AIOS STEPHANOS and GOUVIA

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The tavernas lining the shore

Just 4 miles around the corner from Kassiopi we came across Aios Stephanos. It’s a little cove surrounded by steep hills with 50 or so villas perched on the western side. On the shore there were 4 or 5 small tavernas, a mini mart and bars that did a roaring trade with the nearby holiday makers and the 10 or so yachts anchored neatly in the bay.

Our boat second from the left

We had no electricity or water again but this made no difference, as this was the most beautiful and peaceful stop we’d had since reaching Greece. Our anchoring skills were put to the test once again with no problems!! 

Mixed seafood plate for 2 - E10.50

 We’ve decided to forego cooking for a while and instead, enjoy the excellent local fare – squid, fish and amazing Greek salads.  Mooring fees are zero and so we feel quite ok splurging at the tavernas. We thought that such a tiny village would be immune from the doof doof music we heard all through the night in Italian marinas, instead, the one small bar played bouzouki music till 1am! It’s amazing how the water amplifies every sound.

 GOUVIA

 Next morning we set off for Gouvia – a large modern marina where we hoped to charge the batteries and fill up with water. On the far side of the marina are some archeological ruins  the ancient Venetian boat sheds, so there might be things to see and do...

 It was quite a shock to arrive at this gigantic marina and after a mooring which is best described as a fiasco, we went to sign in.   

Gouvia Marina

We definitely felt very insignificant mooring amongst 1000 boats of every size and type.

THE REGISTRATION SAGA : Austral 1 meets Barney Fife (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLsg0EvZozI)

The first sign we saw was for the 'Port Authority' and, knowing that we had to register our entry into Greece, we went into the office.

There was a sharp featured man sitting at a relatively empty desk watching a fuzzy image on tv.  He turned down the volume and we sat in a couple of chairs.

“You, captain, sit!” he shouted and pointed at a chair directly in front of the desk.

“Name boat?” he barked.

“Austral” I replied.

“Plug?” he asked

I looked blank.

“Plug, plug?”

“Yes, I found the plug and connected the boat to electricity.”

Anne quietly suggested that he might want to know the flag under which the boat was registered.

His phone rang and he commenced a conversation that lasted for at least five minutes during which his speech volume varied from 20 to 120 decibels and his emotional reactions covered the full gamut of possibilities.

After this he then started to interrogate us using the same range of volume and in the same clipped English as he used when we first came in; for a moment we felt like we were in one of those 'punk' trick tv shows and we were the victims.

“OK now go customs and pay”

'Where is the office?"

“That way” he shouted, pointing in a vague direction.

“How do I get there?”

”Walk, take taxi, take boat”

”How far is it?”

“no far, 5 kilometres, take taxi, take boat”

With that he leant back in his chair and folded his arms.

We got up and left, none the wiser about what we should do or where we should go. We were both totally overwhelmed by the pace and force of the conversation, although quite honestly all you could do was laugh.

We experienced the same sort of officious attitude at the marina office with no warmth or friendliness as before in the small villages.  

We stayed one night and decided to move on, as there was no real atmosphere, the port was isolated from the main town and we just felt empty.