Empowerment, defeat, and humility

I felt like I could take on the world after we left Missalonghi.  We didnt like the harbor, so we left with a freshly cleaned boat, sweet-clean smelling clothes, fully provisioned, and feeling fully empowered.  We had a beautiful sail to Kryoneri, where we quickly realized it not a viable harbor for an overnight.  So we hoisted the sails and went screaming across the gulf toward our next destination, Navpaktos.  Awesome...this is why sailors sail.  Fifteen knots on a beam reach, it felt like we would just surf our way in before dinner.

Per protocol, I called the bridge traffic coastguard 5 miles out from the Rion bridge.  Yep, that is us: Sailing vessel Why Knot: Whiskey, Hotel, Yankee...Kilo, November, Oscar, Tango, heading is westbound, 5 nm from bridge, requesting permission pass.  Yes, our mast is 5-0; 50 in height.  Duh...I can only imagine the traffic control dudes looking to the west of the bridge (not east,as eastbound boast come from the west because they go to the east) while looking for a monster of sailboat that I described with a 50 meter mast.  Our mast is 50 feet, not fifty meters.  They let me pass through with a very wide berth, wondering what the hell was wrong with either me or their radios...like the former.

No matter, we are through the bridge and still making great time for Navpaktos.  Maybe feeling more humbled by my faux pas, but I am sure it happens to everyone.  

We pull into a miniature harbor in Navpaktos, as the pilot book promised.  The harbor is surrounded by a midevil fortress with a storybook castle above on the hill.  There are great restaurants and tourist shops but not the usual tired crap that we see in every tourist town.  Here, we have antique shops, bookstore/restaurants, a kid-friendly beach with a bona-fide playground.  It is sweet sweet sweet.  We drop the anchor and pull into one of the three spots available for overnighting.  The wind had kicked up to 18 knots outside the harbor, so we felt incredibly lucky to find a spot to moore.

I wasnt so comfortable, however, with the mooring situation.  Our stern seemed a bit too close to the ledge, which we noticed also had scarey pieces of metal protruding outward.  We did not drop our anchor far enough out (2 boatlengths seemed perfectly reasonable at the time), so there was little we could do to pull ourselves forward ( think of the angle...the further out you are, the better the leverage to pull yourselves forward.  In contrast, if your anchor angled downward, there is less run to pull you forward).  So there we were, not very comfortable with the situation, but not much we could do except re-anchor.  After weighing the 'devil-you-know-for-the-devil-you-dont', reanchoring seemed to be a great option.  Only one problem.  The engine would not start.

I did not know at the time but we had a fauly relay switch AND a bad start button.  The start button had been flaky from time to time, but it was just an idiosyncracy of our boat since we bought it, but the boat always started.   That is, until yesterday.

I called Code in to the recue, and as always, he delivered.  I reached him at 2 am my time and learned how to hot-wire the boat two different ways.  By morning, we could start the engine, pull up the anchor, and move the boat two a better spot on the wall of the harbor.  By the time I hung up with him, I was comforted, empowered, and ready for a much more comfortable spot in our harbor.  

The kids and I woke up, had some breakfast, and before I was finished my coffee Aethan and scoped out our new spot.  We were ready to go, Aethan was at the bow, and I hot wired the boat to start it.  Nothing happened.  Then I tried not-wiring method #2.  Still nothing.  Empowerment starts to wither.

Coast guard dude shows up needing us to do routine overnighting paperwork.  I mention that we are having electrical issues starting th engine and he calls for backup.  Big greek guy in coveralls shows up sometime later, diagnosis our problem with the obvious (need new start button), then he, in turn, calls for back up.  He also showed me a 3rd and far scarier method of hotwiring, which is where I believe the term 'hot wiring' takes its name as it involves inserting a screwdriver deep into the bowels of the engine, some smoke, and alot of sparks. The back-up electrician at least spoke some english and I was able to explain our situation thus far.  Between him and Code on the phone with me, he fixes the start button, which was part of the problem, but not all of is as the engine STILL would not start.  Turns out there was an issue with a relay between the alternator and the house battery.  Of course...why didnt I think of that?

Nonetheless, he fixed it all for the sumof 30 Euros ($50);a bargain considering how important it is to have an engine when boating.

Back to Act I.  Aethan is at the bow, I start the engine (seemlessly, I might add).  Aethan raises the anchor to find it embedded in nothing less than what appeared to be the contents of Sanford and Son's junkyard.  I counted 2 anchors (one kedge one danforth), a propellor still attached to the drive shaft, 2 heavy ropes, and a rusty crab trap.  I thought there was money in scrap metal.  If so, there is a goldmine here in the center of Navkaptos Harbor.  We tried fruitlessly to free ourselves, motoring forward and back; port to starboard; raising and lowring the anchor.  No dice.

We lowered the dinghy from the deck into the water.  It is partly deflated, much like me at that point, but still functioning.  I called Code for advice and the best next step was to tie a trip line (a line on the distal end of the anchor which allows you to empty the contents of the anchor like tipping a basket).  I was able to raise the anchor enough and, with a mask and snorkel, reach deep enough, to tie a line through the trip-line attachment of the anchor.  With that, we decided that since life gave us some lemons and the anchor was no-doubt-about-it anchored, we may as well re-attach our stern lines to the wall. In doing so, we ended up quite cock-eyed and not at all square against the wall.  Worse yet, while motoring in backward, our prop picked up another mooring line and it fouled around our prop.  By this time, I was feeling defeated.  We were in a harbor with hundreds of tourists, locals, and fishermen casually watching this unfold over 2 hours.  No one stopped to offer assistance.  Of course, I dont expect it, but maybe I do as I was clearly having trouble, and clearly doing this alone (well, sort of, Aethan is ahuge help). With Aethan on Jellyfish watch, I take my knife and jump overboard.  Not feeling at all confident that I could do much, but instead, soldiering onward due to the lack of any alternative.  Three, four, maybe five dives later, I manage to cut the prop free.  

At this point, it all becomes a blur.  I know I tried calling the harbor master to have no reply.  A man, George, offers to help pull in our stern, which made us stable, at least in the moment.  George leaves, the line previously wrapped around the prop, the line which I had freed us, was the only thing keeping us from swingling beam on into the other fishing boats along the port side.  At least having the prop freed allowed me to start the engine to move us off, until I foul the prop again,with the remainder of the rope on the mooring line.  I freed us again. I again called Code, but this time I was completely defeated and the tears just gushed forth.  What the fuck am I supposed to do, and why the fuck is nothing going right and everything is instead going wrong?

A cry is a good thing.  Stress gone, but situation no better, we devise a plan to at least stabilize the boat until tomorrow.  By now it is 3 pm.   I can put spring lines in from mid-ship to the wall astern which will keep our bow pointed out.  Stern lines will further stablize the boat on the wall. The stern has all 8 fenders keeping the transom (stern) off the wall.  Plan in place and ready to go, George shows up and offers more help.  Seems that he had been in a similar situation in Kephalonia this summer.  So I am not alone. 

All I needed at this point was muscle.  George pulled, I tied, and Aethan dropped the anchor to further reduce the our pull to port (and the props of the 1/2 dozen fishing boats that we were pulled to).  We are at least stable.  Thank you George for being the one person, after a 4 hour struggle alone in the middle of a busy harbor to help me out.  He later commented that people here just never help out sailors in trouble.  They watch, comment, all very indifferently.  They are not sailors themselves so they have not found themselves in situations like these, and on top of that, it is small town, so there is an element of bashfulness among their neighbors.  George was brought up in NY, and despite the bad wrap, a New Yorker (or, for that matter, any east-coaster) will go out of their way to help another.  I dont know where the bad wrap originates, but I have never found it to be the case.  I was grateful for his not being afraid, whatsoever, to help.

I am scared to face the anchor tomorrow.  I will swim out and take a look, maybe take the scuba tank incase I am able to easily unfoul it.  I might detach the anchor to the chain and try pulling it by the trip line.  Worst case, I am stuck in this beautiful town until Friday, when Code once again will come to my rescue.

It has been a horribly long and emotional ordeal that I was simply incapable of fixing alone.  By the time I needed it, I was more that grateful for the help from George and from Code.  Maybe we hate to admit that we need help because we are afraid of it not being there for us one day.  Mabe it is better to realize that help is all around us, and asking for (and giving) help it is just part of what bonds us together tighter as humans.

Poor, sweet Missalonghi.

After 2 days in Agrostoli, Kephalonia in the Ionian sea we continued on toward Athens.  We booked Codes flight home to deal with the house, insurance, and all other Irene-related disasters and then tried to get as close to Athens as we could.  Unfortunately, we only got as far as Missalonghi.  The town itself is not so bad. Friendly, small-town.  However this is one town that never made into the postcard photos of Greece.   Maybe it is 'real Greece', it probably is for many, but it wasnt the Greece that we came to see.

Code is at the house finding contractors, cleaning, digging, hammering, and saying an unexpected hello to friends at the school bus stop.

I moved the boat to a marina so that we could top up our battery, use water with reckless abandon, do laundry in machines (nothing...NOTHING cleans better than even the worst washing machine), take showers, and clean the boat as it is just disgusting after 2 weeks without a wash...at least.  There are also many gypsies around, which whether there is truth to the stereotype or not, have a reputation for theft.  Better safe than sorry.  In the morning, I worked and schooled the kids in the morning. Did laundry in the afternoon.  Plopped them in front of a movie at 6:30, then walked 1.5 miles to the grocer,only to find out that they do not take credit cards and I had no cash. So I walked to another grocer and shopped all over again.  Dinner? Kids had pasta (as usual) and some fruit. I had half a cucumber, nuts, and a beer (vegetable, protein, and carb, right?).  I took a shower.  It was icey cold, which was not my first choice, but it was sweet.

Tomorrow we will leave for Kryoneri.  About 12 nautical miles and hundreds of lightyears away.  It scares me to pretty much singlehand the boat with the two kids.  Saying that makes it really sound crazy, but I am sure we will be OK.  Aethan is a competent (if not bossy) 'first mate'.  Graeme is competent at staying below and keeping himself occupied and content.  I know the GPS, the maps, and have the pilot book.  I know the boat but there is more in terms of systems that I am learning on the fly.  I have done this a gazillion times, but always with Code. This time it is all me (and my bossy first mate).  I am excited and a just a little scared.  I feel the inquisitive eyes of others as I dock and handle the boat as a 'single' woman (in their eyes).  Still true to one of my favorite mottos:  how hard can it be?

Crossing the Ionian Sea

We left for Greece with a lot on our minds.  We have a little more information from the insurance company and friends.  It is a lot of fast emails that are sent and received when we have connectivity.  We are trying to get to Greece quickly (skipping Sicily all together) so we can be on-track with our plan to winter over in Marmaris (Turkey) since we wont make any headway while Code is back home.  Sailing in the winter here can be treacherous and we don’t want to get caught too far away from our temporary winter ‘home’.

Ivan missed 2 days of work dealing with the aftermath of Irene: cleaning up, dealing with clean-up crews and the insurance estimator.  I feel awful that they are in this position and feel so helpless to do anything.  We can compensate them for their time and their inconvenience, but what we can’t do is undo the fact a tree has disrupted their family’s life.  Nicole is our impromptu home disaster project manager and has been helping us reach our builder and providing on the ground support as she is just three houses away.  My sister and her husband will come to the house from Hershey to make some keeptoss decisions and help us assess damage. 

The clean-up crew shored up the sunroom so that there was no further collapse. They tarped the roof over the house and the sunroom to protect against the elements, and cleaned up the major debris.  One one hand, it sounds like they cleaned up the shed so well that the insurance estimator missed it completely (which makes me paranoid that they cleaned up too well so that he missed other damage).  On the other it sounds like they left glass chards behind, which is not acceptable, especially for a household with 3 small children, including a newly crawling infant.  They also managed to put a tarp over the chimney which Ivan knew to ask them to fix since the chimney is the exhaust source for the furnace (and its carbon monoxide).  The thought of the potential outcome of the latter oversights sickens me and we are grateful (once again) that Ivan and Shelly are so on the ball.

We spoke with the insurance appraiser.  The conversation reassured Code and worried me.  When going on little information and conjecture, Code generally takes a more pessimistic corner-case approach in these situations and I tend to be the optimist, minimize catastrophy, and look for bright side (or, you might call it denial). Maybe it is because when I do go over to his side of reality, I find it too overwhelming.  It is exactly our opposite reactions to the day to day crises. Code can blow off the little stuff  like a broken tool or traffic ticket (maybe he is more used to them), while I let a perceived slight or a lost earring keep me up at night.  Code puts his energies into the appropriate baskets, however in practice, when the big stuff blows up he gets very stressed and I get frustrated.  We suppose that while even being a yin and a yang achieves a balance, it isn’t always in perfect harmony.

The appraiser could not tell us much as his report needs to go through the adjuster and we will be hearing from them by Friday morning.  The information he gave us sounded conflicting, on one hand he said he thought he saw some structural damage, but not so much that it was an obvious tear down and rebuild from scratch.  He said one skylight needed to be replaced, but not all.  He uses software to plug in the quality of the items, their age, the square footage lost, the zip code, and all sorts of variables to produce a magic number.  Given the more detailed information, I am more nervous that our couch will not replaced or that we will not recover the value of that skylight.  For Code, he felt reassured that it may not be a tear-down and re-do, and that the estimator categoried this as a ‘significantly sized claim’.

Our thought processes suddenly have diverged into two parallel paths, one good and the other overwhelming and depressing.  We shift paths so quickly it is dizzying.  I can’t remember whether I am feeling lucky or feeling sorry for myself.  We are crossing the beautiful Ionian Sea, reading about Greece, trying to learn some vocabulary (‘ne’ is ‘yes’, and ‘ohi’ is ‘no’), and stopping occasionally to take a swim into water 9,000 feet deep that is more crystal clear than any swimming pool and must be at the upper limit of clarity.   We have both scuba dived in clear waters all over the world:  the Carribean, the islands off of Thailand, Vancouver, and Monteray (California) but we have never seen anything as clear as this.  Looking down with a dive mask, the clear blue goes down for what is an eternity.  I am sure that we could see hundreds of feet, if there were something to see that far away; I am unnerved at the thought that whatever might be down there can also see us.  The kids dive in and swim unnerved, but the mother instinct in me forces me to keep a far more watchful eye than if they were in water 20’ deep. There are no great white sharks in the Med, no man-eating octopi, or whales that will swallow us whole, but it is so deep.  We are in awe of the clarity, the beauty, and the magnitude.  Then out of the big blue pops reality and we go back to wondering how we will manage this both logistically and financially.  We can’t stray far from thoughts of the house and what is to come. 

Code will probably fly back to Silver Spring in a week or so to survey the situation, talk with builders, and deal with the aftermath.  We are making lists of what he can take back home (like his drill that has no charger, birthday presents for my mom and sisters, and clothing we really don’t need) and what he can bring back (like that hand-vac, some boat hardware we can’t get here, my yoga mat, some new running shoes for me, new toys for the kids, and lots of pancake syrup and kraft dinner).   Maybe having some of the small but intact, tangible comforts from our home that was so damaged, will comfort and reassure us that it will all be OK.

The big storm

Of all the concerns about our trip, our biggest was foul weather.  This was reflected by our planning for every contingency possible.   We invested in the best lift raft we could afford, a storm jib, the GPIRB (emergency locator beacon with GPS), a satellite phone, even a subscription to a marine weather forcasting  service for ‘go/no go’ weather windows.  We keep a watchful eye for storms, especially the nortorious Mistrals that blow 50 mph gusts from France across the Mediterranean.  However, a  storm still managed to sneak up on us, and that was the one that hit at home.

 Tropical Storm Irene had all the same wind-up in the media with the usual dire warnings for evacuations and prediction of ‘the big one of 2011’ that accompanies every hurricane, every season.  Millions prepare for the storm, appropriately so, usually by clearing out stocks of bread, milk, and toilet paper in every grocery store from Boston to Miami.  The run on toilet paper seems to be particularly pervasive in the DC area.  After all the fuss, Irene, just like most other storms was downgraded to a ‘Tropical Storm’.  A big blow, but no major damage was expected.  Once the storm was downgraded, we no longer gave it much thought and we expected and planned to hear from our tenants, Shelly and Ivan, about who to call for clean up at most.

What we were not prepared for was a flurry of emails from friends with subject headers reading ‘Tell me what you need’, ‘Damage update’, and ‘Insurance company info?’.  WTF?  The emails opened slowly and as we read half of one message ‘possibly condemmed’ subsequent emails opened with more information dribbling in all too slowly:   ‘…looks like both cars are totaled’ , ‘car has been extracted’ and a simultaneous sigh of dismay and relief with ‘…everyone is OK’. 

We had spent an extra day on the stunning Amalfi coast.  We initially planned just an overnighter in a town called Positino, based on my friend Dina’s gush that it was the most beautiful place she has ever seen.   Dina is Palestinian, and anyone can tell you that that is no longer a beautiful place, so maybe that lent some extra credibility that she knows a beautiful thing when she sees one.  OK, sounds interesting, so let’s go.  The Amalfi coast was a only a few miles off our route and it probably would be worth a look.

The sail from down the coast blew us away.  The two main coastal towns of Positino and Amalfi are so beautiful it is impossible for me to adequately describe them and they simply have to be experienced for one’s self.  The coastline is rugged and features cavernous valleys and rock pinnacles that are neatly terrace farmed with vineyards, lemon orchards, fig and, yes, real pomegranate trees.  Below, the towns are tight clusters of buildings perched on rocky culverts on the coast.  Put it this way, I put on my running shoes to do a little sightseeing around down, and ended up walking 5 miles inland passing villas and valleys.  It was simply too beautiful to turn back, I simply had to see what was further down the road.  It was only once I reached a small town that I noticed that I was soaked with sweat, dizzy, and potentially facing a case of heat stroke if I were to keep going.  I filled my water bottle in a stone fountain with a face with a spigot in its mouth and fish in the collecting basin.  Unlike the states, the water fountains are real outdoor water FOUNTAINS.  I have yet to see the type we have at home.   This also explains why I recall occasionally seen foreign visitors (usually older) splash off and, dear God, drink from fountains in DC. 

Since the beauty of the Amalfi coast brought me to my knees, I told Code that we had to spend another day to take it all in, and he readily agreed. 

We spent our second day going inland to the artist’s commune of Ravello.  Just the name of the town enraptures me.  It is the only word I can say in Italian that sounds somewhat authentic as it saunters off  the tongue.  Rra-VELLLLL-o.  Si, madame, Rra-VELLLL-o.   The town is perched on a hill overlooking adjacent surrounding valleys.   If you can imagine Alpine slopes in a Mediterranean climate with the Italian culture of fine food, great art, and high fashion you are on your way.   We strolled, we took in the beauty, we fell in love, and we left broken hearted that we could not stay forever.    But, we had to push on to our much anticipated stop on Stromboli Island, a 24 hour sail away, where there is an active volcano (and, possibly stromboli).  As always, we did a quick email check as part of our preparation for a passage.

Bliss can turn to panic in an instant.

Code immediately called Ivan on Skype, and his voice was calm but I could see his hand almost imperceptibly shaking as Ivan gave us more information.  We still had no pictures, and couldn’t open those Ivan sent without using the bandwith needed to talk, but details of the destruction were pretty clear.  Our neighbor’s (50’)large tree fell across our sunroom and essentially broke it in two.  Our shed was crushed.  The fence was taken out.  The top of our brick chimney was swept off the house.  The front bedroom window had a limb the size of many tree trunks go through it.  All three cars are totaled, mine had a nearly two foot diameter limb crush it, and bricks from the chimney 3 stories up went through the windshield and roof to finish it off.  Codes car also had bricks through the sunroof (the same sunroof that I had repaired literally 3 days before we left for Lisbon)and the back quarter is crushed.  Ivan and Shelly’s SUV was also crushed and buried under leaves and limbs of the tree.  The damage was so widespread that even the railing on the portico over the entry on the opposite front corner of the house was taken out.

Shelly and Ivan had been watching tv in the sunroom just 15 minutes before the tree crashed through it.  They said it was instantaneous and unlike my optimistic imagination, there would be no escape time.  Shelly had the good sense to have the family sleep in the living room that night.  We would have had much less foresight and I am sure we would have slept in the sunroom to take in the sights and sounds of an amazing storm. 

Our subdivision is called ‘Woodside Forest’ and was established in the 1940s.  Since then, the forest has had plenty of time to grow big, tall, and old.  Just last summer, we removed 7 trees from our back yard so that they would not fall on our house in a storm, but our backyard still gets plenty of shade.  Or, apparently it used to. Calling our section of the planet a subdivision makes it sound so sterile, as it really is a very tight knit neighborhood where we have many close friends and good acquaintances.  The neighborhood had that old-fashioned feel where our kids are playmates, we cook-out together with other families, and we chat at the school bus stop long after the kids have gone (we sometimes hardly notice that the bus has come and the kids are gone).    Nicole and Stu have been tirelessly emptying our smashed cars of their soaked contents, and many others have also come forward with offers to take in Ivan and Shelly or do what they can.  Insurance will send out an appraiser and a clean-up and patch up team to make the house liveable until it is reconstructed. 

Code has swung into action as he so capably does in crisis, even while taking it all in.  Fortunately, insurance covers the cost of patching up and cleaning up as well as the repairs and replacement.  While our cars were not insured since they were not being driven, we are sure that between our would-be deductible and the low value (other than personal  value) of our cars, we did not take much of a loss (they were actually both over 10 years old).  Financially we will recover, and that is less of a worry.

While Code was on the phone, the boys had lots of questions and worries, too.  Is that the end of our house?  Do we have a place to live now?  Will this cost us all our money?  Do we not have cars anymore?  Between calls, and emails and our own personal panic, we assured them and explained that insurance covers these things, the house will be rebuilt, but that it will take a lot of time and coordination from our side to fix things.  It was quite the scene, the four of us suddenly shifting gears on the boat, each with our own worries and concerns trying to make sense of it all.

In truth, our own worries about logistics abound.  We need to have our house rented, even with an obvious deep discount for having the sunroom and office missing, but will it be too much for Shelly and Ivan?  That is a lot for anyone to take.  How can we manage the reconstruction from here?  We have a great builder, but following what is sure to be an increase in demand is he available?   What will this mean to our year abroad?  Is it over?  If so, we have to unwind a lot of things very fast, and in a sense, we’re kind of stuck here until then.  If we had to go home, it would crush me.  We signed on for this year with an almost never-say-die attitude.  We have dreamed of this year, argued about this year, planned for this year.  We love this year.  We took precautions and prepared our house and took care of everything we could to protect our dream and make it happen.   How can one tree, one that is not even our own and had no control over, come down and have the potential to wipe it out?

Vesuvius and Pompeii

It was exactly 2090 years ago to the day that Vesuvius erupted (24 August, 79 AD) followed by three days of falling ash and soot that buried Pompeii.  We made it a point to go see Vesuvius, just to get a sense of the scale, and it was much greater than I expected.  The cone of the crater is 700m...stunning to think of it as almost 0.5 miles.  Think about how long a 1/2 mile it...that's my whole neighborhood. The stories and sights of Pompeii are amazing, and it is awful to think about how it must have been to have been there.  We learned that other cities like Herculeanum and Stabiae also were destroyed, I wish we had gone to see them too as they are amazing sites and more managable than Pompeii, which is a lot to see in a day.  

The sights were amazing, but the the Napoli experience...notta so much.

I insisted on getting a guide,which we did, but unfortunately his English was poor.  "Madame, listena to me-a and I will tella you more.  I amma funny guy". I felt like saying "Listen to me, Cosmo, I have already read the guide book, I know how the casts were made...Now take us to the house of Faun, funny guy".  It wasnt all bad, and in the end, Cosmo ended up saving us money since he could purchase our tickets at the European Union price (that one has been a stinker...up to 50% higher prices for non-EU citizens and non-EU kids pay full price).  He did point out nuances...like the fact that the lava-stone streets have little pieces of white marble in between the pavers to reflect the moonlight so that people could see the street at night.  The Antiquareum was closed for rennovations, so many of the plaster casts of the bodies and other pieces were on temporary display (in what looked like a warehouse).  We could see them, but they were at a distance.

As for the area overall, I hate to say anything bad about a place, but Naples and its suburbs should just be skipped.  It was so filthy, the kids kept saying out loud that the city needed a good bath.  I will skip the details, but it was yuck.  And the marina, where the charge was $100 a night (we stayed in the marina ONLY for security - Naples has a big crime issue - organized and petty).   It felt like a big latrine.  It was run by friendly enough guys, but the entire marina smacked of the Mob.  Enough said.

After so much death, dirt, and destruction, we were happy to leave the Naples area. We are learning that the Amalfi coast was just the opposite.  Whereas in Naples, I felt like there was no place where I could rest my eyes to take in something good, here in Amalfi, there is not a single view that I can look at long enough to truely appreciate the beauty.  More on that one tomorrow.