We made it to Rhenia, and it didn’t take long to admit the obvious — sailing, for the moment, was not the activity. The meltemi had other ideas .. The wind came charging down from the north like it owned the Aegean, flattening the sea. Even at anchor the rigging hummed and the halyards slapped restlessly against the mast. It wasn’t dangerous exactly — but it wasn’t peaceful either.
We dropped a second anchor for good measure. The water was impossibly clear — that transparent Aegean blue that makes the anchor chain look as if it’s floating in air. The boat tugged and sheered but held firm, nose into the wind like a stubborn mule..
So out came the toys and the foils for Ian and completely, gloriously abandoned island walks for me for a couple of days as we waited for the wind and swell to drop.
Any thought of pushing on to Mykonos felt theatrical and unnecessary. Why bash into it? Why wrestle for the sake of ticking a box?
Strong wind or not, we had found the real activity. Staying ..
The gusts still came charging down, touching 7 and sometimes more, but there were pauses now. Breathing spaces. The sea beyond the bay no longer looked like torn aluminium; it had texture again.
It was time. Across the strait, Mykonos shimmered in the distance. Close enough to tempt us. Close enough to remind us we couldn’t hide on an island forever. Elvire 3 wasn’t at 100%. The bent mast fitting we’d jury-rigged earlier in the week was holding, but it had changed the way we felt onboard. Every gust was no longer just wind — it was a question mark.
written : 2023
