Where am I?

Do you ever have that feeling of waking up and wondering where you are? It’s happened to me on and off over the years – sleeping in strange beds and plenty of unfamiliar rooms for a variety of reasons!

Although we’re always on board the same boat, outside the locations change and so do our neighbours. The other day I woke up to the sound of New Zealand accents on the adjacent yacht and popping my head out on deck, I was greeted by a friendly voice, “How are you this morning?” A few days earlier it had been German accents and before that French.

Our neighbours over the past few weeks have been varied and many. It’s been one of the many joys of this extended trip, getting to meet so many sailors from different parts of the world and often mooring up beside them again at different anchorages and greeting them like old friends, sharing stories of where we’ve been in between and what we’ve seen, along with the inevitable sailing nightmare tales! They’ve also been on hand to help with ropes and getting moored in harbours in various strengths of wind, everyone has been helpful and kind.

The other morning I woke up in the saloon of the boat, as the cabin had got too hot in the night. I couldn’t remember where we were and even more confusing was hearing the twang of “Kiwi accents” again. I’d forgotten that having left this friendly family behind a few days earlier, we’d found ourselves moored next to them again the previous afternoon in a new location.

I’ve loved the friendliness of fellow sailors. The other day, the skipper of a boat anchored across from us in a bay swam over to chat about our sun canopy. He explained how he and his wife had sailed here from Brittany. We talked about our Devon flag and places he loved in England, especially Cornwall. When left he said, “We’re practically cousins!”

In our favourite port on the island of Alonnisos we found our new neighbours were a couple who’d been stranded in Australia during lockdown, and their lovely wooden boat had been damaged, but they hadn’t been able to get back to it. He was a native greek with a shock of white hair and he and his Australian partner shared tips with us on easy meals to cook on board along with sailing tales from around the islands. We nicknamed her ‘Shirley Valentine’ and wished them well with their boat rebuilding in the coming months as we upped anchor and set sail again.

Today we chatted with our new Danish neighbours about places to visit and last night we were back onboard yacht Zigzag – sharing a few glasses of wine with a Cornish couple, we keep meeting up with and who are now anchored a few metres away in this idyllic bay.

When we swam before breakfast this morning, it felt as if we were in our own giant swimming pool. Even in the deep water around the boat the seabed was so clear you could see each little pebble and rock far below.

As we move into the twilight of our time in Greece, for now, it’s clear our little boat is in need of some repair work. Over the past few weeks we’ve both become intimately acquainted with a sponge and bucket that has been filled up daily after each trip from water leaking down below! I’m thinking of buying one as a reminder of the adventure.

In the meantime, I’m gazing across at lush pine trees lining the shore above a bank of white rocks reflecting in the sparkling water. Apart from the heat and the temperature of the water, we could be anchored down the Fal in Cornwall! And I’m reminded that we have plenty of beautiful places to rediscover on our return home.

I’m also wondering how strange it will feel sleeping in a real bed that doesn’t rock and has space to move, or taking a long shower without being worried about using too much water.

But I may well wake up in a couple of weeks and wonder where on earth I am!

Intrepid travellers

Planes, trains and automobiles – that’s where I’ve been for the past few weeks. I’m not complaining – honest! I love travelling, seeing new places, meeting new people. I even thought I was quite an adventurer, until the other day.

Last year I spent a couple of days exploring Bangkok on my own before buckling down to a series of meetings. This Spring I flew out to Botswana where I was immersed into African life, while attempting to capture stories and activities from a host of people from southern Africa. On my return, I was buzzing but exhausted. Then after a short turn around I was back on a plane to Greece for more of the same

 

I thought that was busy until I watched the BBCs Race Across the World series the other day. Five couples, then four, were racing each other from London to Singapore. They weren’t allowed to fly. They were given a limited amount of cash and their mobile phones and credit cards were taken off them. It was a challenge. But most of all it was an incredible adventure. My recent flights and wanderings paled into insignificance. I have great admiration for all those who took part and the way they were changed as they responded to each twist and turn of the road. I loved the way some of them got chatting to locals and asked for help, directions, even money. Over the 50 days travelling there were dozens of sleeper trains and buses with varying degrees of discomfort and the couples even had to work their passage, which ranged from serving in a Turkish bazaar café to cutting down rice by hand in the soaring heat. 

Spoiler alert! 

The winning pair were older than me and battled through aches and pains and bad backs to triumph in the end. Who would have thought a couple of teachers from Yorkshire would outrun their competition?

But they’re not the only travellers I’ve been in awe of this week. I’ve borrowed a friend’s book and I’m going to recommend it, even though I’m not even half way through. It’s all about a journey. Reading the cover, it sounded just like the kind of thing I’d love to do. Walk the 600 plus miles of the South West Coast Path from Somerset to Dorset – we’ve even started totting up little local sections of it here in Dorset. But this is so much more than a walking book.

The Salt Path, by Raynor Winn is a humbling story. It starts with a series of disasters and tragedies that would send any marriage over the edge. It’s against this backdrop that this 50 something homeless, penniless couple set out on a walk one summer. It’s hard to sit comfortably while you read about their struggle to survive, to live on dandelions and thyme crumbled into rice and scrape together some change for a cup of tea in a pub, where they dry their sodden clothes. They’re not experts, they don’t have all the kit, but they want to walk and they hope that in walking they will find some answers.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, they’re still in north Devon right now and I’m dying to catch up with them again.

One thing it’s showing me is, that I’m not really an intrepid traveller… not yet anyway.