Ready for the islands – Sailing in the Cyclades

Monday morning just after seven. Our Bavaria is moving and a nasty noise comes from the anchor locker. Still half asleep I go on deck to find our chain across that of another yacht, six places down from us, that now wants to leave. To avoid anchor chain chaos, those yachts arriving first should always leave last – but that is of course only the theory.

So, I start the engine, pay out more chain and the early bird can now easily depart. And now that we are all awake we might as well make the best of it and go ashore for breakfast. What a treat to just sit on the pier, coffee in hand, and watch the action. Ferries come and go, tourists in trekking outfits board buses, deliveries for the island arrive and the first day tripper boats depart. This is the signal for us to also get going, as we want to explore the nicest spots of Milos, of which there are many.

Motoring around the island counter‐clockwise, we first reach the wonderful beach of Sikia. At our next stop, the picturesque rock formations of Kleftikos, we already share the scenery with a handful of day tripper boats. A short hop into the wonderfully green sea and off we are again, along the south coast of the volcanic island. Here in the South it all gets very colourful – yellow, brown and dark red, contrasted by white chalk: The local rock appears artificial and bizarre, as if an Art Director were paying homage to Salvador Dali. Mining is an ancient tradition on Milos, dating back millennia, and the sharp‐edged obsidian was the first export product, ideal for weapons, or as a razor blade. Probably, the mythical Bronze Age King Minos would have shaved with an obsidian.

Today, mainly kaolin, sulphur brimstone, baryte and pearl stone are still mined. The hot springs that Hippocrates loved also attest to the volcanic origins of the island of Venus. Somewhere along the southeast coast there is supposedly a beach taverna where meat is buried in the hot sand in the mornings only to be served, well cooked, in the evenings. 

With a heavy heart, we leave Milos and head for Polyaigos to the East. A wonderfully scenic and well‐sheltered anchorage lies hidden behind the rocky promontory of Manolonisi, which by this time of day would normally be full. However, the sky is overcast and so we still find a spot in which to drop anchor, after which we take a long line ashore by dinghy. Our two daughters take a garbage bag to the beach to do some cleaning up: A good deed every day…

In the evening we are alone. The sky presents dramatic clouds, the moon peeks through only now and then and scant rain drops fall. Not really your typical weather for Greece. The wind has also increased, but our anchor is well set. Planning the next day, we have to cancel the trip to the white chalk rocks at Sarakiniko to the North of Milos. We must head back North as the Meltemi is forecast, and from Wednesday, will be blowing hard…

From a distance, Serifos seems mountainous and unwelcoming, but once in the bay of Leivadion (Livadi) and on approaching the village of the same name, this impression changes. The whitewashed cubed houses line the hill to the Chora, crowned by a white church with a blue dome dedicated to Sant’Athanasio.

The stone pier seems to be hopelessly crowded with boats, so we drop our anchor in the bay and dinghy ashore. This island is quieter than Milos, and the atmosphere very relaxed. It seems that visitors are mainly Greek, probably people from Athens who flee the town during the summer. Hotels can be counted on one hand and there is very little nightlife. Serifos is ideal for trekking, and seven routes follow the ancient donkey paths criss‐crossing the whole island. Typical for Livadi are the bars and Tavernas on the beach, whose colourful wooden tables and straw chairs are all but in the water. We, too, have dinner here, with a view of our boat, barefoot on the sand. 

The next morning, our galley on board is enhanced with local delicacies. Wine from the island, capers, sundried tomatoes, honey and goat cheese in thyme with crusty bread from the bakery. The supermarket by the harbour makes no money from us. 

Today, we need to find a Meltemi‐safe anchorage. Along our way back to Athens, Kythnos, with an interesting double bay to the North seems the best choice. Will we be safe there? The forecast spoke of up to 40 knot winds. We can only go there and find out…
 

The beating upwind makes the island seem longer than it really is. In the evening, we made it, and the bay of Fikiadha really is cut in half by a sandbank. We opt for the right‐hand side, check out the topography and pay out all the chain we have – during check‐in, they told us there would be 70 metres of chain, yet now we find that we only have 50 metres. However, there is nothing we can do about this now other than hope that it will prove sufficient.

To fortify ourselves for the anticipated windy night ahead, we follow the siren call of the taverna ashore. This is not the usual white‐washed idyll, more the trendy version of an eco‐style that seems to be catching on in Greece. House and terrace are built of the same brown stone that surround it and seem to merge with the scenery. The cuisine is highly creative, especially for a remote place like this. 

During the main course, we still discuss the anchor watches for the night, but with the dessert we are not so keen to continue, and by the time of the digestif, we abandon of the idea of an anchor watch altogether. And for once, our nonchalance is not punished. The wind is not half as fierce as anticipated and the waves are just forceful enough to aid our care‐free slumber. 

The next morning, a frustrated young generation faces us across the breakfast table. Are these the first signs of a mutiny? Harsh accusations are being made: all this panic for nothing, in these lame breezes we could easily have made it to Mykonos instead of heading straight back. Now, their assorted partying tips are all for nothing. We try to pacify them: We will sail the eastern part of the Cyclades on the next holidays. Big promise!