Old Home Days in Korčula
And I mean REALLY OLD HOME

When Tara was with us in May, we dropped Awildian's anchor in the beautiful anchorage at Otok Badija (Badija Island).


The anchorage and monastery at Otok Badija

From there, it was a short dinghy trip around the corner to the old walled town of Korčula. Short, yes, but it can also be very bouncy and wet, if the weather conditions set up standing waves against the outer walls of the marina and Old Town. Which they had today. Eric skillfully piloted the dinghy through the steep sloppy waves, which was slow going, and no easy feat. When we finally scooted around the end of the marina wall, and into the small fishermen's marina where we would tie our dinghy, we were mostly dry, though my shoes were soaked from a couple of waves that had sneaked over the bow. No worries, it was a warm day; they would soon dry.

Korčula is a special place for Tara and me, because one branch of our family hails from there. In fact, through our dad's sleuthing when he visited Korčula awhile ago, we know the exact house where some of them lived.


Tara and Van in front of the Piantanida House

Generations of our ancestors lived in the old town, before our great-grandfather Pasquale and his siblings began emigrating to other countries. As teenagers, our great-grandfather, and at least one of his brothers, traveled by steamship to New York in the early 1900s, and put down new roots there.


Cruising friends of ours, from the boats Tregoning and VikingBlod, in front of the Piantanida House. They'd found the house when they visited Korčula, and surprised us with this photo.

As our family's genealogy wizard, Tara knows a lot about our ancestors. She (and Eric and I) also knows a couple of current residents who are distant relations of ours: Ivo Tedeschi, the jovial patriarch who runs a four-story guest house on the shady seaside walk of the old town, anchored by Pizzeria Tedeschi on the ground floor, who hosted our father when he was here many years ago;


Pizzeria Tedeschi


and his niece, Andrea Tedeschi, who provides interesting and informative tours of the old town. We happened to run into both Tedeschis while we were wandering around in Korčula this time.



The best pizza in Croatia!


Because Tara knows all the surnames and much of the history of our Croatian family tree, and a lot about the old town itself, walking around Korčula with her gave me a new perspective: I felt a sense of connection, of belonging, to the place. Imagining our ancestors walking the smooth paving stones, hanging laundry out of the windows of their stone house, chatting with their neighbors, going to church, going to school, just living their lives there...was like experiencing their ghosts.


Enjoying baked goods on the waterfront near the beach

Both of the days that we visited Korčula happened to coincide with their "Night of Fortresses" festival. During this festival, admission to the town's museums were free of charge, and special tours (also free) were being offered. We took advantage of this to visit the Marco Polo Museum, dedicated to one of Korčula's most famous residents, and which had been under renovation when we were there in 2022. According to Tara, we have the "Depolo" surname in our family tree, so we can include Marco as one of our distant relatives. Maybe that explains some of our wanderlust...

We also opted to take one of the free tours, focusing on Korčula's walls and battlements. This fascinating tour was led by a man named Toni (Antonio), a lifelong resident of Korčula. While chatting with him after the tour, we learned that Tara and I share some family surnames with him, so Toni is also a relative of ours.


The pillar in front of the Piantanida House.

We learned from Toni that this pillar had once been topped with a sculpture of a winged lion, the symbol of Venice, reminiscent of centuries of Venetian rule of Korčula. During times when Korčulans had a beef with Venice (or Italy), they had a habit of destroying any winged lions in their midst. The one on the top of this pillar met that fate at some time in the past.

The two surnames of great-grandpa Pasquale's parents were Ivančević (pronounced "ee-VON-che-vich") which was his mother, Vincenza's, surname, and Piantanida (pronounced "pee-ON-ta-nee-da"), which was his father, Michael's, surname. That last was the surname that Tara and I grew up with. Eric likes to tease me that this name represents the Venetian oppressors, who ruled Korčula from the 15th through 18th centuries.


The main gate of Korčula

Most of the time, when people in Croatia ask what our Croatian family name is, and we tell them "Piantanida," we're met with a blank stare and a shake of the head. "No," they say, we don't know any Piantanidas." When we mention the Piantanidas here in Korčula, there's no blank stare, but there are no Piantanidas, either. "All the Piantanidas live in Orebić now," they say, Orebić being a town on the mainland, a few miles away by ferry. We'll have to get over there one of these days, and see if we can scare some of them up.

But oh boy, when we mention the surname Ivančević, anywhere in Croatia, eyes light up. Now there is a good Slavic name! When this happened during our conversation with Toni, he continued by saying, "You need to go to the Konoba Tramonto! The Ivančević family owns that restaurant. Borko is the manager; he is one of your cousins."

So we did that. It wasn't quite noon, so the restaurant wasn't serving lunch yet, but all of the employees were gathered in the bar, chatting. One of them came out to see if he could help us, and when we told that him we were looking for Borko Ivančević, he hollered back inside. A man with dark hair came out to see what we wanted.

When we explained that we were descendants of the Ivančevićs, Borko smiled broadly, and he welcomed us as family.


Borko, Tara, Van, Eric at Tramonto


He had his server set up a table for us on the garden terrace, and we had a really nice lunch. Afterwards, we were served small glasses of a homemade liqueur, and were challenged to guess what the flavor was. None of us guessed correctly: it was carob, and it was very good! Nothing like the chalky, chocolate-wannabe flavor from 1970s trail mixes. Borko, who had been away while we had lunch, joined us for a second shot of the tasty liqueur, and we toasted the occasion with "Živjeli!" (the Croatian equivalent of "Cheers!") all around.


Živjeli!


Before we left, we exchanged contact information and promised to look him up the next time we're in Korčula, and said that he should do the same if he comes to the States.

Our next stop was one of the shops that sells local Adriatic coral jewelry. I hadn't known that coral grows in the Adriatic, but it does, and it comes in various shades from white, through orange, to deep red. Tara wanted to buy some coral jewelry for our dad's girlfriend, Linda, and she had a particular shop in mind, having bought some coral jewelry there in 2022. We wound our way along Korčula's narrow stone streets until we arrived at the Coral Shop Irena.


Making our way through Korčula's narrow streets

In the small shop, Tara asked Irena to explain to Eric and me the fascinating details about Adriatic coral, which she was more than happy to do. Later, as Irena was wrapping the beautiful coral pendant that would soon be Linda's, somehow the subject of our family being from Croatia came up.

"Where in Croatia?" Irena asked.
"In Korčula," we said.
"Where in Korčula?" [Korčula is the name of the island, as well as the old town.] "Korčula, Korčula?" Irena asked.
"Yes," we said. "In fact our family lived just down the street from here."
Irena stopped wrapping the pendant. We had her full attention now. "This street?"
"Yes," we said.
"Where?" Irena said. "Show me!"

We all went outside and Tara walked a short distance down the street and pointed to what we call The Piantanida House.

"Oh my God!" Irena gasped. "The house right across from it is where I grew up! I have been looking at your family's house my whole life!"

With the pendant paid for and expertly wrapped, it was time for us to go. Irena had us write down our names and contact information, and she sent us off with big hugs.

As we rode the dinghy back to Awildian - on the now calm Sea - we chatted about what a fun day it had been. We were thrilled and pleasantly surprised by how welcoming the Korčulans had been to us, wayward members of families who had once walked the smooth stone streets, and called this old walled city home.


A view of Korčula from the Sea

June 25, 2025
Luka Jazi, Otok Molat, Croatia

This morning, the water in our anchorage is so clear, and so calm, that I can not only see the squadrons of sea cucumbers that scour the sandy bottom, but I can also see their tracks, and the squiggly pellets of sandy poop that they leave behind, five meters down under Awildian. I can see the corrugated tracings of our anchor chain's previous meanderings, snaking all over the sand. And I can clearly see our anchor, Obama, his pointy tip stuck casually into the sand, just hanging out since there's no need for him to do any work at the moment: his 110 pounds alone are enough to hold Awildian in this light wind.

Through our "fish TVs" (the now-sealed former escape hatches in Awildian's hulls), I can also see schools of fish swimming, against a turquoise background of sea cucumbered-sand.

Speaking of sea cucumbers, I don't know what normally eats them, but whatever it is, either they're satiated or they don't live here, because there are so many sea cucumbers.

I love days like this, because I can go kayak snorkeling. Kayak snorkeling doesn't mean that I use the kayak as my base and go snorkeling in the usual way - fins, mask, snorkel, wetsuit if the water is less than 80F/27C (don't judge me, I'm a Gulf of Mexico girl). No, it means that I can sit in our kayak, comfy and dry, and just float around checking out stuff in the water and on the bottom. No mask, no fins, no snorkel, no wetsuit, no cold water...none of that. Just me in my shirt, shorts, hat, and sunnies, comfortably paddling and floating, and looking at what's down there. While kayak snorkeling, I also get to enjoy the songs of birds and cicadas, the sweet scent of the Aleppo pines, the jittering flights of butterflies. I love it.

Don't get me wrong - I've done plenty of snorkeling in my life; most of the time I've even enjoyed it. I've snorkeled shallows in the Sea of Cortez, coral reefs in the Fiji islands and Suwarrow atoll, even drifted over masses of sharks in the south pass in Fakarava. But I'll be honest, after experiencing those sorts of snorkeling spots, I don't feel inspired to expend the effort of gearing up, getting into the chilly water, floating around looking at stuff that isn't as interesting as things I've seen elsewhere, and then rinsing, drying, and restowing everything afterwards. Meh, I can't be bothered to go through all that work. Call me lazy if you'd like. Or conceited. I'm ok with that.

This is why kayak snorkeling is such a great option for me! Given the opportunity to do some kayak snorkeling in a bay full of clear water, I'm motivated. I'll have our kayak off the deck and into the water in no time flat, and my butt in it as soon as I can get it there. Then I'm slowly paddling away, peering down into the water, seeing what I can see, and staying comfortable in the meantime. Now that's my kind of snorkeling.

Here's a short video I took while floating in the shallows.

Kayak snorkeling in the shallows

June 2, 2025

The other day, some cruising friends whom we'd met in Greece last year, who had been stalking us (their words) on Marine Traffic, saw that Awildian was currently anchored only about 25 miles from the Pirovac Marina, where they keep their boat during the off-season. They sent us a text via WhatsApp, inviting us to come to dinner when they would be visiting their boat, later in the week.

"Sure!" we said.

After consulting Navily for the possible anchorages between where we were (a pretty little island called Otok Krbela Mala),
and Pirovac, we decided to anchor the next day in a small cove called U. Rastovac, near the southern end of Murter Island.


Otok Krbela Mala

One of the reasons for choosing this anchorage - in addition to its being quite well-sheltered from the forecast wind - was that it's near the little town of Tisno. Tisno straddles the strait that runs between the east side of Murter Island, and the west side of the mainland, just across from it. More importantly for our purposes, it has a bridge that spans the 38 meter-wide (about 125 feet) strait, with a section that lifts to allow boats to pass through.



Transiting the Tisno Bridge (green line) from our anchorage (1), instead of going all the way around the west side of Murter Island (white line), would shave 10 miles from our trip to Pirovac (2).



Some online digging taught us that between the middle of September and the end of May (the off-season), the bridge opens Mondays and Fridays at 9 am. We arrived at Uvala Rastovac on Wednesday, with the plan of transiting the bridge when it opened on Friday morning.

Consulting the nautical charts, we could see that the water under the bridge, even at the deepest place, was very shallow - about 2.4 meters. That was enough for Awildian, as he draws only about 1.5 meters, but it would mean that we'd want to be smack dab in the middle of the channel, because away from the middle of the channel, the water was even shallower.


The bridge when open

While looking online for the width of the opening of the lifting part of the bridge (which I still haven't found), to make sure that Awildian would fit through easily, I saw several photos of the open bridge, some with sailboats going through the gap. All the boats were monohulls, none were very big, and they were cheating toward the side of the gap where their mast would fit through the space left by the lifted span. The gap didn't look wide enough for Awildian to cheat to either side, which could be a problem, as his mast is 22.8 meters (almost 75 ft) tall.

Furthermore, after looking at all the photos, it dawned on me that maybe the Tisno Bridge was smaller than I thought it was. The more I looked into it, the more a "nope" was beginning to form in my mind. We would go and have a look for ourselves.

The next morning, we took a dinghy trip to Tisno, where we took a nice walk around the little town, had some lunch, bought some groceries, and checked out the bridge situation for ourselves.

Some of the sights around Tisno:


A statue at the war memorial. I was happy to see a pigeon memorialized there. Eric said he thinks it's a dove, but I'm sticking with pigeon. Pigeons don't get enough credit.


A tribute to native son, writer, and academic, Vjekoslav Kaleb


A fun sign


A cute little church

When we walked over to have a look at the bridge, the little "nope" became a capital "NOPE": The Tisno Bridge wasn't for us. Maybe the gap was wide enough and maybe Awildian's mast would slide through the opening, but we weren't sure.


Eric beside the Tisno Bridge

The Prudent Mariner wouldn't chance it, just to save ten miles, and neither would we. We'd suck it up and travel around the outside of Murter. Our peace of mind, and the safety of our floating home, made the decision easy for us. Besides, the scenery would be nice, and we weren't really in any hurry.

Here's a link to a video of a catamaran trying to transit the Tisno Bridge. It didn't go well. Tisno Bridge Fiasco

Otok Krbela Mala 43º39.54'N,15º54.33'E
Uvala Rastovac 43º47.90'N,15º39.50'E
Pirovac 43º48.79'N,15º40.15'E

Awildian's last night in Porto Montenegro

The Hello-Goodbye Pendulum

Our cruising lifestyle requires that we submit to a constantly-swinging Pendulum of Hello - Goodbye - Hello - Goodbye, as we continually arrive in, and then leave, places. Over and over, we say hello, we say goodbye. Back in the fall, when we'd arrived at Porto Montenegro, where we reunited with old friends, and made some new ones, the Pendulum was well into Hello territory. But as the end of April approached, and the Pendulum swung inexorably toward the Goodbye end of its arc, it was time to say goodbye to our friends again, and I was feeling sad. I much prefer the Hello end.

April 30, 2025
Porto Montenegro, Tivat, Montenegro 42º26.03'N,18º41.33'E →
Gruž, Croatia 42º39.58'N,18º05.09'E →
Dubrovnik River, Čajkovići, Croatia 42º40.27'N,18º07.20'E



Today was a long, exciting, busy, and somewhat bittersweet day for Awildian's crew, which now included my sister, Tara, who was visiting from the United States. Eric and I were stoked beyond words, to have her with us.

The morning began like every other day while we're at Porto Montenegro Marina, with me enjoying time with the local cats and pigeons, who came every day to eat the food that I brought for them. I'm not above bribery for their company.

\
One of my cat friends


Some of my pigeon friends

But this morning was different: I knew that this would be the last morning that we would spend time together. Because, when Awildian left the marina today, unlike the previous two departures, we had no plans to return.


Awildian in his winter berth, Porto Montenegro

We left our berth at 6:50 am. Five minutes later we were at the fuel dock. We'd thought it opened at 7 am, but the marinero who caught our lines there said he thought it opened at 8 am. No matter. At 7:40 am, one of the fuel dock guys showed up, and we filled Awildian's tanks with diesel. It's always a good feeling, to see the fuel gauge indicator on the F.

After filling up, we motored the hundred meters or so to Porto Montenegro's Customs quay, where we tied up again. Eric had taken care of one part of the three-part checking-out process the day before - visiting the harbormaster to clear out with her, and pay for a one-day vignette (cruising permit) - so all he had to do today was clear out with Customs and Immigration, which took only about fifteen minutes. While Awildian was tied up at the quay, many of our friends wandered by, to say one last goodbye before we all dispersed for the cruising season. That Pendulum...

As Awildian glided away from the Customs quay, Eric blew his conch shell in farewell, as he's done for more than a decade, since finding the shell in Mexico, and creating the horn from it. As of 8:30 am, we were on our way to Croatia.

On our way out of the Boka (Bay of Kotor), we pointed out landmarks to Tara - the old submarine bunkers along the shore, the new swanky resort island that was once a concentration camp, the wooded hills where jackals roamed - and we waved at the Black Pearl, who was returning to her home berth at Porto Montenegro Marina, after several months away sailing warmer waters.


The always-stunning Black Pearl

As soon as we left the Boka, and turned right, we were in Croatian waters. No long passage to start our cruising season this year!

Today, the sun was shining, the wind was light, the turquoise Adriatic Sea was sparkling and calm, as we motored toward our destination - either Cavtat (about 30 miles away) or Gruž/Dubrovnik (a dozen miles farther).


Tara and Eric in the helm station

There was some uncertainty about whether the Customs quay at Cavtat, the southernmost port in Croatia, was open for business yet. If it was open, we were required (under penalty of a stiff fine) to check in there, as it would be the first clearance port that we encountered. If not, we would have to carry on to Gruž, Dubrovnik's busy port, a couple of hours farther north. When we got close to Cavtat, I called the harbormaster on the VHF radio a few times, but they didn't respond.

Before leaving Porto Montenegro, those of us who were planning to sail north through Croatia set up a WhatsApp group, so we could share information with each other. To make it even better, John Harvey, who had operated charter boat outfits in Croatia, is knowledgeable about all things relating to cruising in Croatia, and still lives near Dubrovnik, was also in our group.

Because we didn't have a way to phone the harbormaster directly, I sent a text to the WhatsApp group, asking if one of them who was still in Porto Montenegro could call the Cavtat harbormaster to find out the scoop. The answer came back that the Customs quay was closed; John also chimed in to let us know that Gruž port control monitors VHF Ch9.

That sorted, we carried on to Gruž. As we passed Old Town Dubrovnik, Tara and I got the fenders out of storage and deployed them on the lifelines. Boy is it nice having an extra person on board!


Approaching Gruž

When we got close to Gruž, I called the port on VHF Ch9 and was told where to bring Awildian. This was handy because the huge port is very busy, with boats of all sizes - from small runabouts to ferries to cruise ships - moving around or tied up on the cement quay. As Awildian approached his appointed spot along the wall, two men came over in a golf cart, caught our lines, and tied them to the bollards on shore. We thanked them and they left without asking for any payment; I mention this because there have been rumors that some dockline handlers in Croatia charge for their services. These didn't.

While Tara and I hung out on Awildian, Eric took our passports and paperwork to the building at the head of the quay, where officials from all three prongs of the clearing-in process - harbormaster, port police, and Customs - were located. This was very convenient; in some places we've been (Preveza, Greece, for instance), clearing in (or out) is a multi-building treasure hunt. When Eric returned a little while later with our passports stamped, our entry paperwork sorted, and a Croatian SIM card for my phone (from a kiosk located near to the admin building), we untied the lines and headed out of Gruž.

Once outside of the port, we turned right and headed under the Franjo Tuđman Bridge (Tuđman is pronounced "tudjman."), motoring up the Dubrovnik River, to a spot near the ACI Marina where Eric and I had anchored back in 2022. We like this anchorage because it provides good holding for our anchor, and it's convenient for getting to Old Town Dubrovnik. Along the way, Tara and I put the fenders away. Such good help, she is!

When we reached the spot where we wanted to be, I dropped our anchor (Obama) into the water, and let out an appropriate length of anchor chain. Obama sunk into the muddy bottom, and when Eric put Awildian in reverse, the anchor dug in, holding Awildian in place. Excellent!

And just like that, we were done. Anchored, settled, beginning the nomadic portion of our existence again. The three of us celebrated with Aperol Spritzes. Montenegro - especially the people and the animals I care about there - still calls to me, and probably will for awhile. But even as I feel sad about leaving Porto Montenegro, I realize that each end of the Pendulum actually encompasses both Goodbye and Hello: Goodbye Montenegro, Hello Croatia. Goodbye dear friends in Tivat, Hello new friends I haven't met yet. Goodbye old adventures, Hello new adventures. One door closes, another opens. I guess that's just as true of cruising, as it is of life.


The Dubrovnik River anchorage at night

Hi,

For awhile now, I’ve been thinking about how to rework this blog. The whole “here’s where we went, here are some pretty pictures, here’s what you might find interesting about this place” routine really doesn’t work for me. In fact, I don’t think I’m particularly good at writing travelogues, anyway.

Part of the issue is that Eric and I don’t live our life as a travelogue. We’re not out here trying to see everything we can see. We’re just cruising around, experiencing life as we find it and as it finds us. If there’s something that we think is interesting in our current neighborhood, and we want to see it, we will. If we feel like spending a week in one anchorage, doing whatever, we will. If we feel like moving along to another place, we will. I’m not sure how that makes for an interesting blog, though. Maybe it doesn’t.

When I started this blog, more than a decade ago, my intention was to share our experiences with you all, our family and friends, as a way to take you along with us on our journey. And I hope I’ve been able to do that somewhat. But over time, I’ve discovered that most of what makes places memorable to Eric and me aren’t necessarily the items that you might find in Lonely Planet guides; rather, they’re the people and the animals we meet, and the relationships and moments of connection we cocreate with them; the unexpected surprises – both delightful and frightful – we encounter; the new perspectives we gain; and so many more aspects of our life, all melding in a special juxtaposition of a time and a place and a feeling that maybe happens only once. Those are the elements that make our life enjoyable.

Most of the time, Eric and I don’t choose our destinations because they boast some cool thing that might attract tourists, though sometimes we do. The reasons behind how we end up in a destination are many and varied – maybe it has a good sandy or muddy bottom that will hold our anchor well in an upcoming blow; maybe some of our friends are going to be there and we want to meet up with them; maybe it has a grocery store within easy walking distance of a place we can take our dinghy; maybe it faces a direction that will provide good shelter from the wind or waves; maybe it’s the right distance away from where we are today; maybe it has a lot of trees where I can walk and look for birds…

I often find that I can’t adequately encapsulate our cruising life with pretty pictures and a travelogue-like approach. Sometimes the things that leave asterisks in my memory about a place are some of the smallest, seemingly mundane things, rather than the “you’ve got to see this!” sorts of things. Sometimes they’re decisions made or tasks accomplished or experiences lived that remind me that I really do live a special kind of life – one that I still appreciate, more than a decade on. One that I still want to share with all of you.

So, going forward, I’m going to incorporate more of these snippets into our blog, to give you a more holistic picture of what our cruising life is like. Yes, there will be posts of really cool places (“you’ve got to see this!”), because we’re fortunate enough to be able to experience some of those places. But there will also be times when I write about aspects of our life, such as, what it’s like to leave a place where you’ve made close connections with some of the people and animals who live there, or what it’s like to go shopping in a supermarket in a country where you not only don’t speak the language, but you can’t even read the letters!

I hope you’ll still check in from time to time to see what we’re up to. You can find out where Awildian is at the moment, by clicking the WHERE WE ARE RIGHT NOW link on the right-hand sidebar. The next blog post (cued up and ready to deploy) will be the first of the non-travelogue format. Stay tuned. Cheers.

Late June/early July, 2024
Porto Montenegro to Preveza



Porto Montenegro Marina, Tivat, Montenegro 42º26.154'N,18º41.540

Our cruising season got a bit of a late start this year, due to some unforeseen circumstances that kept us in the United States until the end of May. Fortunately, our sales manager at Porto Montenegro, John, seamlessly extended Awildian's winter contract into an annual contract, so that we could keep the berth until May 1, 2025. Otherwise we would have had to move Awildian out of the marina on May 1, 2024, which would have been a real pain as we were still in the States.

We returned to Montenegro, and our floating home, on May 21, 2024, and spent about a month getting Awildian and ourselves ready to go cruising. We'd decided to head south to Greece again, but not go as far as Turkey this time, before returning to Porto Montenegro the next winter.


Awildian in his winter berth, with sv Black Pearl's massive masts in the background

On the morning of June 28, I fed "my" flock of pigeons, and the group of feral cats, one last time, and wished them a happy and well-fed summer. I said goodbye to the local people who had become my friends, and told them I'd see them again in the fall.

Then Eric and I put our "marriage saver" headsets on, untied the lines that had held Awildian snugly since the previous October, and left the marina. Our first stop was the fuel dock, where we filled Awildian's tanks with diesel. While we were there, our friends, Jenny & AJ from sv Seas the Day, came to say goodbye, and to bring us some delicious chocolate muffins, which sweetened our trip even more.

When Awildian's tanks were full, we motored over to the nearby Customs dock, where we cleared out of Montenegro, and then headed for the mouth of the Boka (Bay of Kotor), where its water joined that of the Adriatic Sea. Our general plan was to turn left and keep going for about 24 hours.

"Where is that 15-20 knots of north wind you promised me?" Eric teased when we turned the corner and headed south. "This wind is definitely from the south."

The forecast had been very clear that we would get some north wind. "It'll come," I said. "I'm so sure that I'll eat your shoes if it doesn't."

No shoes were eaten. A little while later the wind did, in fact, fill in from the north, helping to push Awildian along with his mainsail up and jib out. We sure wished we already had that Code 0 headsail...

Not having sailed for a few months, Eric and I might be excused for forgetting a few minor details. For instance, neither of us thought to check whether any of the deck hatches were open, when we left the marina. It was a sunny day. Why would we?

You may wonder why this would matter. Sometimes it doesn't matter at all. But today it did matter, and here's why: when our mainsail is down, it's cradled along the boom in a cloth sling (called a "stack pack") whose sides are held up by thin ropes called "lazy jacks" that go up to the spreaders.

When it rains, water collects in the low points of the stack pack.

When we raise the mainsail, we lower the lazy jacks on the leeward side of the boom, so they're out of the way and the sail can move more freely as it's being raised.

With the lazy jacks loose, the leeward side of the stack pack is also loose, and it flops open.

When the stack pack flops open, any water contained within it pours out onto the upper deck, then flows onto the lower deck, eventually finding its way into the sea.

So that's what happened when we raised the main on this occasion. In fact, we expected it to happen. It wouldn't have been a problem, except that the hatch over our bed, which we'd forgotten to check, is located between the boom and the sea. In fact, it was directly in the path of the torrent of water.
And it was wide open. Dammit!

Dreading what I would find, I rushed down into the port hull and peeked into our cabin to survey the damage. Sure enough, the part of our bed directly beneath the hatch was soaked. Buggah! I hate having a wet bed!

On the (very small) bright side, only our memory foam topper was wet, not the mattress beneath. I was able to dry most of the water with towels, prop up the topper so it didn't touch the mattress, and between the warm breeze coming through the hatch and the breeze generated by the room fans, the topper was completely dry within a day or so.

We slept our off-watches in the starboard cabin, instead.

After the Great Dousing, the rest of our passage was blissfully uneventful. The weather cooperated, we both got acquainted with the new chart plotter we'd installed over the winter, and I enjoyed spending time with my passage buddy, the constellation Scorpio, whom I hadn't seen in awhile.

Preveza anchorage, Greece
38º57.96'N,20º45.46'E

This was our third time anchoring at Preveza, so by now we knew the "lay" of the anchorage, such as why no one ever anchored in the big, juicy open area near the fishermen's marina (the bottom is "foul" and would either reject - or hopelessly tangle - anchors), and we also had our "preferred" anchoring area (close to shore, near the little green building).




Some views of the anchorage

Once Obama was settled into the ooze at the bottom of the anchorage, we took our paperwork and our dinghy into the small fishermen's harbor, tied up to the wall, and went to check into the country using Sofia, our agent at All About Yacht. Then we walked into town.



Preveza is a charming town, with restaurants, grocery stores, and shops of all kinds, including Cosmote and Verizon stores where one could procure a Greek SIM card, three marine chandleries, and a shop selling linens!



We were (okay, probably just I was) very excited to discover this shop. Why? Because it sold complete sheet sets. In Montenegro, when you buy a "sheet set," what you get are two pillowcases and a fitted sheet. No top sheet. You have to buy that separately. And it won't match the others.

In Greece (apparently) when you buy a "sheet set," you get two pillowcases and TWO flat sheets. Which is actually preferable to having a fitted sheet, because who really needs fitted sheets anyway? Especially on a boat, with its oddly-shaped mattresses, stuffed into oddly-shaped spaces, fitted sheets are a pain.


The linen shop!! In case any of you want to buy linens in Preveza...

We bought two new sheet sets. It's the little things.


The Great Zinc Quest

Shortly before leaving Porto Montenegro, we'd hired one of the marina's divers to clean Awildian's hulls. The job also included inspection of the zincs (sacrificial anodes) on the MaxProp and prop shafts. The diver discovered that one of the prop zincs was gone. No problem, Eric went down to our stash of MaxProp prop zincs and brought one up for the diver.

But actually there was a problem: the zinc didn't fit the prop; the screw holes in the zinc didn't line up with the holes in the prop. What the heck? Our former boat, SCOOTS, had the same size MaxProp, and we'd always kept a supply of these prop zincs on hand, and replaced them as needed.

The heck was, our new MaxProps, which were installed in 2023, apparently had been redesigned slightly, and the pattern of screws that attached the prop zinc were now different. When the techs at Navar boatyard had installed the new MaxProps, they'd attached the zincs that came with the props. We'd just expected that the zincs that had worked for the previous decade with our other MaxProp would work for the new one...Nope.

Eric's first thought was that he might be able to modify our stash of zincs to fit the new props. He went swimming and took a good look at the props, to compare the screw holes in the old zincs, to the screw pattern on the new props. That being determined, and a nice shower on the swimstep being had, Eric retired to his workshop to modify the old zincs. (Spoiler alert: the old zincs couldn't be modified in such a way that they would work. We'd have to procure some of the new kind of zincs. Somewhere in Greece.) Hence the Great Zinc Quest.

We checked all of Preveza's chandleries, but none had the zincs we needed. We'd have to keep looking.

While we were anchored at Preveza, we had so much fun with lots of our cruising friends whom we'd met in Porto Montenegro during the two previous winters - Nicole & Trip (sv Kalyra), Seb & Suzanne (sv Racoon 2), Pookie & Heath (sv Sawasdeekat) - and also Keith & Donna from sv Bajan Blue, whom we'd met just before leaving Greece the previous fall.


Some of the fun

We had lunches and dinners and sundowners aboard each other's boats, swapping stories and expertise and boat parts.

One day we dinghied over to the little trimaran, sv Razzmatazz, that was anchored near us, to say hello and introduce ourselves to its crew. Tony & Anne, delightful people, are citizens of the UK who are in their 80s and have been living aboard for many decades, now dividing their time between Razzmatazz in Greece and a "narrow boat" on the canals in the UK.

Eventually we felt that it was time for us to move on from the Preveza anchorage, and continue our travels. During previous visits to Preveza, we'd always been in somewhat of a rush, on our way to somewhere else. This time we had no plans. And so, with this in mind, we decided to spend some time exploring the large inland body of water behind Preveza, the Ambracian Gulf, a place that we'd always wanted to visit.