We slipped anchor and left Mykonos behind, pointing Elvire’s bow toward Tinos. The wind was with us — steady, clean, and strong enough to make things interesting. Sails up, lines trimmed, and Elvire 3 leaned happily into it. After a lazy morning coffee, the boat suddenly felt alive again.
There’s something about a good day’s sailing that resets everything. The sea was a deep Aegean blue, textured with whitecaps, and Elvire cut through it with confidence. Spray flicked over the bow, laughter carried down the cockpit, and for once we didn’t need the engine — just wind and sail doing what they were meant to do.
Then Ian shouted. - Off the port side — dolphins.
At first just one curved back breaking the surface, then another, and another. A whole pod joined us, gliding effortlessly alongside the boat as if we’d been invited into their world. They darted beneath the bow, racing the hull, surfacing in perfect arcs. For several minutes they stayed with us, matching our speed, weaving in and out of the wake as though Elvire 3 were just another playful companion in the open water.
By late afternoon, Tinos rose ahead of us — more rugged, less flashy than Mykonos, but quietly beautiful. We eased into harbour tired in the best possible way: sun-kissed, salt-streaked, satisfied after a proper day under sail.
Tinos was about wind, water, and a perfect meal at the end of it. And as we walked back to the harbour under a quieter sky, Elvire resting patiently where we’d left her, it felt like the rhythm of the trip had shifted again — back to sailing, back to the sea.
written : 2022
