Today’s word association test; when I say the word “Epirus” what comes to your mind?
Nothing? Come on you must have something! No?
Actually you’re not alone. Most non-Greeks have never heard of Epirus.
To satisfy your curiosity, it’s the region on the west coast of Greece that faces towards Corfu. It’s bounded by Albania to the north and stretches down to the southern Ionian Sea. It’s fairly remote and is a place that people pass through rather than have as a destination. But it’s not without its history, charms and special places.
Mourtos-Sivota is one of these. Sivota is a little fishing village that is now popular with sailors and usually fairly busy. This year, although there are boats, the cafes and restaurants around the harbor are empty. People are pinning their hopes of saving this season on the English (maybe) arriiving in August. If they don’t, it will be their second bad year in a row.
This is August - where are the tourists?
Lori willing to play her part in supporting the local economy at a quayside restaurant.
Typical (gorgeous) Mourtos sunset
Apart from the charms of traditional little village, this place is perfectly located to offer great sunset views over to Corfu - most evenings you just have to wait a little and a great photo opportunity evolves in front of you.
One of the diverting features of an anchorage like this is the jockeying for the “perfect” spot to anchor. It would be wrong to say that there are national stereotypes in this regard but there are strong correlations that should no be ignored. Italians, for example, will tend to park closer to you than you think is comfortable. This is not so much a character flaw but rather an interesting quirk or trait.
Usually when a boat is parking close to us, Lori calls me to let me know.
I say, “What’s their flag?”
Lori says “Italian”.
I say “Normale (Italian for “as normal”) and we go about our business.
On the other hand if it’s a charter boat with a crew of unspecified origin and experience, the response is more like “Oh sh*t!”
Back to the Italians - One anchors close to us. Lori points out that they might be just a bit too close and they say don’t worry the wind will sort it out. A few hours later the wind is showing no inclination to sort anything out and sheepishly they move their boat a few boat lengths farther away. A second Italian boat arrives and tries to park where a little motorboat has a mooring. It is clear that if they park there they will damage the little boat - clear that is except to the skipper. He is told to move. He does so - right into the swimming area (which is buoyed off to prevent swimmers being injured by boats). Many official whistles sound on the shore and he is told to move again. He does, finally, to a safe distance.
The last act of this little drama comes when we leave. No issues except that as soon as we pull up our anchor, the first Italian boat does the same and scoots quickly into the space we are vacating. Apparently our spot was the best of all.
Socially distant sunbathers
After spending a few days in Sivota, we move south. We have three possible anchorages - two of which we have used before so this time we want to try the third. The bay is called Fanari and the little resort town is called Ammoudia. It’s a low key beach resort which seems to cater mostly for Greeks. It’s perfect for swimming and sunbathing. It’s pretty good for anchoring too - wide open with plenty of room to swing at anchor.
But this seemingly unremarkable little resort town occupies a significant place in the darker side of Greek mythology. (Come to think of it, is there a brighter side to Greek mythology?) Anyway, Ammoudia sits on the backs of a river called Acheron. Acheron is/was one of the five rivers of the Greek underworld and known as “the river of woe”.
The newly-dead would be ferried across this river by the boatman Charon and enter into Hades. Those who had been neutral in life simply sat about on the river banks. It would be nice to believe that the Jimmy Cliff song “Sitting in Limbo”had its origins here, but somehow I doubt it.
I guess the Gates of Hell aren’t as intimidating as they used to be
A very nice new marina
Our final stop in Epirus is the town of Preveza. Those of you with long memories will recall they this used to be our base when we started sailing. For the last four years we’ve been based in Brindisi but this year, due to COVID and other factors, it looks like we’ll be back.
A new marina has been built and it is really quite nice. One of our neighbors, somewhat unkindly, said that he likes the place because it does not feel Greek. We know what he means but there has to be a better way to put it.
We park in the marina with the “assistance” of a marinero who is young and appears to have not been on the job very long. He has been told a process to follow and he insists that every boat follow this process whether it is wholly appropriate or not. We’re frustrated but put it down to us being rusty after two years off. However, the skipper of the Norwegian boat that berths after us also has the process imposed on him. He’s is not happy with this; he looks like either he’s going to have a heart attack from doing needlessly stressful things or he’s going to use the marinero as a boat anchor. Tempers don’t quite flare but things are tense for a while.
When you go to a new marina you have to check in with boat papers, insurance etc. Normally this is not difficult but in times of COVID things are not normal.
I am wearing a mask; there is a plexiglas screen between me and the young lady (Sara) behind the desk; Sara is also wearing a mask.
“I would like to check in True Colors”
“You have two cars?”
“No I’d like to check in True Colors”
“How long do you want parking spaces for the two cars?”
“No .. I’d like to check in True Colors.”
Meanwhile the two other people in the office are cracking up and have been happy to let this misunderstanding go on for its entertainment value alone. They finally explain to Sara what I want. Everyone is laughing.
So, the next time I go back to the office. I say I’m from True Colors and everyone laughs again and says “Two cars?” Apparently now everyone on the marina staff knows about the boat caller “Two Cars”. We are famous.
The view from the marina rooftop restaurant at night.
The new marina comes with a new restaurant - only opened about six weeks before our arrival
With food to match the view
Preveza has always been a bustling little working town where much of the activity takes place on the town quay. This year “bustling” is not a plus-point so we tend to stay away from restaurants in the town, especially in the evening. It’s hard to know which of the many people of many nationalities are “COVID-safe.”
We employ prudence and discretion and take advantage of the new restaurant at the marina. - open air with a steady breeze and no hustle or bustle.
Fortunately, our next leg will take us into the Ionian proper where there are islands and bays for us to anchor in. The physics of anchoring imposes its own rigorous social distancing and we are pretty much always 30 meters from any other boats and people. (Except, of course, where Italians are involved. But you know about that already.)