street. We find a small crowded market where we pick up canned goods, cheese, beverages and other items. Again we wait in line to pay. Further down the lane are several produce stands with roll-up walls (like garage doors) open to the street. Some of the produce tables are in the street itself (no room for vehicles during market hours). The shoppers navigate around and between heaps of vegetables and fruits offered by different stores. We compare prices and purchase apples and oranges at this store and eggplant, tomatoes, onions and potatoes at another. The butcher across the way offers lamb, chicken and even a selection of fish, but there are nicer fish at the fish monger’s stand down the lane. We pass by the most perishable goods because the boat’s refrigerator operates only when the engine is running, and we are hoping to use the sails today. Each of us carries several bags of groceries back to the harbor.

At the quay we encounter a small flurry of activity at Peter’s boat. The parts for the broken autopilot have arrived and a local agent of the supplier is going over the installation procedure with Peter. A bosun’s seat has already been rigged on the mast, so that someone can get to the top and make repairs. We inquire whether Peter will be sailing today, and inform him that we are bound for Mykonos. He says the boat should be ready after the repairs are made, and he thinks he might join us on Mykonos. Peter has not had the opportunity to visit that island.

After stowing our supplies and washing down the breakfast pastries with another pot of coffee, we prepare to depart. Before casting off we look up to find Peter in the bosun’s seat, suspended high above the deck at the top of the mast. Hans and the sales agent are watching from the quay. We walk over to the boat and say goodbye to Hans, and then shout our farewell to Peter. Then we climb back aboard, raise the gangway and motor out into the harbor. As we clear the breakwater and motor into open water, the sails are hoisted and a new course in entered into the GPS computer: 37° 27'·1N by 25° 19'·6E. We are on our way to Mykonos.

Only a few kilometers out from Syros, the wind dissipates and we have to start the motor again. Suddenly the water erupts about 40 meters behind us; a dolphin arches through the air and slips into the sea. Duane shouts and points: there are others leaping out of the water. An entire pod of dolphins is playing in the waves and moving southward. Dolphins are messengers of Apollo, but we don’t know what they might be trying to communicate. Soon after the dolphins leave us, the wind increases and the weather worsens. We batten down hatches and prepare for a storm. This was not the message we had hoped for.

While Paul mans the helm, the rest of us go below and dig out the wet weather gear. There are all sorts of jackets and pants, and we try to find something to fit. Duane decides to stick with the waterproof jacket he brought from home. The sea is choppy and the wind is gusting. Each blast of wind slams into an immense wall of sail, forcing our starboard rail into the waves. We must drop the mainsail to reduce the pressure. Duane, Jeanette and I scramble up to the mast while Paul stays at the wheel. What a scary experience it is standing on a slippery deck, in the rain, wrestling down this monstrous sail and to trying not to be blown overboard! We get the sail down and wrap it around the boom as quickly as we can. Not neatly done, but mission accomplished.

We are still sailing with the mizzen and the genoa jib, which is a lot of sail area, and the storm is picking up the pace. Now there is lightning! A brilliant sliver of white light flashes into the sea less than 50 meters off the starboard quarter, then another directly in front of us. I hope the tall wooden masts do not attract a direct strike. Duane takes over at the wheel so that Paul can get out of the rain. The cabin is dry and warm, but we must struggle to keep our balance while heating up milk to make hot cocoa. The boat is heaving to and fro as the north wind buffets us, and we are continuously stowing items that come flying off shelves and counter tops. After a while I ask Duane if he wants to come inside, but he declines. He is wearing his dirty jeans, he explains, and they are already soaked through. Maybe they will wash clean in the rain, he reasons (an odd way to do the laundry). His hooded jacket keeps him warm and dry above the hips.

Throughout the crossing we call out the GPS readings and hand up cups of hot cocoa and sandwiches to Duane, whose legs are cramping after hours of standing in those cold, wet jeans. The storm is a rough ride, but we are making good time - averaging about 7 knots. We should be close enough to sight Mykonos, but the rain and mist obscure everything. Duane says that he has spotted a cloud-topped mountain north-northeast of our position. The chart shows this is the island of Tinos. Its cloud cover is an ancient predictor of storms at sea. Because of the strong winds in this part of the Aegean, people also believed, according to mythology, that Tinos was the home of Eolos, god of the winds. Even today, local fishermen expect foul weather when they see clouds over the high mountain. "Tinos has her hat on," they say.

The rain begins to diminish, and Duane says that there is land ahead of us. We peer out the hatch and see a rough shore rising out of the sea and fog. This would have to be Rinia, the island of the dead for the sacred city on Delos. Although only a few kilometers away, Mykonos is still wrapped in a misty cloak of invisibility. Still, we must prepare to enter the harbor, so we consult the Greek Waters Guide to check the harbor layout and markers. Although the rain has ceased, the wind is still quite strong as we approach Mykonos. Finally, the harbor entrance appears through the fog, but there is a large rock island directly in our course. The nautical chart is not clear: if we go between the rock and the shoreline, there may not be enough water under the boat. It is decided to go around the rock, but this windward course requires us to tack several times in order to gain the correct entry angle.

On our approach we sail around two huge cruise ships anchored in the bay outside the harbor. Entering the harbor, we see the Hora, the island capital, entirely white on the hillside, with its famous windmills overlooking a fishing fleet anchored at the south end of the harbor. We furl the jib, drop the mizzen and slowly motor towards the north end of the harbor, along a quay where all the visiting boats are moored. There are a number of boats here already. Most are charters to the German groups we encountered earlier. All are anchored and cross-tied for safety, but some have taken enough space for two boats. Maybe they are trying to reserve a place for friends. We find a good spot near the end of the quay, across from the ferry terminal. The ferries dock on a broad, paved jetty that extends into the bay, protecting the north end of the harbor. We swing around, drop anchor and slide back to the quay, where a passerby stops to catch our mooring line. Paul and Duane manage the cross-tie, while Jeanette and I deploy the fenders to prevent Zoe Zoe from scraping against other boats. There is a stiff breeze across the beam, so it rocks the boat. Thankfully, it is nothing like the high wind on our passage.

With the boat securely moored and the gangway in place, the next order of business is to get dry. The sails are the first concern because we can't raise them to dry. We untie the main from the boom, shake it out as best we can, and fold it more professionally before tying it down again. The mizzen gets the same treatment, and then we go below to change into clean, dry clothes. Now that I am comfortable, I want to go ashore, stretch my legs and have a look around.

Strolling along the quay, I discover that the low white building just across from our moorage is the office of the local tourist police (it's nice to be secure). Across the street at the foot of the jetty is a small cantina with tables arranged on a covered patio out front. Next door is a tiny shop, not unlike the kiosks in Athens, and public telephones. The road from the jetty turns up the hill and southward, past white cubic houses with brightly colored doors and shuttered windows. This looks just like all the pictures I have ever seen of Mykonos.

Evening is closing in and we are all anxious to start exploring, so we follow the road up the hill. We can see the town from our moorage, and we could take the quay around the harbor, but this route affords a wonderful view. The clouds are thinning as the sun drops below the horizon, and we can see Rinia in the distance. The lights are being turned on in the white-on-white town, and the cruise ships are sparkling in the bay. The entire scene is like something out of a dream.

We walk to Platia Mavroyenous, a large square where the taxis wait for passengers, and then continue to the waterfront. There aren't many people about; it is a weekday. The fishing boats in the harbor are swinging on their mooring bouys. At the far side of the harbor, the quay curves out to another jetty where the Delos kaíkia (tour boats) are moored. There are the ever-present waterfront restaurants, with few customers at this hour, and some tourist shops that appear to be open. Between every building is an alleyway into the heart of the town. These are smaller than streets and too narrow for automobiles. Duane and I choose one and begin walking.

The white cubic houses with their balconies and white-washed parapets, littles tavernas, stores and shops are all clustered together, one on top of another along narrow white-washed alleys, somehow creating the impression of being indoors. Lights from shops bath everything in a warm golden glow, completing the illusion. I have never seen so many jewelry shops in one place; gold trinkets and silver baubles everywhere. There are quite a few shops with textiles, folk art, batiks and clothing. What a feast for the eyes. Tavernas with wonderful smells also remind us to start looking for a place to eat dinner. We read the menus posted outside the tavernas, and poke our heads inside of some of the more promising ones. In a short time, we realize that we are hopelessly lost. The alleys curve and twist and merge with others in no particular pattern, or end without warning in a blank wall. The labyrinth was planned this way to confuse the pirates who raided the town in bygone days.

After wandering around for some time, we meet up with Jeanette and Paul, who have trying to find their way through the maze. All agree that it is time to eat, and we decide to go to a taverna we had seen earlier. The town tricks us again, because the place is nowhere to be found. Finally, hunger get the best of us and we select a small taverna at the end of a lane. After a very satisfying meal, we re-enter the maze and meander around listening for music. Hoping to find a place for coffee and relaxation, we enter a small place and find a table. There aren’t many people here yet because it is only about 10:30. It is hard to adhere to the Greek time schedule after a heavy day of sailing. Nevertheless, we sip our drinks and listen to music for a bit longer.

Around midnight, we make our way back to the Zoe Zoe. The breeze has increased some, and even the cross-tied boats are rocking side to side. I am grateful for the guidelines on our gangway. A very large ferry came in while we were in town, and it has docked less than 40 meters off our bow. Its generator is running loudly and all the lights are on. I hope that it doesn't stay the night, but I know that it will. As I climb into bed, I cover the port holes in our cabin to keep the light out. At just about that moment music starts blaring from the cantina near the jetty. It goes on and on and on ...