I was going to call this post Puppies and Porpoises… for
reasons which will become obvious.
However it isn’t technically correct so I went looking for some other
alliteration. I’ll start with nice.
Of the many enjoyable moments our crew of eight shared on
the Beneteau Cyclades 50.5 foot yacht sailing the Greek Islands
Then suddenly they’d break away and swim wide, coming back
at pace and passing under the boat so our eight transfixed spectators rushed to
the other side – kicking our toes and struggling to grab a rope hold so we
didn’t fall in the drink. Ooh and ahs
and shouts of glee accompanied each magical turn, then squinting eyes and
spinning heads as we lost sight of them for a moment: “have they gone?”… “can
you see them?”… “yes, look they’re ahead… yes, they’re off to the side”… and
back our friendly mammals would come to treat us again with cheering,
squealing, pointing and laughter. Click,
click of the cameras followed by greedy sighs: “oh, but they’re too quick for the
shutter”… until a few switched to filming rather than stills. Whatever we got by way of photos it was a
memory to be filed and savoured.
As the dolphins glided within a meter of the boat, these
much-loved creatures of the sea looked ancient, wild and untouchable. As they broke the water with their pointy
noses and sparkling eyes, flinging themselves wholeheartedly into the enjoyment
of the wave, they looked like cheeky children or psyched-up surfers – at one
with their admirers, accessible, tame. Our
faces were awash with smiles of delight and privilege; our skipper, Simon, assuring
us in all his trips he’d never seen so many dolphins playing around a boat so
long, so joyously. What a gift for our
last day, what an injection of innocent energy; an unencumbered connection with
nature. Naturally we reached for a
celebratory drink, and as we moved towards Cape Sounion
on the Attica peninsula, getting a terrific view of the impressive Temple
of Poseidon at sunset, we felt considerably luckier than King Aegeus: who, legend has it, famously threw himself
off this cliff after mistakenly believing black sails indicated his son,
Theseus, had been slain by the Minatour - a tragedy of mistaken timing and
messaging similar to Romeo and Juliet - for,
in fact, Theseus had simply forgotten to unfurl white victory sails as he
returned home from Crete after battle.
Also nice was our
decision to hire dune buggies and quad bikes to explore a couple of islands: Paros and Kithnos.
Not only did this give the boys a chance to shamelessly show off,
wherever possible scaring Emma and I sufficiently so we’d scream or hang on to
them more tightly, it also let us explore the interior of these rocky outcrops
which would have otherwise remained aloof.
The views over cliffs down to deeply blue Mediterranean seas were
reliably dramatic. But what we couldn’t
believe was the unrelenting barren landscape; not a blade of grass or crop in
sight. The only farm animals were a scattering of goats, donkeys, and one
seemingly precious cow. Some dry-rock
fences separated some ancient terraces, and the proximity of decrepit windmills
suggested grain had once been produced, but the only ‘active’ business was
fishing, restaurants and tourism cluttered around the village ports. How do they cope with so little rain
fall? How can they keep the cost of
fruit and vegetables down with so few natural resources? (Well, other than sun and sea of
course.) And how is it that an endless
panorama of rugged brown contrasted against glaringly-white Legoland buildings
with blue shutters, is so alluring? Yet
the more we traded places on our rickety vehicles and found another village or
harbour to explore, the more we took the Greek Islands
Well, until two of the vehicles broke down about eight
kilometres outside Mérikha, such that we had to be rescued by the owner who
approached us with a shake of the head and a contrite “bad day”. He had the smoke pouring out of my buggy to
worry about, poor chap. We, on the other
hand, had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves; if quietly hoping the boy’s dare-devil
speeds and 360 degree spins on the beach hadn’t contributed too directly to the
current state of affairs. Seriously
though, does every bloke turn into Michael Schumacher given half a chance? Jason certainly did and Mark was quick to
follow his example. It contrasted
nicely, anyway, with Simon’s metamorphoses over the week as he took footage for
the purposes of cutting a “how to” documentary… chatting to the camera about
sailing, history, and even yachting cooking tips… his increasingly sun-tanned
face and ebullient enthusiasm allowing him to slot comfortably into the role of
the “Yachting Man’s Steve Irwin”.
On the naughty side of this equation, we had the boy’s
perpetual cheekiness – leaving the girls never quite sure whether it was best
to match their provocative retort, or withdraw as ammunition would only give
them encouragement. For better or worse
I tend to come in on cue (theatrical training no doubt), and after growing up
with four brothers and years of experience dealing with back-stage crews, I am
happy to banter. But I also take the
bait far too predictably (damn it), so of course they reeled me in again and
again, joke after joke. It was
funny. I have no complaints. But when Simon, aka the Yachting Man’s Steve
Irwin, arranged for us to get behind the boat in the middle of the open ocean
and grab onto a long rope, thrown out from the stern to form a drag line, it
would appear he knew he could stir up trouble.
I was wearing an old bikini with a weak latch at the back. When I’d dived in the water before I had
nearly lost both top and bottom, but thankfully no-one was looking in my
direction to witness it. As soon as I
got onto the rope drag, however, and the boat started to go faster, I swung
around in the wash like a bobbing cork – my legs and arms flying this way and
that, depending on how dramatically Alex steered the boat to shake things
up. Angela fell off the tow, so I held
on tighter. Emma was barely clinging on
but our legs were banging into each other.
Simon was behind me encouraging us not to let go and lie on our backs
for better balance. Then my bikini latch
snapped to hang loose from one shoulder like a fallen scarf. “Yoo hoo” Simon shouts to the boys on the boat
“we have the puppies out”… by which time I am lying on my back in the boat’s
wash, holding on for dear life, and reluctant to roll over (even if I could
have managed it) as that had already resulted in mouthfuls of water. Of course Alex then sped the boat up more so
I had to hang on or risk being left a long way behind in deep, open, ocean. I’m used to doing quick changes back-stage so
it was no biggy, but of course the boys milked it as I eventually climbed back
up the ladder onto the boat with puppies in full view. “Well, that was worth it” they grinned. “Rope drag works every time” added the
skipper. Hmm, was Steve Irwin that
naughty?
Things had clearly relaxed between all of us by the last day; 'cause later the boys ‘topped me’ while I was
off-guard watching the dolphins. So soon
I figured “to hell with it”. I’m going
back to London
We may not have known each other a week ago, but once the puppies have been out there’s little point going back in the closet.
Naughty but nice.
