We are no longer in the protected Argolic Gulf where winds are relatively mild and predictable and a bubble of just having moved on board had somehow kept us in our own little world. If I had to pin point the end of this first chapter of being live-aboards, I would say it came in the shape of a twelve boat British flotilla. Within a couple of hours we went from being the only boat on the South side of Ermioni’s peninsula, to being squeezed in left, right and centre by one week charter cruisers. Used to space and privacy, we had just finished our Chai and coffee and were about to attack more boat work during the boys’ siesta time when one by one they tickled in. Twelve opportunities to learn more about Mediterranean style mooring which has you drop your anchor several boat lengths in front of your bow as you head stern to towards a quay.
A few hours later, Nick hopped on board to spend an awesome and insightful week with us. We fixed the engine which needed a big cuddle, revived the anchor wash pump, inspected the rigging, climbed the mast and got the boat into shipshape. There were moments when ‘why’ was racing through my head at 500 miles per hour and a repetition rate of 3/second. Why are we complicating our lives by moving it on board of a boat? Aren’t two toddlers enough of an adventure?
Diving for mast steps left on the transom and shook off by the ferry wash in a harbour where your neighbour’s toilet waste is probably one of the cleanest things to be found in the water wasn’t much fun. Neither are the continuous searches for manuals, tools and other stuff which disappear mysteriously. And sometimes even beautiful moments – like when you sail into the picture perfect harbour and find yourself the last spot on the town quay between nice neighbouring boats just as the sun is setting – can be so overwhelming that the tears draw a fine line between joy and a sweet kind of sadness. There’s moments like this, and moments like those, no matter what life one choses. The main switch is always somewhere inside.