Lesbos – an island of olive trees

It was fun in Sigri to catch up with Ron, Matty, and their two Jack Russells, Captain Jack, and Sammy the Sailor. After a visit to the Museum of the Petrified Forest the next morning, we set off again round the south side of the island. He sailed into the large Kalpos Kalloni, heading for Apotheke Bay. 

You dont see too many channel markers when sailing in Greece

Captain Dick had to do proper pilotage to get Missy Bear up the shallow entrance. Basically, this means detailed, quick-time navigation, and here involved the use of two sets of shore-based leading marks, which were stone obelisks that we needed to line-up to make sure we remained in the deepest part of the channel, away from the reefs on either side. I perched on our topsides with binoculars trained on the marks, with Richard also following the route on our electronic navigation system. 

Social media abounds with rave reviews about Apotheke Bay and its clear waters. But we were both a bit underwhelmed by it; the wind and swell rendered the water uninviting, and we literally anchored up and hunkered down in the cockpit with our books.

We set off early the next morning to head around to the next big gulf on Lesvos, Kolpos Yeras. This also required some careful pilotage, but the long, narrow entrance was incredibly attractive, and we ended up in our desired location of Skala Loutra. This is a small hamlet, whose fortunes had relied on olive oil production.

There are over 11 million olive trees on Lesbos, and the tall brick chimneys of former factories are to be seen everywhere around the island. Some are still in use, while others have been converted into hotels. Lesbos still plays a significant role in Greek olive oil production.

The quay at Skala Loutra

Skala Loutra is an attractive fishing harbour and a large, sheltered anchorage on the east side of the gulf. A new quay has been built for visiting yachts and we were able to slot between a small German yacht, whose owner very kindly helped us with our lines, and a larger sailing vessel with a couple from Czechia.

After a short walk (it’s a very small hamlet), we went for a swim. We were able to access the beach via the terrace of a new, luxury hotel, recently converted from an olive-oil factory. We hoped they wouldn’t block the access in years to come. The water off the beach was incredibly shallow, and Richard headed miles off to find water deep enough to swim in, whilst I bobbed and chatted to our German-boat neighbours. We spoke a mix of German and English.

He told me that they were going to visit a museum that evening which was run by the grandson of a Greek man, who had come over to Lesbos as part of the great population exchange in 1922/23. Richard has written a blog about this huge episode of ethnic cleansing. It is a hugely sad history about the uprooting of so many families from their homelands in Turkey and Greece. People who were shipped out because of the language they spoke and the God they worshipped. The curator was opening it up specially, and in the end, six of us visited from the three boats on the quay.

We only just made it for 19:00 though, after the most amazing Hafenkino we have ever witnessed. We almost ran out of popcorn. Hafenkino is German for ‘harbour cinema’ and involved watching other boats coming in to anchor or moor up, from the safety of your moored-up boat or a taverna, with your glass of wine in hand. Admittedly, there is often a small dose of schadenfreude to be had in such situations, but most often the yachting community will rush to help those having difficulties.

There we were, contemplating a shower before our museum visit, when a yacht came charging in. I won’t mention the flag but the vertical striped tri-colour might be a hint. Three people on board, a tall man at the bow holding the anchor windlass handheld control, a woman sitting in the cockpit, and a second man, sitting at the helm, shouting at a level that could be heard across the bay. None of them seemed to have any idea of what to do.

They tried to come into the quay at one angle and nearly t-boned the German yacht. They then dropped the anchor in various places and failed to get the boat back to the quay. Finally, they dropped the anchor around a corner in front of a fishing trawler, and backed on to the quay. All of these manoeuvres were accompanied by extremely loud, aggressive yelling from M. Shouty on the helm.

By this time, Richard, the German guy and the Czech guy were all on the quay trying to help, with Richard suggesting actions to help (in French, ooh, what a give-away). Although M. Shouty admitted to Richard that “I am not very good at zees”, he wanted to do everything himself, and ignored most of the constructive suggestions.

At one point, even madame got involved. She explained that the yacht owner was at the bow on anchor duty, because he hated mooring up. So, he’d asked his friend to do it. But his friend had never sailed before. She herself had no experience and seemed to be keeping a dignified aloofness. M. Shouty was clearly a complete novice. And quite stressed.

Although they were now stern-to the quay, it transpired that the owner on the bow hadn’t actually been letting the anchor chain run as they reversed, so they had very little chain down. As soon as they tried to tighten the chain, the anchor appeared just below the surface! Whoops. Not only that, but they had tied their anchor chain in a spaghetti knot around their windlass and could neither pull it in nor let it out. M. Shouty required a hammer, which the Czech chap provided.

Eventually, they realised that a successful parking was beyond them, and decided to leave. In their hurry, M. Shouty then untied the wrong (windward) stern line, and almost blew into the downwind German yacht for a second time.

While all this was going on, I was chatting to a Swiss couple, Christa and Rinaldo, in the taverna, who were also watching the proceedings. They were anchored in the bay so had no fear of damage to their boat. They were very complimentary about Richard’s calm French instructions. They were also heading around to Mytelini marina, so we said we’d probably see them there.

Possessions brought by the Greek refugees

After the excitement of boat-parking, we all found the museum incredibly sad. It was very well looked after, but the destruction of so many families was almost unbearable to discover. There were lots of items that the families had managed to keep and transport, including children’s toys and clothes. In a way, it was almost a relief to get to our taverna for dinner. The Czech couple joined us. The German couple wanted to as well, but had made reservations elsewhere, so we said we’d catch up again.

After quiet night, we sailed along the south coast and up the east coast to Mytilini, avoiding a million fishing-pots dropped in the approaches to the harbour, and only marked with tiny floats and flags. They weren’t easy to see until you were almost on top of them. Some were even in the entrance to the harbour.

Mytilini marina had been very efficient, and when we radioed in that we had arrived, the marinero came out on his RIB to guide us in to a space designed for a yacht somewhat narrower than Missy Bear. We are used to this with Leros marina, but this space was actually impossible to get into. The marinero radioed base, and then indicated that we should follow him, and we ended up alongside the furthermost concrete quay, with a view of the boatyard and the coastguard boat, who seemed to come and go at all hours. Safely tied up, Richard set to, hosing down Missy Bear.

Mytilini old town is a labrynth of small streets with all sorts of bars and shops, that is known locally as the old market-place. We had dinner there one night, and was asked if we were paying card or cash. When we replied card, we were told that we would need to pay for the meal beforehand, or course by course if we were having multiple courses. We blinked in astonishment and queried this. To cut a long story short, the explanation is that a new - and unreliable - point of sale (POS) system is being implemented across Greece, and everyone is struggling with it. If you don’t have the new POS equipment, then you have to request the customer to pay like this.

Mytiline town architecture, showing Ottoman influences

We said we’d been in Greece for ten weeks and we were aware of the new system, but no-one had asked us to do this. But apparently, they had been told that there were tax inspectors in the area, and a taverna could be fined a lot if they didn’t comply. The taverna owner went to get the president of the local bar and restaurant association to explain this to us as being bona fide.

Mind you, it could have been his brother. Happily, the food was excellent