I arrived in Kusadasi with my friend Ine, a professional sailing instructress, after the three thousand kilometre drive. Naïma, my 14½ foot dinghy, had a new 1 kilo Bruce anchor and a genuine electronic distress signal — an E-birp.

We left the car with a friendly family, and on 14th July 1987, just as the year before, Naïma set out on a course of 220°, heading for the strait of Samos and Pythagorion. We sailed out in hazy morning light, the sea ahead of us was without horizon, emphasising our hidden future.

Although we seemed motionless, we watched Kusadasi slowly dissolve into the haze. A breeze as faint as the light gently carried us away. The peacefulness gave us plenty of time to reflect on what we had just undertaken. The sea was smooth and glistening, a calm before a storm? You never know when you set out for the unknown and the strait of Samos. In this mood the lines of the impressive mountain ridge of Samos appeared, almost imperceptibly, to draw themselves high in the sky. We were approaching the capricious and ill reputed channel which is also the border between Turkey and Greece. We floated through it in the hottest and calmest possible weather, some shifting winds although nothing serious. It was not until close under Pythagorion that we encountered white caps and gusts from over the island, allowing my crew to try out the trapeze, her first test. A taste of real sailing, and it always feels great to approach a harbour with style. We sailed into the port carried by the gusts. Where a double row of yachts and many fishing boats occupied the quay. Circling the harbour on sails (with Naïma there is no alternative) looking for a spot to land we finally secured to the pier between the least ostentatious boats, anchor over the stern. It had been a very quiet start and we were to set foot on our first Greek island.

Pythagorion is an official port of entry, and here we had to get a transit log and charts for the Greek waters. I went to see the harbour captain, surprise… he said we wouldn’t need a transit log, even after I told him I intended to wander from island to island. I had heard a lot about problems with papers so I insisted until he finally sent me to customs. There ensued an endless walking from one uncooperative authority to another, from one side of the harbour to the other, every authority passing me on to the next.

By the evening I had managed to get a crew list but still hadn’t obtained the transit log. Early next morning a curious dialogue ensued. He handed me the desired form and added, “Fill in paper.” While doing so he read over my shoulder. “What you mean, make engine ‘NO’; what make ‘NO’ engine?” I said, “I have no engine.” He got very angry at that. “What no engine, diesel engine?” I replied, “No, no engine!” “You mean a petrol engine?” “No, no engine!” “You mean no engine???” Very slowly he started to understand. “Boat no engine?” I said, “Yes!” Looking at the paper incredulously, with distrust he signed and sealed the document, and with an angry gesture handed it to me.

It was twelve o’clock when we left the pier of Pythagorion and set out for ‘Donkey Island’, the Turkish nickname of Agathonissi, also called Gaidaros. Course 180° towards the west point of the island. A pleasant, even at times fair, first meltemi filled the spinnaker. Closer to the island as the wind freshened the spinnaker had to be taken down, and once around the west point, in the lee of the island, the gusts so very familiar to me but not yet to my new crew, started hitting the boat. We tacked into the small natural port of San Giorgio and ran Naïma onto a gentle beach.

The peaceful little bay, though open to the south, offers good shelter in the meltemi season. The island itself is almost four n.miles wide, six hundred feet high, and has a rocky jagged coast. It even played a modest role in ancient history, mostly as an island of exile.

The following day, after another very calm sea and gentle wind, we arrived at Patmos. Its remarkable romantic profile is quite in contrast to her overfull moorings, the harbour full of ferries, speedboats and cruise ships. Thousands of tourists and a drinking water shortage completed the scene, and in this busy place full of shops there were no charts. The old priests in the monastery on the hill must, in summer at least, wonder about the world and remember the old days when Patmos was an island of meditation and serene quietness. We chose to leave as soon as we could. The next morning in fact. Navigating from now on, in this nautical world, on a roadmap! We were told the absence of charts was a result of the tension between Greece and Turkey! The charts would be instrumental to invaders!

The next morning we drifted close to the southern point of the island. Becalmed, we decided to wait until two o’clock; if no wind arose we’d return. We must have been overheard because hesitatingly the water rippled, and in no time we started planing full speed in the direction of the still-invisible island of Levitha, our main stepping stone to the Cyclades. We should not miss it… about an hour later it came into view while waves and wind were still gaining in strength. Rounding the E-point, we went for a forked bay we had spotted on a chart, having to reef down to tack into the sheltered east arm, in part almost a wind tunnel. We found a little concrete jetty, lacking both boulders and rings, however we managed to tie up to it. Half an hour later a Danish 40 foot yacht, the Magic Carpet, moored next to us, two of her sails torn. We could hardly believe the wind had been that strong. Save for a father and his two sons who live about half a mile from the jetty (and prepare a good meal for yachtsmen), the island is deserted. They couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw the size of our ‘yacht’. Although the inlet’s bottom is known to hold badly, as dusk fell, more yachts anchored nearby.

The island is without supplies and, having just a little emergency food with us, we could not stay. Next morning the sea seemed calm again, and we prepared for the longest and most crucial crossing ahead, the one to Amorgos, about thirty n.miles of open sea, save for two inhabited bare rocks. The weather forecast sounded okay, 4 to 5 NW and no gale warning. We sailed at 8.30am with early fall winds in the bay, wetsuits and life vests on and half a loaf of old bread begged off from one of the island boys and a reef in the main. We had about twenty-five closehauled miles ahead, me on the trapeze. We were keeping up with Magic Carpet, sailing slightly ahead of us; about four hours later we spotted the first lines of the enormous NE cape of Amorgos high in the sky. They seemed unreal, so high. Impossible to see the shore line, only vertiginous rock wreathed in clouds. Cliffs of two and a half thousand feet mean trouble, so at rock Liadi, we went about north, intending to work our way up well beyond the island.

About five miles beyond Amorgos, we had almost lost sight of her, so we went west again and even at that distance from the island we felt the waves change. Wind aft now; there should have been no problems, however, sailing to within a few n.miles of the rock walls, the wind dropped to nil. We could tell from the changing profiles of the rocks that we were slowly but surely being carried away by a slight current against our course in an extraordinarily turmoiled sea, our boom swinging as waves slammed the boat. Taking distance we made another attempt, and another, each time from further west, until after four or five attempts dusk fell. Finally we tried again orientating ourselves on the lights of the villages in the mountains. No way… there was no alternative than to stay out at sea for the night. At about 3am a slight meltemi steadied our course, and by four we passed the lights of Katapola. An hour later, as dawn broke, we tied up to a big white yacht in the harbour of Katapola. It was the Magic Carpet. Exhausted, we cleaned the boat, set the boom tent, and collapsed into sleep, knowing we would soon be woken by the burning sun. Magic Carpet had fifty-five n.miles on the log; we must have made at least seventy.

The moorings of Katapola are a lee, even for big yachts a sometimes hazardous spot. As the meltemi got stronger the small waves in the port splashed over our low stern so that by noon we sailed across the bay to find better shelter among the fishing boats.

From Amorgos we went to Ano- and Kato Koufinissi, two very low and sandy islands, then passed Naxos, Paros and Antiparos to arrive at Serifos on the 24th. Smooth passages with soft, although at times a strong meltemi. Serifos is exactly what you expect a Greek island to look like. From a distance, entering the bay of an otherwise pleasant island. One of the yachts measured a gust of forty knots that night! How would we ever leave? Strangely the wind would often die for a spell in the morning. The third day we regained our courage and headed out to sea again. Outside the bay it was the calmest imaginable weather. We floated a full day in burning sun towards the island of Kythnos.

As we floated into the ugly harbour, on the pier we saw a little boy jumping up and down and waving. Raimond, the little French boy from the Okeanus at Kusadasi. He told us he had seen us days before at sea but his parents had said that it would be impossible with our size ship. He’d been sure we’d make it and on the look-out from that day on!

The next morning no wind. It was during the heat wave at Athens when hundreds of people died. We resigned ourselves to being towed by the Okeanus to open sea. Another day of drifting about followed, swimming to cool off. Late in the afternoon we arrived on Kea. Anchoring in the shallow Ozias bay we elected to stay on the northern side of the islands, having read in Rod Heikels guide that there may be a N.S. current between Kythnos, Kea and the mainland.

Two days later early in the morning we left for the last leg, that to Lavrion on the mainland. We sailed out of the bay in changing winds and a big swell. With winds picking up we put in a reef, going close haul towards the N point of Makronissi. The wind dropped and we unreefed, however the wind slowly became stronger and stronger while the sea built up into steep wild waves. Again we reefed, but still too much sail, so we changed the jib for a storm jib. It sounds easy, but changing jibs means the crew has to lay flat on Naïma’s tiny bow holding on with one hand so as not to be swept overboard, gasping for air in waves which break right over her, while I, in order to prevent the boat diving, would have to put all my weight almost over the stern. A manoeuvre that can sometimes take ten minutes being so hard to roll up the flapping jib before taking her down. With only a reefed main we ended up fighting close haul to get around the island. Wind, we guessed an ‘eight’, and horrendous waves. We managed to get around and took off, storm jib up again and with the wind aft toward our port of destination. While flying past the rusted carcass of a shipwrecked coaster sticking half out of the sea, and obviously run aground on a rock, it happened. A big wave grabbed Naïma from behind and pushed her bow down into the wave in front. In a split second Naïma pitch poled. Shipwreck in view of the harbour? Ine had been catapulted forward and I thrown over the stern. We met swimming near the centreboard and climbed onto the hull, but Naïma carried on turning, mast down.

With our full weight pulling at the centreboard we laid her flat again, waited a moment to get her well into the wind, and then swung her up again. Full of sea but with water jetting out of the bail holes, we went flying and riding the big waves the remaining ten n.miles. We landed at 13.15 at the Olympia marina of Lavrion (by the way, all we lost were two teacups). At last the mainland of Europe under our somewhat swaying legs.

The marina lacks a dinghy ramp and is no beauty, being at the same time a wharf for navy patrol boats. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Naïma between the grey warships. I was fortunate to meet some folk from the British Island Sailing Club, who offered a nice berth for Naïma in their hangar. We cleaned and stripped her, finally leaving her for a deserved rest. Ine had proven to be a crew of thousands. She was offered a place on board many yachts. Did she accept that offer to sail to Australia? I took a flight back to Holland in order to return a few weeks later with Louise. We were to sail Naïma back to Kusadasi!

On the plane I was proudly telling my neighbour, a chips and bits scientist‑cum‑dinghy-sailor, about our crossing. He told me a friend of his, Frank Dye, had done even better, sailing a Wayfarer from Norway to Iceland. Was this encounter purely coincidence or arranged to teach Naïma’s captain a lesson about modesty?

We returned on 15th August. The following day the weather was strange and cloudy. Not until the 18th could we leave and sail the few n.miles along the coast to drop anchor in the sandy bottom of the bay of Cape Sounion, a modern hotel building at port and the centuries old temple at starboard. That evening we climbed to the home of the sea god; Louise’s imaginary kiss would be our peace offering. Would he allow us to cross his sea? Unnoticed, our ritual took place in the middle of a crowd of tourists who gather each evening to witness the world’s most beautiful sunset (according to Byron). Not a step or rock remains unoccupied with all heads turned towards the setting sun. The last ones to walk down from the sacred site, we hoped that he had perceived her gesture. Under the darkness we pushed Naïma from the beach, let her drift a while and dropped ‘Bruce’ the anchor. We had our doubts, as the whole night we heard the gusts of wind whistling through our rig, while Naïma was swaying in all directions behind her anchor. The next morning, after an early breakfast on board, we put on wetsuits and life vests, lifted the well dug in anchor and sailed off in spectacular fashion, though everyone was still asleep. Barely around the cape we met a tremendous swell and an early meltemi of at least five Beaufort. Very promising, the closest harbour being on Kea at fifteen n.miles of mostly close haul. We set course for the south end of Makronissi. Three quarters of an hour later Naïma was back in the sea god’s bay. In the short period we’d been out the meltemi had increased to at least seven. It was to be the first time that we had made a demi-tour. At noon that day we climbed the Acropolis a second time for a second worshipping. From the temple the view over the sea was deceivingly peaceful, a deep blue not withstanding whitecaps and flying foam. On the other side we spotted Naïma well humoured with gaily waving wetsuits, life vests and trapeze harness.

The rest of the day was spent in an effort to buy supplies at the nearby village of Greneda. No fruit for sale, apparently due to tax problems related to the EEC. One is not allowed to sell straight from the fields. We wished we were back in Turkey! Not wanting to risk an extra day in the bay, at dusk we went up to the temple once more, wondering if the sea god would prefer Louise to wear trousers or shorts!

The following day we rose at six, had breakfast on board and made ready for a fast departure. At half past seven we were ready to leave only to discover that the trapeze harness was missing. Blown into the sea during the drying session! Within two minutes I was hitchhiking on the road to Athens. It must have been a record, at a quarter to twelve we were hoisting the sails and setting course on Kea in a strong and pleasant meltemi, Louise in a new harness.

We were doing so well and making such speed in the side wind that we altered our course to the next island, Kytnos. More tail wind now, we undid the reef and hoisted the spinnaker. Kytnos in view we decided not to go for her main harbour, Merihas, but to an inlet on her S side. Close to the bay, again we changed course, this time round the S cape; it was now 6pm. Towards the cape the wind dropped, however we could see more white caps beyond the cape, so decided to catch up with the unwanted delays and headed for Serifos. In side wind we planed full speed towards Serifos, offering a spectacular view to a passing ferry, all passengers bent over the railing and waving and yelling. Still in side wind we rounded the cape of Serifos, the waves increasing as we had rarely seen. I asked Louise to prepare the spinnaker… Later she would write the following lines in the logbook: “We were storming in full plane towards the N point. We estimated the distance between the crest of the waves as being between twenty and thirty metres, white curlers, which as usual crashed into the boat from time to time. Nevertheless E. decided, merciless, to hoist the spinnaker, his theory being that the more speed in high waves the more stability(!). With courage born of despair, L. prepared and hoisted the spi. “Aye, aye captain!” We went fast and smooth, the waves being so long that there was little risk of diving into them.” On the hills we saw the ‘chora’ of Serifos appear, and not long after rounded the peninsula at the entrance of the bay. Still in a strong and pleasant wind we tacked, Louise in the trapeze, towards the port of Livadi, deep in the bay.

At exactly 8pm, we rolled the jib away, lowered the main, launched ‘Bruce’ over the stern and moored to a small Swedish sloop. Half a day of sailing and we had left cape Sounion forty seven n.miles behind us! Quite a difference to the first leg in Yugoslavia two years earlier, from Jablanac to Rab, only two n.miles.

It wasn’t until we made Naïma shipshape that we noticed the surprised expression on our neighbours face. In disbelief he had watched our arrival. Until then, Claes had been convinced that his eight metre long sloop, named Humboldt (after Saul Bellow), had been the smallest on the Aegean sea. In the falling night we cleaned and organised Naïma and were allowed to dry our gear over the boom of his yacht.

A lively pleasant port, Livadi, a row of yachts at one side of the jetty and a fleet of fishing boats, big and small, on the other side. In the dark the fishing nets were readied and carried in baskets on board, the fishermen preparing for their nightly catch. We couldn’t have wished for a better first port and wouldn’t mind staying a few days.

Sunday 23rd August. E. was woken up by L.(!). It had been a quiet night, the wind only coming in at about 6am. In no time we had breakfast and made shipshape and were listening intensely to the weather forecast at half past six (wave length 927). It takes at least five minutes. In Greek, endlessly “kos” this, and “kos” that (‘kos’ meaning sea), followed by a forecast in English. Usually something happens when the forecast gets to our areas, either all of a sudden the batteries are dead, or an ear deafening motorboat starts its engine or a kaiki passes, puff puff puff. Or, as it happened on two occasions, the station just completely neglects to put on the English tape. In that case music follows…

Anyway, I think we must have been the only ones listening, sailors never being up at such time of the ‘night’ and the Greeks themselves not taking it seriously. We would listen for just one reason, to hear whether there was a gale warning. In a very low voice, at the most unexpected moment, they would flash this out. Every sea, there are at least fifteen of them, would have its own prediction. In order to have a realistic view we would always add two Beauforts for the gusts near islands. The forecast covers the area from Adriatic to Antalya and from Crete to the Black Sea, it announces wind strength and direction, visibility, waves and general expectations (‘increase or decrease of wind’). We had a slight suspicion that there was just one tape. On the 23rd of August it went as follows (in Queen’s English): “… south-west Aegean: weather fair. Visibility three to four n.miles. Wind, NNW three to five. Sea moderate to rough.” We were on the border of SW and SE Aegean so we continued listening to hear: “… five to six, later seven.” Usually we would not sail with a ‘seven’, but this time expecting the ‘seven’ to be more east, we did.

During our departure at quarter past seven from Serifos bay it was still quite calm, but by 7.30 as we rounded the peninsula and in a steady side wind, we were planing and sincerely grateful for our Proline wetsuits. It was cold and cloudy while water was flying over us the waves were increasing and growing. For n.miles and n.miles we raced on, skimming the crest of the waves, and overtaking Juno, a yacht that had left for Paros half an hour before us. The logbook reads: “As we were on our way to Antiparos we had set a lower course than Juno, however becoming on level with her, we decided to tack and approach, so that they would be able to shoot some photos. We came about and were ready to pass them our camera. (We had gone through this possible situation with them the night before). They were to catch the container with a fishnet, however the huge waves made it a hazardous manoeuvre, right at the moment when they caught the container our wind vane hooked in their stays and their fishnet in our boom… major catastrophe was close! By the time they had secured the camera, the wind had literally stopped!” The spectacular photos, Naïma riding the crests of the waves in a backlit water curtain, Louise full in the trapeze, became pictures of a little dingy somewhat lost in a big sea.

Altogether the manoeuvre had taken about half an hour, we retrieved the container which had, on our request, been thrown overboard (the safest way to get a camera across) and we both proceeded on our parting courses, they towards Paros we towards Antiparos. A quarter of an hour later, the light falling through openings between the threatening clouds, the sea changed into a even wilder landscape than before. We began to plane as we’d never done before. It felt as if we were catapulted, L. putting her full weight in and E. steering and holding on so as not to be swept overboard. We approached a jagged coastline of rocks and cliffs near to the entrance of the strait of Paros.

We had hardly time to orientate ourselves let alone navigate. Close to the entrance there should be flat little islands and a three feet shallow passage I remembered, but where was this shortcut? In the coast line we saw two dents, which was the right one? Choosing the wrong one would get us on a lee shore with braking waves we could already distinguish the fountains of foam. Relief, we headed exactly for the right one, and lifting the centreboard we planed over the flat turquoise water passing the beaches with their frying swimmers. At 11.45 we secured to a small fishing boat in the harbour of Antiparos. Having in mind a quick repair of our wind vane, a cup of coffee and then to continue to Koufonissi proved to be too optimistic, the wind increasing so much that even in the harbour it was splashing across the jetty. We had sailed twenty eight n.miles and that was it.

We stayed three, in fact, four days on the island. Daily we’d discuss the weather with one of the fishermen. It was ‘to cross or not to cross’, the only shelter being at Spilio, under the hills with the caves, still on Antiparos. We left at 10.30, wind moderate but increasing and by the time we were about to leave the strait of Paros it was still building up so we decided to seek the lonely shelter. Close to its entrance we saw lots of people swimming. However strangely, they didn’t seem to move very much. When really near we discovered them to be a row of reefs! A small jetty and a beach and later, when the wind diminished, countless stars completed the scene. The weather seemed to stabilize, so the next morning at 8.10am we set out and floated away. The project of the day: coffee at Iraklia and tea at Amorgos, however we drifted almost aimlessly around with no wind at all, so calm that we were even able to make the coffee on board in a motionless sea. It wasn’t until eleven that we saw little white caps approaching us.

Great wind, a four to five, until the light markings of Iraklia… when from one second to the next the wind dropped so abruptly that the spinnaker countered! Perhaps opportune, as I had just noticed a strange flapping of the main; we were about to lose a sail batten. Paddling, tacking, sculling and gybing (Louise fell overboard) we struggled into Iraklia’s bay. With Louise ashore for reconnaissance and food, I stayed on board to repair a torn batten pouch. At four we continued but it proved impossible to get far, we made it only to Skinoussa. In its bay we performed, looking for a jetty or a spot to drop the anchor, a nautical wonder: more than a full circle without tacking nor gibing, just tail wind!

Apart from the strange wind in the cove it is a lovely little island, a donkey road leads to a little village on the hill. The weather forecast for the next day sounded: “No significant changes, wind NNW, four to five.” At 9.20am we silently glided out of the cove, at eleven we were only two n.miles further where between the tiny islands of Agrilos and Ophidoussa we finally got wind. We started planing in a flat sea, until sailing in the lee of Keros we got more wind, now really strong. Leaving the lee of Keros and the dots of Antikeri we entered the open twelve mile stretch to Katapola on Amorgos, the waves becoming higher and the wind even stronger NNW, about the best tailwind one can imagine. I took a bearing off the beacon of Paraskos, a rock mounted with a light in fountains of spray of the wildly crashing waves, and noted on the deck with a butt of pencil the exact time we passed. Three quarters of an hour later I noted the time when we flew past the headland of Katapola. My eyes hurting from the tremendous jets of water that had almost constantly been breaking in my face, jets originated at Louise’s feet where the waves hit the boat while she hangs in the trapeze. This piece of sailing had surpassed any previous sailing we had ever done.

We entered the bay of Katapola, forcing Louise to say, “So, that’s that.” “Watch out for the gusts,” I said, and indeed a treacherous one near flattened us out. At 13.40 we moored between the fishing boats at Amorgos, already familiar to me. And at last we were able to answer the ever repeated question: “How fast are you?” Based on our bearings we were now able to say that at least on this leg we made an average of ten knots! Fully dressed in wetsuits, life vests, boots and harness, we recovered on the terrace of Stavros before diving into the bay with a bottle of shampoo. Scrambling on board again, we cleaned and dried Naïma and took the first bus to Aghia Anna to visit the famous monastery. Approaching it by the donkey path cut out in the cliff we passed through the gate and followed a couple of bends, when all at once it came in full view.

Below fallwinds were throwing themselves into the sea, down along the cliffs. A breathtaking spectacle of foamy lines and changing patterns, resembling exploding ice flowers, while from time to time an invisible force lifts the water out of the sea and sends it raging away like a curtain of water, vaporizing into billowing mist.

Although the meltemi was strong and prevented our leaving, we were quite happy to stay a few days in the harbour of Katapola.

Wednesday 2nd of September: “Wind NNW, 5 to 6, sea rough.” At 7.45am we hoisted the sails, meeting a large swell from NNW; outside the bay, with a NNE wind, we made a long tack straight into the waves in order to get away from the coast. An hour later the regular meltemi came through, so coming about we set east. Far behind us we noticed a yacht leaving Katapola, it was L’Autre Femme of the American couple Don and Bonnie, whom we knew to be also heading for Levitha.

We had some difficulty recognising the shape and lines of Amorgos, for orientation we were on the lookout for the island of Nikouria. Expecting it to be flat and small, it wasn’t until we got quite close that it turned out to be a huge sharp mountain ridge, the hazy morning light having fooled us into thinking that we’d seen the N cape of Amorgos. The sharp profile of the island, in line with the wind, suggested that it would probably not affect the wind or waves very much. Approaching it to within about half a mile we would have easily passed it, however at that moment the wind dropped and only the waves remaining, we never got that far.

Although the N cape of Amorgos seemed easily within reach, we had to gain more distance from the island. Coming about we went NNW again taking a while to get out of the windless area. Sailing n.miles away in a moderate wind until we considered the N cape really well on broad reach… For about ten minutes all went as we expected, however insidiously we became trapped in the most gruesome sea one can possibly imagine. Miles and n.miles away from the coast of Amorgos the sea turned into a crazy pattern of wild erratic waves, making it almost impossible to determine wind direction, if there was any at all. An indescribably cruel sea, colliding waves throwing Naïma into every direction. The boom slamming from side to side becoming a real danger to both of us, we had to sit cramped on the cockpit floor, holding onto the boat so as not to be thrown overboard. The jib became almost useless, flapping like a flag. In a totally incomprehensible sea, Louise was turning from yellow to green and greener, eventually feeding the fish in this ordeal. For three hours she was sicker than sick, the bare sight of the waves making her puke. Starting to question what we had taken on, we began to understand why Amorgos is so ill reputed among sailors. On her S side the outrageous fallwinds, and on her N the incredible waves. Eventually we got out of this mad witches brewing pot, how I can’t relate, possibly on a local current. Finally we passed Amorgos and her N cape.

We went great guns and moored almost half an hour earlier than L’Autre Femme to the little concrete jetty, lacking both boulders and rings, on the island of Levitha. After mooring next to us, Bonnie said to us that halfway here we seemed to have disappeared in a strange manner behind a wave? In explanation: I had asked for a cigarette and while steering with a foot and trying to light it hidden from the wind in my wetsuit and life vest, all of a sudden we broached and capsized. Bouncing in the waves I’d kept my cool and cigarette dry. Looking up I saw Louise sitting on the side of the hull holding aloft the cigarette packet. We both broke in laughter, Naïma too, seemed to enjoy it. Catching wind the spinnaker billowed out and she righted herself. Back on board, I calmly lit my cigarette, Louise stashed the packet, and we sailed on…

From Saturday the 3rd September we needed a further three days of sailing before safely arriving into the port of Kusadasi. Covering the leg from Levitha to the island of Lipsi in a regular and strong meltemi, the whole distance starboard close haul, it took us over an hour to find her port, being hidden between a scatter of tiny islands and inlets, a totally invisible approach from the sea. Finally finding her right entrance, in fierce gusts we tacked into the little harbour, the fishermen gathered in astonishment on the quay when we secured Naïma between their boats. The tiny craft that had obviously come from afar. They couldn’t understand how we coped with the waves and managed to stay afloat, let alone the acrobatics of a woman suspended by a rope from the mast keeping the boat in balance! Within minutes the entire population knew of the “micro kaiki” that had come all the way from Sounion; we had to tell our story over and over again.

Pythagorion was our last Greek port. The departure procedure costing us twenty dollars! An amount of money that is demanded from anyone who leaves Greece for Turkey, obviously a measure meant to discourage people leaving even for one day.

Before leaving for Kusadasi we vaguely heard something about wind forces 6 and 7, not minding the prospect of having another rough time it became quite a disappointment, apart from the first hour the wind was no more than a sigh. At five o’clock in the afternoon of the 5th of September we sailed sedately past the fortress on the rock at the entrance to the port of Kusadasi. We had been longing for this moment, though it meant the end of the voyage. Receiving a terrific reception at the Kusadasi marina, we were also invited by its charming director, Hasan Kacmaz, for dinner, as well as to the home and family of Mehmet, who’d been looking after my car. The marina reserved Naïma two entire pages in her guest book, and with some pride we showed the numerous seals and notes from port authorities and fellow sailors that we had collected along the trip in order to obtain proof for a mention in the Guinness Book of Records. The voyage had been one of extremes. The way one can expect it to be on the Aegean.

By habit we woke the next morning at half past six, and listened one more time to the forecast: “… wind NNW 6 to 7, visibility 3 to 4 n.miles, sea rough, no significant change expected…” We knew it by heart. In the port it was windless and steaming hot.