If you are sitting in Montenegro (as we were) and want to go to Greece by boat, you have only a couple of options. The first is to sail straight down the middle of the Adriatic and make landfall in Corfu. The big disadvantage of this is that the distance is about 180 miles which translates into 30 hours non-stop sailing with at least one overnight session. This is not impossible (we’ve done it before) but it takes a toll if there are only two of you. Sleep-walking while trying to park your boat is not a recipe for success.
The other alternative is to go over to Italy, spend a few days there and then cross back to Corfu. Both of these sails are overnight but they are comparatively less distance and less stressful that the “one-and-done” approach. Since we have to go back to Brindisi anyway to pick up a replacement chartplotter, this is the option we choose.
The difficulty with this option is that the Adriatic is a sizable body of water - in these parts about 90-100 miles wide - and the winds can tend to funnel right down it. Additionally there is a phenomenon in Croatia known as the “bura”. While this really just means a northeast wind, sailors use it to describe a seriously strong wind that does indeed come from that direction but at speeds anywhere between 40 and 100 knots (45 - 115 mph). In case you’re unsure, this is to be avoided when sailing. The striking things about this wind are that it comes with relatively little warning and that its effects can b e felt all the way across the Adriatic to Italy.
The image above is from our chartplotter. if you look carefully, you will see the outline of the Italian coast in the bottom left third of the plot and in the top right you can make out the coasts and islands of Croatia and Montenegro. The bit in-between is the Adriatic. This plot is of the winds. As you might guess “red” is not good. And you can see how the impact of the winds from the Balkans flows all the way to Italy.
In Italy, while we’ve been away, the weather has been truly weird. It’s June in the south of Italy and that white thing is a hailstone!
A bura is forecast for the time we are thinking about leaving. if we can’t get out before it we’ll be stuck in Montenegro for another 3-4 days. But we have to be prudent. So we keep ourselves in a state of readiness in a safe harbor and monitor the weather. A window that was too small for us to cross through suddenly opens up and we think we can make it. As I check out, the harbormaster says “There’s a bura coming”. But I ask him to look at his latest update (on a weather service we don’t have) and he confirms my view. Based on our conservative average speed we will make it with four hours to spare before the storm hits - 20% “squish”.
We set sail and sail (i.e. no use of the engine) for more than half the way at an average of almost 8 knots. Wonderful! And very helpful for storm avoidance. The wind drops and becomes unfavorable for sailing, so we motor the rest of the way to Brindisi without any problem. You may wonder how we deal; with the stress of overnight sailing. Here is one element of Lori’s arduous training - creative ways to eat cherries.
Four hours later, right on cue, the storm hits. This is not the kind of weather to be out in.
We have our usual slow pace of problem resolution at the boatyard but we are eventually ready to leave for Corfu seven days later. Before we go we stock up with wine. Greece has many strong points but their wine is not one of them. They have much to learn from the Italians. So we set out for one of our favorite producers. But it turns out we’re not exactly sure where it is, so we meander through small villages near Brindisi until we find the place.
You can buy wine in bottles here but Italians generally don’t do it that way. They prefer the gas pump approach. With a suitable 5-liter container, you can have your choice of four of the wines they put in bottles but at less than 25% of the price. We should be good for a month in Greece!
Despite the previous storm having passed and having enjoyed some days of fine weather, another storm is forecast. This time it’s n to quite so bad, we have a 36 hour window in which to make a 20-hour windless motor-sail. We grasp the opportunity and have one of the most peaceful and placid overnights we can remember. The water is oil-dark in the light of a three-quarter moon; a few ferries and passenger ships glide by us; a fisherman is on the VHF worrying about sailboats (not us) getting tangled in his nets; at night the coast of Albania is so dark that it’s hard to believe that anyone lives there.
We are tired but we park uneventfully in Gouvia Marina outside Corfu and I head off to check-in to Greece. Normally, I don’t really dwell on the check-in process here, but this time it’s special. This process has always been bit obscure in Greece and a minefield for the uninitiated.
This year, after many previous failed attempts, they have introduced a new tax system for cruising yachts and you can start the process online - in theory.
You will remember the old saying, “In theory, there’s no difference between theory and practice; in practice, there is”. And the Greeks have decided to implement a system that is true to this maxim.
On the way over, I have filled out my first bureaucratic Greek form. All such forms (no matter what the country) ask some strange questions. For this one, as a non-optional part of my personal details, I have to give my mother and father’s names. There is no conceivable way they can use or check this information. I could have put Minnie and Mickey Mouse and they would not know. But that is playing with fire - bureaucracies can be vindictive if they think you’re not taking them seriously.
My first stop is the Port Police - this is kind of like the Harbormaster. they have a small office in the marina and there is a cluster of six or so people waiting outside in the shade of the trees. I feel like we’re the followers of Socrates waiting for his lessons to begin. Sadly no; much more prosaic.
After about an hour, I get my turn. The nice lady notes my details and that I have a completed tax form.
“Good!” she says, “But now you have to take this to the Customs to get your cruising permit and pay the tax”
“Where’s that?” I ask.
“In town”
“In town?”
“Yes. Bring back your receipt and I can let you sail on from here”.
“In town” is a fifteen-minute cab ride to the ferry terminal. Here I sit for 90 minutes outside the customs office waiting for the customs person to deal with the two people in front of me. Eventually, I am sitting in front of him; the nice lady from the Port Police has let him know I am coming; he is ready for me.
I eagerly show him the paper copy of my electronic tax form. He looks at it with a totally uninterested glance and says, “It’s easier for me to do it than use your form”.
I don’t know what the Greek definition of “easier” is but his 45-minute process is grindingly soul-destroying. Some data can be entered into his computer, but the rest is done by hand. It involves the use of carbon paper to make multiple copies - all those of you under 30 should look “carbon paper” up in Wikipedia (it comes just after “papyrus”). I have to write my full name and sign at least five times. As in Italy any kind of bureaucratic process involves stamping the documents. However it does not seem to have struck anyone that quintuplicate forms that use carbon paper must necessitate five separate stamps - one for each of the copies.
But in the end it is done.
As I am leaving, I ask him about an island we might visit on the way back to Italy. His eyes light up and a big smile comes over his face. “It’s lovely there”, he says, “The color of the water is so beautiful. It’s great for swimming.” His whole expression says “if only I were there now”.
I say, “We love it too.”
He shakes my hand with an even bigger smile and says “Enjoy your time here.”
By the time I get back to the marina the Port Police is, of course, closed for the day. And this is where the storm that we dodged on the way here comes back into the picture.
The winds build up as the evening draws on, the skies darken not just with the oncoming night and the storm breaks over us. By just before midnight we have 30-knot winds, rain and lightning.
No problems really, but the nearest lightning strike seems to hit the village behind the marina. The next morning the marina has no power - this means the Port Police have no power and their office is closed for the morning at least.
We try to be proactive and go through the other vital ritual when you arrive in a new country - getting a data SIM card for our wi-fi router. In general, in Europe, these are pretty cheap; much cheaper, I would say, than the US. And, in theory, you can roam with these cards across the whole of the EU without incurring roaming charges. Neat! But, here we go again, this is “in theory”. Someone has worked out that there might be an arbitrage opportunity if you buy a SIM card in one country and use it in another. S0 they limit the roaming usage to something that is useless for our purposes. Hence the ritual visit to a telecom store.
There is one walking distance away. It is called “Tech-it-easy”. But the owner is not taking it easy - he has no power either. A tech store without power is like a bookstore without lights - all the products are there but you can’t really use them. He is not happy. He does not know when power will return.
He says, “Usually when this happen s ….” “Usually?” “It happens quite a bit”, he says with a sigh. “Sometimes they are planned, sometimes they’re not.”
We leave. Power is returned to the marina in the afternoon but the Port Police is too busy for us to wait and the tech store has closed for the day.
The next morning the tech store still doesn’t have power and we activate Plan B. We take a bus ride into Corfu Town. We’re getting pretty bold these days; where we used to take taxis, we now take buses - way cheaper and almost as convenient. (And, for those of you under 40, there is no “Uber option”)
Corfu Town is unlike any other in Greece. It’s more reminiscent of Valletta in Malta than it is of anywhere on the Greek mainland. It’s not a surprise really. Corfu, like Malta, has been at the intersection of shipping lanes for thousands of years.
As a result the architectural and cultural influences are many and varied.
It has a great atmosphere and it is a very pleasant place to relax and watch the people go by.
It has a lot of British influences that date back to the time that Britain governed the island, and a lot of British tourists..
The croquet lawn is next to the cricket pitch
After an enjoyable afternoon, it’s back to the chores in hand. There are a few telecom stores in Corfu Town and we seek out the recommended one. On the surface it looks like any telecom store -sleek smartphones on the wall, glitzy ads for fiber delivery on large screens on the wall - all creating an enticing view of the near future. Remember that thing about theory and practice? This is the “theory”.
In practice, we are in a line of about three customers; there are four people serving (two of whom serve the same customer throughout our whole visit. It takes over an hour to reach the head of the line.
The process is simple but, inevitably, involves paperwork that is somehow difficult for the store person to fill out. She seeks help. It is swift and decisive. She stumbles onwards and completes the order. We get a SIM card. We ask “Can you activate it for us?”
With a deeply troubled expression she takes out her personal phone to execute the activation. Her phone is not a smartphone, her phone has a monochrome screen with that strange numeric keypad we all used to use fifteen years ago where three letters are associated with each digit and you have to make multiple key presses to get the letter you want. Or not.
It takes her half an hour to activate our SIM card - mostly spent dealing with typing errors. We are frustrated/demoralized. Lori has looked like she wanted to bite someone’s head off for the last hour. We wonder how these people survive in the modern world (but I think I said that already). For Greeks, a phone store must be something like purgatory where they can see the promised land but, as a result of some unspecified failing, they are destined to never attain it. It is fortunate that the Greeks generally have a sunny disposition - otherwise the suicide rate would be sky high.
The next day, I wait another hour outside the Port Police to get our clearance to leave. The officer is dismissive of the new system. “You need a degree in astrophysics to work it out.” The paper ledger works just fine for him and with our entry safely there and our Transit Log in my bag, we can head south to our old stomping grounds.