Feliez Navidad

I spent Christmas morning catching up on some work I had to do. In the afternoon, the couple, Michael and Ane, in the sailboat across from me invited me to Christmas dinner. Michael is from London and owns a business providing signers for the hearing impaired. Ane is from Auckland, so I had fun exchanging and reminiscing about times in New Zealand. Another girl that is from San Francisco joined us. So we also talked about the City and what was going on in the Bay Area. The sun bathed us with warmth that is unexpected for this time of year. We sat out the back deck of their boat and shared our adventures over the past year and what the New Year had in store for all of us. Michael has a flare for cooking and made a delicious meal complete with salmon with a creamy egg sauce as the appetizer. I couldn’t stay for the entire meal because I was meeting a friend in the early afternoon. Then that evening a Swedish couple that has their boat moored on B dock had invited me to share a typical Swedish Christmas meal. We ate on a small table covered in a beautiful Christmas appliqué tablecloth hand stitched by her aunt. The evening Christmas meal started with a special toast from Sweden, really a thick sweet cracker. That is buttered and then a slice of Swedish ham that is prepared by simmering for hours in salt water, carrots, onions and special peppers. Next we had pickled heron topped with a cream and leeks. They told me traditionally it is topped by sour cream, but they could not find any here. We had another traditional Swedish dish. I forgot the name of it, but it was made with potatoes, onions and anchovies in a cream sauce. Unlike most of Europe, Sweden celebrates Christmas much like the United States, with St. Nicholas streaming across the Nordic sky dropping presents along his way on Christmas Eve. While Santa’s Reindeer might have come from the Nordic countries, St. Nicholas himself originated in Turkey. And if that is not insulting enough to Swedes, they revealed to me that Swedish meatballs also originated in Turkey. I missed being with all my family and friends during this holiday season. It is really a great time to strengthen those cords that bind us together. But maybe in it’s own way, spending Christmas with people from different parts of the world remind us all that we are all one family of God, each loving our children and hoping for their bright future. There is more in common with all of us than there are differences. I guess I count myself with John Lennon and want to imagine all the world living in peace and no he’s not the only one. I hope some day you will join us, and the world will be as one. Merry Christmas.

The Night Before Christmas and All Through The Land

Christmas eve is the main event for the season in Spain. Most people attend a religious service with their family and friends. Then head back home for a long evening of dinner and sharing. Usually just a single gift is give to the children. The streets are quiet and all of the shops closed.

Tis the Season

The holiday season is so different over here. Much more low key and just not the huge push for shopping. The 8th of December was Ascension Day. I am still not sure who ascended but rumors have Mary as the lead contender. All the stores were closed. Then Saturday something else was being celebrated because the stores were closed again. Can you imagine that happening in the States where retailers use every event as a reason for a sale? I would have known that it was The Ascension of Mary because the Virgin Mary would be selling us mattresses at unheard of discount prices. There are really very few decorations to speak of. Christmas trees are pretty rare; lights strung up are also not that common. Even the shopping malls have more of a "we gotta do something so how about a few lights" approach to decorating. I have not seen a single Santa Clause at any of the stores. How does an entire country tell Santa what to bring them for Christmas? He and his reindeers must pick up a little extra time when flying over Spain on Christmas Eve. I also have not seen a single sale in any of the stores. I am not sure, but I heard that the government regulates sales in this country and there are only a couple of times a year that stores are allowed to have sales. I actually heard that is common throughout Europe. Don't quote me on this, I will check and see if that is true. But I have to say, nothing is going on right now, and I really have not seen many sales anywhere in Europe. It just seems so foreign to us that it is hard to believe. I was at the mall just a week before Christmas. It was crowded but not really packed with shoppers. The stores were almost empty. Very few people were carrying any packages. What was crowded was the grocery store. People were pushing around huge baskets filled with lots of chocolate, cookies, nuts, fruit and Christmas food. It further confirms the feeling that Christmas is about sharing a meal with family and friends and the gifts that are exchanged are just a footnote to the festivities.
I had my first party on the boat on Saturday. I thought it would be nice to invite all the people that are living on C-dock here over for a little Christmas celebration. It was fun getting to know them better and being able to call them something more than just Hey, Hola. There is a couple from Sweden next to me that has a 10-year-old boy with them. They have 4 other grown children back in Sweden. He is really adorable. Since he is the only kid around he has to keep himself entertained. He does a good job though and is always happy. I never see him walk anywhere. He is always running from one place to the next. I made hot apple cider and trifle, baked brae and Yum Yums. I explained that these were very traditional holiday foods for our family. They all wanted the recipe for the Yum Yums and the hot cider. I was surprised none of them had had hot apple cider before. I always thought it was a traditional Swedish thing. Guess not.

A Winters Day

The last of the leaves have floated to the ground and the trees stretch their naked arms skyward, catching the last warming rays of the winter sun. December skies in Barcelona are almost always clear blue with few or no clouds. During the day it warms up and you can usually walk around in a light sweater. But when the sun sets, the temperature drops almost as fast as the sun recedes below the horizon. I better have a coat with me or I end up freezing by the time I get back to the boat. But once on the boat, my little heater keeps things warm and cozy.

Burrrrr, it’s Berlin

Stepping out of the airport, I am hit with a blast of freezing artic air. Berlin is definitely in the throws of winter and noticeably colder than Barcelona. We head to a bed and breakfast located in the heart of the gay part of town. It is run by a gay couple who rent out one floor of a typical apartment and is only 35 euro a night. Tall coffered ceilings, shuttered windows and radiator heat make me feel more like a Berliner than a tourist. Nightlife here is frothy and wild. Most bars have a dark room in the back. There are naked parties and underwear night almost every night. It makes the Castro seem pretty vanilla. I met a guy from Atlanta who is in the military over here. Yeah he had a beautiful ripped 20 something body that you just want to start licking. Fortunately I kept my tongue in my mouth. Wait a minute. . .are there gay guys in the military??? He assured me he was not alone, and then started rambling something about being a mindset, and he has learned to hide quite well. Quite frankly it would be hard to follow any of his conversation even if it was interesting, with that body he was showing off. I guess the fact that he was rubbing his knee into my crotch didn’t help much either.

The streets of the city are in full season festivity. Beautiful Christmas trees decked out in hand-blown glass ornaments and colorful twinkling lights fill the windows of all the stores. Christmas villages are set up along the wide sidewalks selling things you would only buy during this season. Candy canes, hot roasted chestnuts, and of course, plenty of presents. It is a modern city with reminders of the past strewed throughout the city. I walk by a huge stone cathedral that looks like it was bombed out, just a shell of its original self, too historic to tear down and too much of a rubble to restore. East and West Berlin seems to be seamlessly melted together from what I could tell. I never saw any remnants of a city torn in half by cold war politics. It’s Thanksgiving Day, and no turkey in sight. The Europeans are aware of this unique American holiday but take little notice of it. We find a nondescript corner Asian restaurant. I settle for pressed duck. The next day I find a coffee shop selling slices of apple pie. Half way through the slice I am thinking of family, friends and being thankful to be able to have this little adventure with so many of you. The next day it is back on Clickair and the flying bus. taking us back to Barcelona.

We touch down late in the evening, and decide we just have not partied enough. So I get my first dose of Barcelona night life. Being a bar tender, Alex knows half the town. We spend a couple of hours at the bar he works at hanging out with his friends. They are all nice to me, but I feel a little on the fringes. I can understand about every 10th word. It motivates me to keep working on my Spanish. At about 1:00am, we head to the dance clubs. Packed with hot guys all bouncing to the beat of mostly American music. I had to laugh to myself when they all started singing along with a Madonna standard. Ah just a bunch of gay guys doing what gay boys do best who could be anywhere in the world. I had a lot of fun.

Off to Sitges for Humanity

As most of you know, I have done a lot of volunteer work for Habitat for Humanity. Each year they have a big gala to raise money for building homes. For the past couple of years I have done the décor for the event. Because I was sailing, I was unable to help this year. So I offered to use my boat and a week on the coast of Spain as an auction item. It ended up being the highest paid auction item of the event. Last week, the couple that won the auction came to claim their prize. They came a few days early and spent some time in Barcelona exploring the wonders of the city. We met together late Saturday and planned out our week. The next day we set sail for Casteldefels, a small coastal town just south of Barcelona. It was a typical coastal Spanish village with whitewashed houses and colorful fishing boats. The town was just a short walk away from the port and the castle up on the hill was a long walk. The Wades were up for the challenge of exploring the castle in the early afternoon. It wasn’t until long after dark before they returned to the boat. The next day we sailed off to Sitges

Just a couple of hours further up the coast is the town of Sitges. It is the main weekend get-away resort town for Barcelona. And it is one of the most popular gay destinations in Europe. In the summer, the beaches sprout colorful umbrellas and the sand is carpeted with bronze tan bodies stretched out on festive towels. Restaurants are bustling with activity and the streets are a tide of people. This time of year however, it is a shadow of itself and there is not a speedo to be seen. It feels more like a lazy Sunday morning before anyone is out of bed. A few strollers, and shops that half-heartily open late in the afternoon. Some don’t even bother to do that. But the beauty that made this a popular beach town is still there. The cathedral right on the edge of the surging sea, three museums, cobblestone streets and stone-crafted architecture seduce you into its charm. There are a lot of gay bars, restaurants and hotels. Like most of Europe, nothing opens before 10pm and don’t even bother to show up before midnight. I am still trying to adjust to this lifestyle time change. The last night I am determined to go to one of the clubs. So I wait until about 10 and open the door. My resolve quickly dissolves with the freezing wind and light rain. I head back to the warmth of my boat for a good movie and a nights sleep. I am definitely going to have to revisit Sitges when it warms up a bit.

The next day the Wades decided to go to Tarragona. It is too far to go by boat in the short week that we have together, so they hop on a train and make an overnight adventure of it. It gives me a great opportunity to soak up Sitges and hang out at the port. The week passes by in lightning speed and soon we are heading back to Barcelona.

I am getting comfortable with Barcelona. Working on my Spanish in the morning, going to the gym, taking care of business and working on the computer. I met a guy who lives in Sitges that is from Denver. Alex has been here a couple of years. He works in a gay bar and is part owner in the one next door. We got together for lunch. Alex tells me he is headed to Berlin for a couple of days. There is an airline called Clickair that has insane pricing to the major cities in Europe. Most of the tickets are 20 euro including all the taxes and fees. It doesn’t take much to talk me into joining him. The plane leaves in a couple of hours so we go back to the boat, I throw a backpack together with a few clothes while he books the ticket on the internet and off we go.

Over 2500 Nautical Miles Later

After a long day on calm seas we pull into Porto Olympica. It is a port that was built for the Olympic games back in the 90’s. There are two towering skyscrapers that mark the port where the athletes were housed during the games. After the games, the units were sold off as apartments. The port doesn’t have a regular berth for us, but allow us to tie up across from the Capitainare as long as we promise to leave by 9am. And no, they don’t have any long-term spaces. So the next morning we go to the main port in Barcelona. It looks like there are a bunch of new berths and things look hopeful. We find an empty berth and head to the Capitainare. Sorry no room for long term berthing there either. I was hoping to spend the winter months in Barcelona. There is one last chance, Port Frovm. It is a new port and they might have a space for us. We do manage to find a place and report one more time to the Capitainare. It seems that they do have room, but there is a low bridge that is 16 meters high. Looks pretty tight. We try it, I get right up next to it, and it looks like my mast is about 6” too tall. Now what? We go back only to find that the only places they have are on the other side of the bridge. They encourage us to try again and to go up right next to the wall. So the next morning we attempt it again. With a little luck we hug the far seawall and squeeze under, bending the top VHF antenna as we pass. Wow that is close. Water is up a bit because of winter and a full moon. I just hope we can make it out when we need to. But we are here in Barcelona, safely tucked into a nice berth for a while. I have sailed over 2500 nautical miles before arriving in Barcelona. It has been a great adventure sharing with family and friends. I am ready to stay put for a while, and this looks like a great place to hang out during the winter months.

My friend Jun and I decide to explore the city a bit. There is a lot to see in this grand city. And the best way to see all of the highlights and get a feel for where everything is located is by taking a ride on the Bus Turistic. We have seen these busses in other ports. These double decker busses stop at all of the points of interest. A bus comes about every 10 minutes and can get on and off at any of the spots, spending as much time as you want each time. The first thing we head to is Goudi’s Art Nouveau masterpiece, the temple Expiatori de la Sagrada, church of the holy family. Breathtaking, spectacular, incredible, astounding, what ever you want to say, it doesn’t do this architecture sculpture justice. The church was started in 1883. Goudi spent a lifetime working on it including the last 16 years of his life living like a recluse until he died in 1926. The church is still unfinished and probably will not be completed in my lifetime. With 12 spires for each of the apostles, 4 more for the gospel writers, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, one for Mary and then the crowning spire for Christ, it is unique in all the world. Even more interesting is the concept for this art nouveau church. All the religious symbols are on the outside of the building. Words shouting Hosanna, Peace and Glory to God wrap around the spires along with depicting the life, death and resurrection of Christ. The inside of the church is stripped of all religious symbols. Instead, the supporting pillars resemble tall trees, creating a ceiling of forest leaves. When finished, stain glass ceilings will filter colored light through the naïve. Goudi’s concept is to make you feel like you are worshiping in a forest of trees rather than a man-made church. I love Art Nouveau. Claiming to have the greatest collection of Art Nouveau buildings, Barcelona has them generously sprinkled throughout the city, and Expiatori de la Sagrada is the crowning jewel.

After two days double deckering it, we only scratch the surface of what this city has to offer. It is going to take me a while to do all of the exploring that I am excited to do. I hope to get a lot of bike riding in, and learning to speak Spanish. We check out the gay part of town. Lot’s of rainbow flags and gay friendly hotels. This is a very gay friendly city. I hear it has the third biggest gay population in Europe. They all seem friendly to me. I am looking forward to getting to know these hot Spaniards with their mops of raven hair, easy smiles and coffee colored skin.

A couple of days later, I meet up with a guy I have been talking to for about a year on the internet. Kevin is Canadian, but travels to Barcelona often for work. We hoped to cross paths somewhere along the way and finally connect in Barcelona. He is a nice guy and fills me in on where to go and what to do while I am over here. He belongs to a gay swim club and invites me to one of their weekly workouts. I am not the strongest swimmer, but always up for some fun. It turns out to be quite a work out. The guys are very friendly and make me feel a part of the group. Everyone is kind enough to not point out my struggling to keep up during the freestyle portion of the workout. I do better on the crawl and kicking part. Those biking muscles are paying off. Afterwards we all shower together. Humm so hot. I can’t help but check out all those uncut dicks and wonderful swimming physics. Afterwards Kevin and I go to a nearby restaurant for a quick dinner. He tells me all the guys were checking me out in the shower as well. Guess gay guys are the same all over.

My friend Lance emails me and wonders where in Europe I am. He is headed to Barcelona for a couple of days. We are both delighted to connect. I haven’t seen him in about a year. He is curating a big art project for the Chinese government in connection with this summers Olympics. He is also putting together a project in Bali. So most of the time on the other side of the globe from where I am. During the day Lance is in meetings all day but we manage to get together in the evenings. The last night he is here, I am invited to a big art opening. Afterwards we go to a local Tapa restaurant with a bunch of other curators. They are from all over the world, Japan, Belgium, Sweden, etc. The food is delicious and the conversation rich. It is fun hearing a perspective of their passions, dreams and politics that can only come from such a wide group of people. You walk away wondering how is it that this world just can’t seem to get along better. I mean we solved most of the worlds problems starting with kicking Bush out of office.

Why is Everyone Naked

Our next port is Cap d’ Agde, as we make our way to the border of Spain. We planned to just stay the night but the next day it was poring rain so we stayed a little longer. Nearby is the famous town of Anbone, a naturalist city of over 20,000 people. Fortunately this time of year, the weather is cold enough to make even the most avid nudist from walking around naked. They won’t shed their clothes again until the summer heat returns. The whole area is a community built from scratch. All of the buildings are new, the roads are some of the widest I have seen in Europe, nice sidewalks and landscaped common areas. It is really a wonderful community. The whole town is spotless with no litter and no graffiti. This time of year it is pretty empty. Most of the shops and restaurants are closed and the roadways are almost empty. If you like peace and quiet, this is the place to come during the winter.

Sailing for Sete

We stayed a couple more days in Marseille and then when the weather calmed down a bit headed for Sete. This stretch of the Mediterranean has some of the strongest winds. The French call it the Mistral. When there is a high in the Alps, the only way to equalize the pressure is through the gorge cut by the Rone River. As a result the winds just howl through this part affecting the wind all the way to Toulon. We waited until the winds were as calm as they get and then headed across the water. Even with our cautious waiting, winds gusted to over 35 knots. We made great time sailing at the fastest speeds yet, t one point reaching 10 knots. That is about thirty percent faster than the engines will take us. By the time we reach Sete, the winds had calmed down to about 10 knots. It was a fun and fast day of sailing.

Sete has a huge harbor that runs deep into the town. Beautiful stone buildings with wroth iron balconies line each side of the waterway. The harbor had clear water that you could see deep down. Swimming amongst the rocks were fish about 12” long. They looked like dinner, but I have no skills in catching such things. Fishing is still a major part of the economy here and all the fishing boats were just coming in when we arrived. Along with the fishing boats following their catch were a sky filled with seagulls looking for their evening meal. It looked like something out of the Hitchcock film “The Birds”. We found a nice berth and the capitanerie office could not have been more welcoming. The lady there told us all the restaurants to check out and what nightlife was going on. We wandered around the city for a while, had dinner and skipped the night on the town.

Poking Around the Pope’s Place

The next day we took the train to Avignon. Because of the unrest in Rome, Pope Clement V sought refuge in Avignon. For most of the 14th century, it was here that the popes resided. They build a huge heavily fortified palace. None of the furnishing exists and very few of the walls are preserved with their original decorative frescos. Nonetheless, it is still an imposing structure. 7 official popes governed from these stonewalls. It was during this time that the Catholic Church had two popes serving at one time, one in Rome and one in Avignon. In the end, things got ironed out and the papacy was returned to Rome.

Taking the Train

The seas are a bit rough so we decide to stay in Marseille a little longer, and wait for things to calm down. It is not a bad place to hang out. We take the train to nearby Nimes famous for its textile industry. Their most famous fabric, denim, which got its name from de nimes. This ancient town was an important Roman stronghold. When the Romans included France as part of the Roman Empire, they invested in the town of Nimes. Among the other Roman ruins is the most preserved coliseum in existence. It is not much different than the day it was built. Still in use today for concerts, bullfights and community festivals, spectators still climb the stone stairs and sit on the same stone benches that were in use 2000 years ago. We took the guided tour and learned that Hollywood has greatly distorted what happened in these arenas. Contrary to popular belief, gladiators were not persecuted slaves or prisoners, but were men that choose that profession much like boxers do today. They went to school and learned the art of combat. The contest was to make the opponent submit. The rules were pretty simple; you could do anything but kill the other guy. They had referees that made sure no deadly force was used. When an opponent was conquered, all eyes went to the leading dignitary. He would either tuck his thumb into his fingers indicating that the sword should be sheathed or hold his palm out flat indicating death to the defeated. Rarely was death ruled. A lot of money and time went into training these men. If the dignitary signaled death, he would be responsible to paying the school that trained the gladiator significant sums of money. At mid day most of the spectators left the arena to have lunch. It was during this time that the bloodiest of the spectacle took place. Wild animals such as bears or lions would be put into the arena along with prisoners and enemies of the state chained in place and not allowed to defend themselves. What happened next is a bloodbath with the wild animals feasting on human flesh. Even the Romans considered this pretty barbaric and few watched. It was used as a warning to not cross the might of the Roman Empire. After lunch, the sand on the arena floor was turned, soaking up the blood and the afternoon games would continue.

We also went to the Maison Carree, a temple with typical fluted columns and sculpted frieze. It is the best preserved in the world as well. These two gems made the trip well worth the train ride. They made the Maison Carree into a theater that showed a 3D movie on the history of the area. We got swords poking inches from our face and lances from the Middle Ages hurling towards us. It was all quite fun.

Bouillabasse, Can You Name That Port

If you said Marseille, go to the head of the class. Bouillabasse is the famous Marseille fish soup. Every restaurant has the official recipe. In fact, there is no official recipe that any two cooks can agree on. It is basically any left over fish cooked together. I am sure there will be those that insist certain fish are included, but no one will tell you which ones. Then they take the stock and serve it as soup. The fish is served separately from a platter.

The Vieux Port is a huge rectangle with a fort on each side of the entrance to the harbor. Restaurants and hotels line up on each side of the harbor. This is really a beautiful harbor and we had a berth that had an unbeatable view. Out our back door was the beautiful Notre Dame de la Garde with its gold leafed Madonna and Child watching over the entire city. It is all lit up at night and looks more like an ethereal castle than a church. The inside of the Romanesque building is covered in gold leafed tiles that glimmer down on the congregation below. It is at Marseille that I met up with my friend Jun from San Francisco. He has a nephew, Eugene that lives a couple of miles from the harbor. We all went out to dinner with Eugene’s family. Their little boy PJ charmed us with his big broad smile and gleaming eyes. PJ is only 6 but speaks French, English and Ilocano, a Filipino dialect and loves pizza. The next afternoon, they invited us to their home for a true Filipino dinner. We stuffed ourselves on fresh shrimp, pansit, lumpia, adubo and fried bananas, tron, for dessert. Christy, Eugene’s wife made sure we had a big plate of leftovers to take home with us. We ended up having enough leftovers for three meals. After dinner, we took Bruce to the train station. He is headed for Rome to meet his sister. They are going to spend a couple of weeks touring around Italy together. I of course could not help myself in suggesting enough places to visit that it would take a month to see it all. Bruce and his sister might meet up with me again in Barcelona.

Blown All the Way to Marseille

The winds continued to blow strong so we set our sails for Cassis. One of my favorite towns with its quaint fishing village atmosphere. Space is always tight here, and this time our luck ran out. There was no room for us to spend the night so we continued on to Marseille, which is only a few hours further up the coast. We stayed across from Marseille on the island of Ratonmeau. There are actually two islands right next to each other. The French have connected the islands together and created a resort port. This time of year it is pretty quiet, but a great place to spend the night. It used to be a large prison and then a fort/military instillation. The stonewalls and buildings are still there, but abandoned to time and weather. They are at various stages of decay but very interesting to see the history that once walked along the abandoned corridors. While we walked around the ruins, Bruce found a terracotta tile that had a manufacturers stamp of Marseille imprinted on the backside. There is a lot of rubble outside the walls of the abandoned buildings that had been dumped down a steep embankment. We thought the tile was interesting so decided to dig around and see if we could find some more. They might make fun coasters. Sure enough, with a little digging among the discarded rubble, we found enough whole ones for a set of coasters. But the biggest discovery was when Bruce found a peninsula of the island bearing his family name, LeCheminant. There was even a rock house built on the site. We just didn’t know where to report for clear title to the family estate.

Right across from this island is the famous Ile d’If, which has a beautiful medieval prison, built with high rock walls and rounded turrets. Protestants and other declared heretics were kept there until they served time as galley slaves. In the 19th century Napoleon III kept political prisoners there. But the most famous prisoner there was one that never existed. Alexander Dumas fictional character The Count of Monte Cristo was there for 18 years. The story is actually a fictionalized account of a real prisoner who was kept on an island near Cannes. But of course that little detail does not stop the tour guides showing you an actual cell where the Count could have been quartered.

Pork Rolls

Ok we don’t know how to pronounce Porquerolles so this little picturesque island off the coast of Toulon has become affectionately called Pork Rolls. It is so comfortable coming back to a port that I have been to before. I know where everything is and the spaces available for visiting boats. It is here that Napoleon rested his most honored troops and occupied the fortress at the top of the hill. We rode bikes around the island and up to the fort. It is a massive structure with walls 12’ thick and a commanding view. Many French come over to these islands for a weekend getaway. It was a great place to kick back for a couple of days and enjoy the sun and the sea.

The next morning we head across the waters to Toulon. We had strong winds and good sailing. We plan to spend just the night there. Toulon is a huge city with a large navy presence. In fact it is the largest navy port for the French on the Mediterranean. In addition to all the cute French sailors walking around, there was also a large Korean navy ship in town. All those hot boys walking around in uniform with their hats all tilted exactly the way they should be was enough to give me some great fantasies. I found I was especially attracted to the officers. It's enough to urge you to sign up.

I like this port because there is a Carrefour store a short distance from the port. Carrefour is a large Wal-Mart type chain in France. There are not many big stores in Europe and it is a treat to go to just one place and find merchandise that I have not seen anywhere else in Europe. The groceries are discounted and with a large selection, it makes a great place to stock up on supplies. We only spend the night in Toulon.

St Raphael

This is a beautiful port with shops and restaurants all built around the large marina. It is a short walk to town along a wide promenade that hugs the seashore. The French love small dogs and it is quite common to see the proud owners of the goofiest dogs walking along the shore. Restaurants and shops selling discounted designer clothes spill out onto the broad stone-laid walkway. Old men are playing bocce ball on hard packed sand covered parks. We sit and watch them for a while trying to figure out the strategy and rules of the game. The only thing we could definitely agree on is you had to be over 65 to play the sport and you usually had to say something disappointing in French after each toss. There is great camaraderie amongst the group that looks like their lives are centered around this social activity. There is a beautiful church that commands the skyline with a large Madonna and Child sheathed in gold leaf that shimmers in the sunlight. The inside of the church is quite simple and doesn’t seem to fit the grandee dios expectations of the outside. I finally found a place to get my haircut and all my bleached out from the summer sun hair fell at the hands of the barber.

Picasso’s Hangout

After the war, art supplies were hard to get. The city of Antibes, just west of Nice offered to Picasso studio space and all the art supplies he needed. Picasso set to work at a furious rate, drawing and painting. He was 65 at this time and living with Francois Gilot who was in her 20’s. The love affair ended badly when she left him in 1953 with the cruel remark that she did not want to be married to a historical monument. When Picasso finally moved to nearby Vallauris, he left most of the work to the museum. 200 other pieces were added to the collection making it one of the major museums of Picasso’s work. At Vallauris Picasso became interested in ceramics and did a number of pieces, some of which were carefully copied by a local factory to be sold as limited edition pieces. You can still pick up a few of these pieces if you open your wallet wide enough.

We tried staying at the port of Antibes, but ended up staying at Golfe Juan which is near Vallaris, about half way between Antibes and Cannes. It turned out to be a great port. The train station was just a couple of blocks from the marina and we made day trips to both Cannes and Antibes. One afternoon we got talking to a couple from Canada. They had a rented car and asked us if we wanted to go to Vallauris with them. So up the hill we went to visit the town that is still very much an artisans center. Picasso’s presents is still influencing the work done by local ceramic artists.

The next day we took the train into Cannes. Known for their film festival and famous celebrities, it is a town of excitement for a couple of weeks of the year. After that, it calms down into a midsize town. Cannes is more modern than most of the towns in Southern France. Where others have tried pretty successfully to maintain the flavor of the historic nature of the architecture, Cannes went the other way and created a modern profile. There are great beaches and palm tree lined broad promenades.

It’s Nice to be Back in Nice

Once again I find myself back in the beautiful city of Nice. There is a big harbor here, but not much room for guest boats. We wiggle between a couple of boats in hopes that we will be able to spend a few days at this port. I love wandering around the old town. There is a big plaza that goes on for blocks. In the morning it is a farmers market with exotic flowers, fresh vegetables, home made jams, candles, and a host of other items the vendors hope you can not live with out. By afternoon all the shops dissolve and the restaurants that line the streets spread out their tables and chairs for an evening of tasty locally caught fish and freshly made pasta. The system seems to work flawlessly and keeps the area busy day and night. There are a sprinkling of great museums scattered throughout the city. Chagall lived here for a while and donated a series of painting he did. The collection was added to and it turns out to be a nice representative exhibit of his work. Attracted by the unique Cote de Azure light, Matisse also lived here for a while. There is a good collection of his work housed in a 17th century villa. Just walking around you will stumble across a section of ruins that remind you the history of this city dates back to the Greeks. It is at Nice that I say good-bye to Mike and Jose. We have had a great couple of weeks together that has gone by so fast. My friend Bruce LeCheminant joins me in the afternoon. Bruce and I have oared down the Grand Canyon together. He just happened to call me up a couple of days ago and wondered what I was up to. The next day he was aboard a Delta jet looking forward to some adventures on the high seas.

Arivaderche, Bon Jour

I have really grown to love Italy. It is a beautiful country that you could spend endless summers exploring and learning from. It has a rich history and beautiful towns from Greek occupation, Roman, medeavil, baroque, reniassance, and every time period to modern day. The people are passionate about life, love of family and friends. I am also anxious to come back to France. Can you tell I love it over here. The Europeans seem to have their pulse on life itself. They live for life and don’t let work get in the way. The American dream of a bigger house, newer car, and all the possessions you can pack in every nook and cranny seems to be uniquely American and has no place in their world. We sail into Nice in the late afternoon.

Portofino and Santa Margherita

We knew it would be tough to find a berth in Portofino, so we head to Santa Margherita which is the next town over in hopes of finding some place to hang out even for just a couple of hours. It would be nice to have lunch in Portofino and it is an easy bus ride between the two towns. So we pull into a space that looks like it might work. No one is around so we post a notice on the window of the boat and plan to take another note to the capitainerie letting them know that we will be back in a couple of hours. Just when we are about to leave, thus gruff guy comes up to us and tells us it is not possible to stay where we are for even a few minutes. We must leave. We are all very disappointed and are still hoping we can figure out some way to stay even for a few hours. So I go down to the capitainerie and pled my case. I tell the same guy we would really like to spend the night there, but if that is not possible could we please stay for a couple of hours. Like so many times in Italy, after the initial outburst of no possibility, he decides we can work something out. He tells us he is going out to lunch and to see him in an hour. So we order a nice seafood lunch at a nearby restaurant. After lunch I go back to the capitainerie and the guy tells me I can just stay where I am for the night. No problem. I don’t even have to move. So what went from it is impossible to stay for just a few minutes turns to an ok to stay the night there, no worries. Everything works out. We catch the bus and stroll around Portofino with its upscale shops dripping with jewelery and designer clothes. In the late afternoon we catch the bus back to Santa Margherita. We are standing at a square looking at a beautiful church, when this little girl with a mop of curly hair who I would guess to be about 7 years old is stomping her foot and crying out in Italian to her father that she is not too pleased with. Temper tamtrums are somehow much more charming in Italian, and I can tell another drama queen is developing her Italian passion for life. The next morning Victoria has to leave us to go back to Paris. We wish her a fond farewell in the early hours of morning and head for France.

The Five Jewels in Italy’s Crown

I love the Chinque Terra. And what is there not to love. Five quaint villages perched on the top of sheer cliffs painted with a patine of time that makes them look like they were aged to perfection just for us. We walked between the first three villages along the trail that clings to the side of the cliffs like a barnacle to the side of a boat. The weather is still warm during the day, and the light breeze washing over us from the sea keeps us from overheating during our walk. For lunch we stop at a restaurant that has taken over most of a small plaza in the third little village. It appears that if you want to open a restaurant in Europe, all you need is a kitchen. You can then start taking real estate for the tables wherever they fit. Eventually you have enough tables strewned out onto sidewalks and plazas to run a profitable restaurant. In the afternoon we headed to the beach for a swim in the ocean before going on to the fourth village. By then it is time for gelatio and sitting under a colorful umbrella table watching the sun cast a golden warmth to the sides of the buildings. The sky turns ablaze of oranges yellows and purples and the ocean shimmers in response. Kids are drawing their last pictures in the sand and a little kitten looks up to our table hoping for one last scrap. Guess it is time to catch the train back to La Spezia where we berthed our boat.

Where is That Little Bonaparte.

Elba is about a 4-hour sail and we get there a little before 1pm. There is a sign on the gas station that tells us it does not open until 3:30. Not a surprise, Italy is known for not working much between 1 and 4. So we decide to break out lunch and kick back on the cockpit of the boat. We dine on a nice tossed salad, bar-b-qued chicken and calamari marinated in a sauce made from their ink that Victoria brought from Spain. Cheese and pears for desert complete the meal. If it sounds delicious, well it was. As we are eating, someone notices the sign says they do not reopen on Saturday during the off-season, so we are stuck there without being able to get any fuel. Well I guess we will worry about that tomorrow.

The town is like a lot of the small ports we have been in. Three story pastel buildings with shops and restaurants on the bottom floor surround the marina. Stone streets and marble curbs wander in some unplanned course. A brightly painted yellow church with its bell tower dominant the skyline and its ringing bells bind the community together. Teenage boys maraud around on their bikes. Shop keepers picking out your fruit for you so that you will not take their favorite peaches. And then of course the gellatoteria tempting us with my favorite “fruita de bosco” sorbets. It is a mixture of blackberries, raspberries and gooseberries and literally means fruit of the forest. So as I savor its taste, I envision young boys skipping through the forest harvesting wild berries all for my indulgence.

In the afternoon, Peter, Mike’s son and Afton, his girlfriend joins us. They have been traveling around Europe on Eurorail passes for the past two months. The boat is a welcome change from jostling trains and toting backpacks. We are glad to have them along. That evening, Mike treats us all do dinner at a local restaurant where we dine on local swordfish, octopus salad, pasta, grilled vegetables and steak. Early the next morning, we head to La Spezia and the Chinque Terra.

Spectacular Scenery of Siena

The next day we head to Siena, which was about 2 hours away from the port. Once the capital rival to Florence, Siena is Italy’s most spectacular medieval town. It was at its peak power between 1260 and 1380 before Florence subdued it through military force and the black plague wiped out a third of its population. The combination of those events froze the town’s population and acted like a brine to pickle it as it sat for centuries uninfluenced by the progress of time. The population of 60,000 is about the same as it was during its peak power. The heart of the city is the public piazza. Shaped like a fan that culminates at a spectacular town hall complete with imposing tower. And if the Piazza del Campo is the heart of the city, the Duomo is the soul. This church rivals St. Peters in Rome both in its scope and beauty. If they had finished the final planned naïve, it would have been the biggest Christian church in the world. But somehow loosing a third of the population from the plague and ruling authority to Florence managed to kill that idea. I actually found it more beautiful and more impressive than St. Peters. Its sculpted outside is done in the same black and white striped marble that Florence is famous for. Inside, the marble floors are intricately inlaid with multiple colors to depict various scenes. I have never seen such beautiful floors anywhere. The floors alone are well worth the visit. But the grandeur of the cathedral continues up the walls that include sculptures by Michelangelo and paintings by Donatello and culminate in a spectacularly painted ceiling. The library displays illuminated manuscripts done in gold leaf and brilliant colors painted by monks who dedicated their lives to this art. And the frescos on the walls are just as dazzling. The colors are brilliant colors. We are told that the room was closed to everyone for centuries and the unrestored frescos are as they were painted, I have seen a lot of cathedrals since I have been over here, and this one is at the top of the list of magnificence and beauty.

The next morning, we once again peek our bow out of the harbor in hopes of calmer seas. Sure enough, the waves are just a shadow of their former selves. So on to Elba we go.

Mike, Jose and Victoria

My good friends Mike and Jose join me on Monday. They bring along with them Victoria, a good friend of theirs. I had met Victoria at a dinner party at Mike and Jose’s last year. They told her of the adventure they were embarking on, and talked her into coming along as well. Victoria is originally from Spain, but her family fled the Spanish revolution and moved to France. She was actually born on the way to France during their escape. So now she splits her time between the Bay Area, Spain and France. It is fun having her along, and the fact that she speaks Spanish, French and English helps us muddle our way through the Italian language. Tuesday morning, we set sail to Elba, the island off the coast of Italy where Napoleon was sent when he lost power. He was there for nine months before staging the last short comeback. The sea is a bit rough with high waves. After rolling around for about 6 hours, we decide to take a detour to Port Ercole. The port proves to be a thoroughly likable fishing port that has managed to retain much of its old fishing village charm. There is no room at the guest docks, but we manage to dock at the pier. And though there is no electricity or water, it is still a great place to moor. That afternoon we wander through the streets of this sleepy village. Not much is opened, but the people of the town are friendly. We end up cooking dinner on the boat that night. The next day, we head out to Elba again. But as we peek our bow out of the protective bay, the waves prove to be just as wild as the day before. So we decide to just relax and spend another day in port. This time we dock at Marina Cala di Galera. It is right next to Port Ercole, and has more space at their guest docks. We are able to connect with power and water. We decide to rent a car and go inland and explore some of the nearby cities. It takes us most of the day to arrange for a car rental, but in the afternoon we find ourselves on the road to Pitigliano.

Pitigliano is a medieval town spectacularly situated high above a deep raven. As we approached the city, there was rain coming down and a whiff of mist created a magical kingdom feel to the whole place. The rock buildings of the town were sculpted from the same rock as the cliff. Without the windows in the buildings, it would have been difficult to tell where the cliff ended and the buildings started. It starts to rain for the first time since I started this trip. I guess it is getting that time of year. We dodge the rain through the maze of narrow streets that lead us to a small Jewish ghetto settled in the 17th century by Jews fleeing catholic persecution. Most of the ghetto consisted of a network of caves dug into the rock to form the center of their village. Bakery, synagogue, wine cellar, a place they dyed cloth and other rooms are all carved out of the solid rock. The little area thrived until WWII and Hitler’s madness decimated the population. Above the Jewish quarters, the medieval town still stands like a time capsule from a different era. The aqueduct built in 1545 still is used to bring water to the residents. It is quite amazing how little the town has changed since its original founding. If you took away the cars and changed the clothing, there would be little difference from a couple of centuries ago. Despite the rain, we love it there, and are more than glad for the rough seas that set us on this exploratory course.

Roaming Around Rome

It feels like de javue all over again. We decide to head back to the port I stayed at last time I was in Rome, port Fumicino. Luigi welcomes us and squeezes us in a port that looks way too full. It is one of the few ports that there always seems room for just one more. He remembers my daughters and me from this summer. Of course, I remember all of his kindness to us.

Since I saw all of the star attractions just a couple of months ago, and Kip have recently been to Rome, we decide to skip the tourist destinations this time around. We head to the local gay beach for the day and have a delightful time kicking back and doing what Romans do. The beach is marked by tattered rainbow flags whipping in the off shore breeze. The beach starts out gay and as you head further south, it becomes a nude gay beach then turns into a nude straight beach. Everyone seems to get along fine. There is some drama going on with a couple of Italians yelling passionately at each other. We are not sure what they are confronting each other about, but we think the guy was taking pictures. It provides a brief diversion, and after all what would a gay beach be if it didn’t have at least a little drama to it. As always it was quite the adventure getting around town and finding the beach. This time it involved catching a bus, then a train and then a taxi to the beach. Coming back we found the bus back to the train station. Italy has nice sandy beaches and the sea is still quite warm. The weather has cooled a bit from the blistering days of summer, but they are still quite delightful. The next day we spent a day wandering around the city trying to solve my Internet problems. It proved to still be elusive for us to be able to connect to the Internet on the boat easily. I could get a connection in Italy, but not in France or Spain without paying roaming charges. So I have to wait a little longer. On Sunday, Kip says his last goodbyes and heads back home. Thanks Kip for coming, I enjoyed every minute of your visit.

Living Amongst the Ruins

So what do you do when the Romans move out? Well you just move in amongst the ruins. We set sail for Terracina, an ancient Roman town connected by the Appian Way. A large section of the town just reused what the Romans built so long ago. Dominating the town is a catholic Duomo build using the shell of a Roman temple. You still enter the church by using the temple’s steps. Ancient columns can be seen as part of the exterior supporting walls. You can see a distain for the heathen Romans as stones from the once proud temple are put in wherever they fit, some carved with what was once a coronus and others with Roman writing that is now upside down. The large tower built much later makes no attempt to unify its architecture with that of the church, but shadows it as it rises high in a layered gothic style. The tower is built like a geography record with each story built in the style of the day starting with its Roman foundation and rising to completion some 1300 years later. Around the church are apartment buildings still using some of the other still standing Roman walls. To some extent I want the Roman ruins to be respected and not altered, but another side of me finds it fascinating that the walls built so long ago to house Romans are still housing Italians today, still fulfilling the job they were created to do.

The next day we hop a bus south to Gaeta. According to Virgle, Gaeta was named after Aeneas’s wetnurse Caieta, who was allegedly buried here. The town is dominated by another tower built next to the church that is topped with a roof of colored ceramic tiles. There is a larger cathedral that is a very fine example of Italian gothic. It is amazing how beautiful these small towns in southern Italy are, and so little is written about them. Even the guidebooks relegate just a few paragraphs to them. With their mixture of colorful ancient past and beautiful harbors, they make it a treat to explore and absorb. We are a little worried about catching the bus back to Terracina. There is only one bus, and we are a little unsure where it picks us up. So at 6:15, our nerves are a bit stressed when we cannot see a bus coming. Weighing the options if we miss the bus seems like not very good choices. Just when we thought we missed our opportunity, the bus comes 15 minutes late and we are relieved to be heading back to the boat. That night we have dinner in a little alleyway that ends up being one of the top 10 dinners of my life. The food was just exquisite and artfully presented. The waitress was incredible. She made us feel cared for and treated like guests. After the antipasti and main course, we were served as a gift from the restaurant a predesert of chocolate and cream. Then desert was served, followed by a post desert treat gratis from the kitchen of briquette type cookies. You gotta love a restaurant that serves 3 deserts after a delicious meal.

The next day we say goodbye to Ryan who catches his train to Rome. Kip and I stay one more day to deal with some boat issues and head for Rome ourselves the following morning.

The Ryan Express Comes to Town

That evening, my friend Ryan calls us from the train station. He has been in Northern Italy and has come down to visit us for a few days. We tell him to just wait for us at the station and we will come meet him. It is about 10 at night. Getting to him proves to be much tougher than we thought. The train we would normally take is no longer running that route. So we try and take a bus. It ends up being the wrong bus and an hour later we are no closer to him than before. So we wait for another bus. By now the streets are teeming with crowds of young 20 somethings on a Friday night sizing each other up for an evening of fun. Buses are running pretty infrequently, so we finally hail a cab. We are literally crawling along in bumper-to-bumper traffic at midnight inching our way toward our stranded guest. By the time we pick him up and finally arrive back to the boat it is almost 2 am. Welcome to Naples Ryan. The next not too early morning, Ryan decides he wants to visit Pompei. Since we just spent the day at Herculean, Kip and I head to Sorrento for a day at the beach. We plan to meet back at the main train station at about 9 that night. It is the same train so we ride together as far as Pompei before splitting up.

Sorrento is a charming town crushed by tourists. Don’t these people know the travel season is over? Two big cruise ships are in the harbor and the streets are crowded with visitors mining through post cards and loot designed specially to lure them into parting with their cash. The beach, however, are all locals lying out soaking up the sun on their already deeply tanned glistening bodies. Each sand filled stretch is more beautiful than the last. The water dashing against the rocks is like liquid glass broken with each pulse of the Mediterranean. We spend the day reading, relaxing and feeling a part of this sand-loving community. In the late afternoon, when the sun lowers across the horizon and casts that golden light across the landscape, blankets are picked up and the backpacks are stuffed with books and half used sunscreen. We head back to Naples and meet up with Ryan at the main train station. He tells of his day adventures of walking around the ruins absorbed in the Roman life so long ago. We grab a bite to eat at an outside restaurant on one of the plazas before heading back to the boat.

Off to Naples

The Bay of Naples is quite large and there are a bunch of ports to choose from. We head for the north part of the bay. Our first choice of ports, Pozzuoli is full. I knew it was a small port, but hoping the off-season would give us a berth. So we head a little further north to Baia. It too looks completely full, but as we are cruising for a gap in the rows of boats, I see a guy leave and we manage to squeeze in between two pretty large yachts. Two Italian guys hand us the slime lines and take our stern lines. At first they tell us it is not possible to stay here, but then make a magical phone call and tell us if we can open up our wallets enough and pay the high port charges, we are welcome to stay a couple of days. We end up staying three. Getting into the center of Naples on public transportation proves to be a bit of a challenge. We had to catch a bus that took us to the train station, which took us to a second station that transferred us to the Metro, which finally took us to the final train. Yeah it was a bit of a challenge that felt like we were trying to shake some sinister shadow from a John Grisham novel. Ok, maybe I have been reading one two many novels lately. Naples is a very old town dating back to the Etruscans and Greeks. There are ruins scattered like Easter eggs hiding throughout the area. Even the port of Baia has significant ruins of mostly Roman origins. It is said that the port takes its name from Baios, the navigator of Odysseus. It is from Baia that Caligula built his bridge of ships and rafts across to Pozzuoli so that he could exclaim how he had walked across the water from one city to the next. Yeah he was a bit unbalanced. Here also Nero murdered his mother Agrippian and brutally suppressed the conspiracy of Piso. And then ever looming in the background is Mount Vesuvius whose eruption buried Pompei and Herculean in as much as 150 feet of mud. Kip and I explore Herculean for a day, strolling where ancient Romans built villas with beautiful intricate mosaic floors, bartered and sold food and slaves, and relaxed in the ancient grand baths together. It was at the ancient baths that Kip channeled with the ancient Romans and wanted to feel what it was like to be one of them. We were all alone so he stepped into one of the baths and stripped naked while I took his picture, hoping that the ghosts of other Romans would somehow magically appear on the film along side of him. It didn’t take much to talk me into getting my picture taken the same way. There is a time-leap feeling of connecting and sharing in lives long forgotten that were not too different from our own journey through life.

The men of Naples are some of the most beautiful in all of Italy. Olive skin that in the Mediterranean sun easily turns to the golden brown of a marshmallow roasted in a campfire, strong facial features, classical straight Roman noses, dark thick hair and easy smiles flashing perfect white teeth. They are all lean and every muscle shows through their trim bodies. You could pick out a dozen to take home with you on any given block. We went to a bathhouse one night called the Blue Angel. After searching around for a while, we found an unmarked black door on the first floor of a modern glass high-rise. It seemed like an unlikely place for a gay bathhouse, but well worth visiting if you are ever in this part of the world. We weren’t disappointed.

Yippee, Amalfi

Yippee, Amalfi
The next day we cruise along one of Italy’s most beautiful coastlines, the Amalfi Coast. We head for the heart of it, the town of Amalfi. There is little mystery why a town sprung up in this location. Sheer cliffs on both sides leading to a valley between the two majestic mountains gives a perfect location for a maritime based city. The oldest maritime code, Travole Amafitara, originated here centuries ago. Most of the town is tucked away behind an arched wall that connects the two mountains together, protecting it in ancient time from the onslaught of foreign invaders. Now nothing protects it from the onslaught of tourists. Even this late in the season, this place is flooded with foreigner’s carrying charge cards as their weapon of choice. While the heart of the city has been carved out by such weapons, the bones of the city are still clearly present. A magnificent 9th century tower built of colorful rock commands the town below. The impressive Chiostro del Paradiso flanks the Duomo built in the 13th century. We wander around breathing in the architecture detail carved centuries ago.

The Magic of Maratea

We came into Martea port in the late afternoon. It wasn’t long before the sun was dipping behind the mountains, fading the color out of the land to the black and white of twilight. There are plenty of berths. The tourists have all gone back to their everyday lives. We throw our lines to a helpful Italian standing on quay waiting for us. He generously tells us where the capitanari is and that it is closed for the day. Kip and I wander up the hill and stop at the first restaurant we come across that is open. It hangs out over the cliff overlooking the harbor. The food ends up being as delicious as the view. It used to take about a half hour to finish a meal. I find it taking hours now. We have slipped into the Italian way of life. Nothing is hurried, and everything is savored, friendships and food alike. I like to refer to Maratea as the Chinque Terra of the south with its string of villages all tenaciously hanging on the cliffs that rise up from the ocean floor.

New Crew and New Adventures

My good friend Kip joined me for a couple more days in Tropea. I ended up staying the better part of a week there. We relaxed, ate at the local trattorias enjoying fresh caught fish of all strange shapes and sizes. My favorite place to eat was a little restaurant right off the main plaza that was carved out by placing chairs onto the stone blocked plaza until they had enough seating to open up a modest place to eat. Dressed in traditional black the matriarch of the family takes your order and pretty much tells you what she wants you to eat. I feel very taken care of and it is nice to just let the meal unfold. Of course what they serve is delicious and we always seem to finish everything that is placed in front of us. We went back to the gay beach just south of the main town, relaxing, reading, and rinsing off in the crystal clear water at the foot of the cliffs. The shore is rocky with travertine rock yielding the story of their volcanic past. Small sandbars are tucked between the rocks making for private protected beaches. The German and the Italian guy was there again but the German would still not take off his speedo. They came over and sat down next to me. A couple of other guys came over to join in. I talked to the German a bit while the others were all talking amongst themselves in Italian. Everyone seemed to had a fun time.

Bronze Warriors and Unsettled Seas

We are headed to the Straits of Messina. The sea has kicked up and the boat rides the rise and fall of the sea. The waves push against the bow of the boat and when the timing is right can drench the front of the boat. A few of the crew get unsettled stomachs, but nothing a few pills can’t fix. We spend the next couple of days pushing our way through it all and decide to tie up at Reggio di Calabria, a port right in the Straits of Messina. We hear there is a wonderful archeological museum. We are not disappointed. It has a fine collection of Greek pottery and small bronze religious symbols. But the heart of the museum are two larger than life bronze statues. And I have to say they are the finest examples of classical Greek sculpture. The detail and craftsmanship on these two pieces is just breathtaking. Every vain, every toenail, every muscle is articulated in a way that can only be described as masterful. While the figures are cast in bronze, there are other metals inlayed to give even a more real quality to the pieces. Lips are tinted red, the teeth are white, nipples bronze all come together to express the idealized male form so important to Greek art. What is fascinating to me is that you could take these figures from the 5th century BC and match them to any Abercrombie and Finch male model today. Not much has changed in 7 thousand years.

That evening, we pick up Ben, one of Matts friends that has been traveling through Europe and the next day Lynn and her daughter end up catching a train to Naples we head to one of my favorite ports, Tropea. It is that storybook town built on the very top of sheer cliffs where the foundations of the building seem to melt right into the sandstone cliffs. Everything about this port seems to have been placed in perfect harmony with the surrounding area. The 200 steps it takes to get up to the town makes you work for your reward. We spend the day exploring the town and head to the beach. Ben is not feeling well so he goes with Mark and Matt to a beach near by. Mo and I decide to check out the gay beach just out of town. We have a vague idea where it is and a rough description. But hey, it seems like it is something two gay boys should be able to navigate to. About 3 KM out of town we head to the shore and walk through a couple of beaches. Our first clue that we are close is when we see a guy that is definitely cruising us. We go a little father and find a couple of guys naked playing in the water. We figure this must be it, and roll out our towels on the warm sand and peel off our swimming suits. The wind and the sun seep into our naked skin. A few minutes’ later, some cute guys set up their space right next to us. I start talking to them and find out they are from the Netherlands. Their English is good and we enjoy getting to know each other a bit more. Yeah it was fun.

Tropea is also the departing port for my crew. The next day they take trains to Naples and Rome to catch their flights back home. We have been a good crew and I will miss their spirit, friendship and helpfulness. In a couple of days, my friend Kip comes from San Francisco to join me. Ryan comes later in the week. I keep myself busy taking time for things that I have been putting off. I remember also to take some time off in the late afternoon to go to the gay beach again. This time there are all Italians there except one very cut German boy. His blonde hair and fair skin contrasts sharply with the jet black hair and olive complexions of the Italians. The German and his Italian buddy come over to me and start to talk. It is all in Italian and I try to convince them I don’t have any idea what they are talking about. They just talk a little louder to me. A few things I pick up. They ask me if I am a porn star. I had to laugh about that. Then they tell me my dick is very big (grande) and the Germans dick is very small (piccolo) but he is handsome don’t you think. He still had his swimming suite on, and was way too shy to take it off. Despite all the coaxing from his Italian friend, he remained in his speedo. A couple more Italians gravitate towards us and before long they are all sitting around talking about something I know not what. I think part of the conversation was about me because they would all look down at my dick and then keep talking. One of them wants to know how big my dick gets. At least I think that is what he is asking. I just smile and tell them I have no idea what they are talking about. So he reaches over and starts stroking me. A couple of the other guys start stroking as well as my dick starts to swell. It ends up turning into a circle jerk with everyone participating except the shy German. I could tell he got hard in his speedo, but was still to shy to pull it out. It is nice to know that gay boys love to play no matter what part of the world you are in. Nothing serious, just bantering back and forth and jerkin off together. They ask me if I will be back tomorrow (domain) . I just smile.

On my way back through the city of Tropea, I notice there are huge crowds all lining the streets. It looks like a parade is about to take place. I melt into the sidelines and wait. Sure enough the procession marches towards us. This seems to be a religious event. There are small groups of about 10 people representing every church in the town. All of them are catholic and all have their own unique robes on. Most have a white smock and then a colorful shawl over their shoulders. Gold lame, shades of blue, royal reds trimmed in gold, white with black trim yellows and all kinds of bright colorful fabrics. I think I like the bright magenta ones the best with their square hats and a puff ball on top all matching of course. At the end of the church delegations, all the priests from the town walk in one group. They are followed by a huge painting of the Virgin Mary in a silver frame complete with a candelabra on each side. It looks quite heave as the 6 or 8 guys that are shouldering the weight struggle by me. There is one guy singing into a microphone some religious song. Occasionally the crowd sings back to him a line from the hymn. After the religious section passes, the dignitaries from the town pass. I think the mayor is the one with the green/white and red sash running across his chest. Next the police force, followed by the boy scouts. And at the very end, a marching band, probably from the local high school. I have no idea what the celebration is about, but that night the sky is lit up with fireworks bursting into blossoms.

We Are Off to Italy

The next day we head to Corfu, the last Island in the Ionian Sea. I am delighted to take them around and show off all my favorite spots. We have dinner at this great restaurant that serves the best Gyro’s in Greece for 1.50 euros each. Across the street we get fresh baked bread and some sticky treats for breakfast the next day. Then down the road to one of my favorite Gelato stores around. The streets are still crowded, but not as much as last time I was here. All the tourists have packed up and headed for home. It is just the locals and a few stragglers like us. We wander the shops and pick up a few memories. It is almost midnight and the streets are still teeming with excitement.

The next day, we get up early and start the crossing to Italy. It is a clear day with some good winds. The sea is a bit unsettled, but nothing to worry about. We are able to sail most of the way over. Last time I made the crossing, the sea was smooth as glass. This time we were bobbing up and down with the swells. It makes for a much more tiring day. Hard to lay out on the trampoline and soak up the sun and a good book. We manage to entertain ourselves by playing some cards and a little Yache in the saloon. In the early afternoon, we once again see land and soon are safely tucked away at the port of Marina di Lucca. After telling the crew about how beautiful Lecche is, we decide to arrange for a car to rent the following day and head for dinner. It is fun returning back to the small family run trattoria that so welcomed us on our first trip through. The food is incredibly good, and everyone is more than ready to begin chowing through Italy with all of its anti-pasta, first plate, second plate and dessert. The Italians love to eat, and love to cook, and we love to sample all they have to offer. Steamed clams, baby octopus, all kinds of pasta, fish, veal and a whole array of other options. We eat way more than we should and don’t have an ounce of guilt. I think one of the best parts of this trip is sharing dinner with family and friends, taking a couple of hours to eat a fine meal and enjoying the flow of conversation back and forth across the table. The Europeans do it so much better than we do in the states. It is a tradition I hope I keep the rest of my life.

The next morning we are off to Lecche. When we get to the car rental place, we realize that there is no way all 6 of us are going to fit in these little cars. So we end up getting a second one. On our way, we stop in Gallipoli and wander the narrow streets in this ancient city. It is Sunday and things are pretty quiet. We are drawn in by the architecture and patina of the buildings that have weathered for centuries. When we get to Lecche, everything is pretty much closed up. Even the churches are all closed. They will open again in the late afternoon. We wander around, recording the crazy baroque architecture with our digital cameras. The narrow roads and three story buildings seem a little less like a giant maze this time around. I have a few key touchstones to remember where I am and how to get to where I want to go. Much to our delight the bakery that sells delicious snacks mostly stuffed into bread rolls is open. We order food that we have no idea what is inside. Whatever is hot coming out of the oven gets the most attention. Everything is delicious as we sit in the warm sun trading bites of our choices. Then just down the street is a wonderful gelato store. We choose between all of the flavors that one can ask for and enjoy to strong sweet flavors that only come from Italian gelato.

Islands, Icons and the Ionians.

It feels different visiting this beautiful island once again. No longer do I feel like the stranger in a strange land. It is more like returning home. I am anxious to show them all the treasures we discovered on our first visit. The underwater lake, the huge cave with all of its stalagmite and stalactites, and the beaches this beautiful island has to offer. After an afternoon of running around we kick back for a barbeque chicken dinner on the boat. The town passes in front of us as we share each other’s company and each other’s friendship. The next day we head to Lefkas. Along the way we once again search out the grottos and private beaches. Left over chicken and cold watermelon make a perfect lunch between the snorkeling and the cave exploring. They are overcome by the beauty of the water and light inside these little gems. When we get to the last and deepest cave, nerves once again collapse as we go further and deeper into that unknown darkness. Mark spots some light way in the distance and I am willing to swim just a little further to investigate, but they tell me they aren’t having their captain going into the dark abyss alone and they aren’t going. It doesn’t take much to talk me out of this maybe not too smart idea and we head back to the boat.

Oracles and Old Ruins

We arrive at the small port of Itea. It is a nice marina that was built with Euro funds and completed by the Greeks. But they just haven’t gotten around to finding someone to manage it all, so the berths are free and there is no water or electricity. It is the closest port to the ancient of Delphi, home to all the ancient oracles. I talk to some Australians that have been sailing for years. They tell us the lay of the land and how to catch the bus to Delphi in the morning. We go to the store and fill up 4 shopping carts with provisions including lots of water. The marina is a couple of blocks away, and the Greeks are having a fun time watching these crazy Americans wheeling shopping carts full of food down the bumpy roads of their city.

The next day we catch the bus to Delphi. It is about a half hour bus ride up the steep hillside overlooking an endless valley of olive trees. There is still a town in the shadow of ancient Delphi. You pass through the town and on the far edge the ancient city still rises. The ruins are extensive and very well preserved. This was once thought to be the center of the Greek world. In the center of the ancient town is an intricately carved stone that looks like the end of a bullet. We are told that it represents the navel, symbolizing the point where all the world receives all the nourishings of the gods. Like Hollywood showing off all their starlets for posterity to see, you enter the city traveling through their own hall of fame. Lined on both sides of the street are statues of ancient heroes with footnotes carved into their pedestals recording grateful nations gratitude. The statues are long gone pillaged by the British Empire, churches and foreign fortune hunters. A few are now housed in the onsite museum. Further up the hillside is the city Treasury. Built out of gleaming white marble, it was meant to show off the wealth of the citizens. The marble was hewed from far off quarries. Built in 500 B.C., it testifies of the dedication it took to impress the world with its wealth. There are grand temples to Apollo, and smaller temples to other now cast-off gods. And a huge stadium built to show off the young men to the world of their physical prowlness. People would come from all over the known world to pay homage to the gods and get answers to questions from the oracles. Fortunes were told and lives received meaning from what was taught. The journey to Delphi would take weeks or months. So people from all over the known world would linger for weeks discussing ideas and sharing knowledge. And when they left, they realized for the first time that they were a part of a nation, a part of a much bigger world. It is one of the most impressive and arguably one of the most important ancient sites I have seen in Greece.

On The Sea Again

It feels like things are on track again. With a nervous crew who are all new to being on a boat in a foreign country, we dodge the morning ferry traffic out of Athens. I doubt there is any city in the world that has more ferries coming and leaving its port. Our eyes are focused as each ferry zooms past us, in front of us and behind us. It feels like that early computer game where the toad is trying to cross the road without becoming road kill. I have gotten pretty good at roughing out speeds and figuring out points of impact. They are concerned with the ones closest to our boat. I know they will pass way before we are in their paths. I have my eye on the ones far off in the distance that I know will be much more of a concern. We make it through them after just a few stops to let them pass in front of us. You have to make a move sooner or later or things just get more complicated. And just when we think we are out of the traffic lanes, a couple more head for us for one last shot at us. And then, like being morphed into another dimension, the traffic is a distant memory and we find ourselves in the solitude of the sea, headed for the Corinth Channel. About 5 hours out of Athens, we pull up to the quay, show the officials our papers, pay the toll and wait for the gates to once again open to us. Everyone takes the opportunity to jump into the deep blue Mediterranean Sea. Jenny thinks the water looks like blue Gatorade. Without too much of a wait, we are herded into the cannel and head for the port of Itea.

A New Crew

Ali, Mark, Matt, Lynn, and her daughter Jenny arrived in Athens just a couple of days after my return. We all became fast friends a couple of years ago while training for the AIDS ride that rides annually from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I have done the ride for the past 3 years, but was unable to this year since I was in Europe. I missed doing the ride. Seeing California one mile at a time up close in a way that can never be experienced in a car. They raised 11 million, had 2300 riders and about 500 support staff. I met Jenny for the first time. Jenny is Lynn’s 17-year-old daughter that is spending this time with her mother before heading off to college in the fall. They all spent a couple of days in Athens checking out the sounds and sites before catching up with me at the marina. I met up with them in the evening, and we went to check out some of the gay clubs. Not knowing exactly where we wanted to go, we went online and found a couple that sounded like fun. As it turns out, there is a whole mini Castro in Athens with a bunch of clubs all close together. We checked them out and ended up deciding on one that had a nice outdoor section and a dance floor on the inside. Mostly we just hung out and watch all the cute Greek boys. There was very little difference in the crowd to what you find at Badlands on any given weekend. Lots of cute boys with way too much thick black hair. You gotta love that. The next day we set off on our first leg of our great adventure. We are already a day behind schedule.

Ashes, Ashes, All Falling Down

After a short trip to California for my daughters wedding, I am back in Athens. It was a very nice wedding with mostly family, about 80 guests. Somehow as I sat there with family in this very simple wedding dinner, I thought how sometimes the celebration of two people seems more personal with just family and close friends without all the trappings that some weddings seem to gather. It is good to be back in Athens. The wild dogs are still here, the bars at the marina are still playing loud music until the wee hours of the night, and most important, it appears the boat has been fixed. I contact the mechanic and arrange for the boat to be put back into the water. After making all of the necessary payments and getting all of the right official stamps on all the right papers my boat is once again sailing in the air and back where it belongs, in the water. It feels like home again.

Since coming back to Athens, there has been a constant flurry of ash swirling in the air and around the boat. It is everywhere. I wake up and it has built up in the cockpit like a light frosting of snow. I keep the windows closed even in this oppressive heat, but it still seems to filter in. I don’t know how far away the fires are, and I really don’t know much about what is going on. No TV, no radio, no newspaper, just little bits from people that are still connected to the real world. They were deliberately set, and people are dying. It may be politically motivated, but everyone just sees it as a national tragedy that never should have happened. Some talk about terrorists that have now found a new country and more people to scare. People try to make sense out of something that is senseless.

And So the Propeller Turns, We Hope

I met with the guys at Yanmar who are fixing my engine problem on Friday. They told me that they would need cash in order to obtain the part. So I arranged to get some cash and told them that I would meet with them on Monday morning. I got up early Monday morning, picked up the cash and headed to the dealer. Everything is working perfect. I just have to drop it off at the dealer and they should be able to fix my boat while I am gone. I am trying to remember how to get to the Yanmar dealer, but after picking my way through the streets of Athens, I get there only to find the place padlocked and the metal doors pulled down. I look at the time and realize it is noon, so I am thinking maybe they closed for lunch. It is not uncommon for businesses in Europe to close for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. But what is a little troubling is the note on the door written in Greek that says something about 11/08/07 through 29/08/07. Hummm.

So I go next door to the little coffee place and ask them if the business next to them is closed for lunch. He tells me they are closed until the end of the month......
What was looking very promising now has turned into a complete nightmare. Looks like the best laid plans are all falling apart.

I headed back to the marina and talk to Stallos, the Lagoon guy that has become my patron saint of broken boats and confused Americans. He looks a little worried and calls the mechanic. Turns out they delivered the part to the mechanic and I can go back and settle up all the money stuff with him. From the depths of the abyss to the shinning sunlight, hope once again surfaces. So I take a cab back to where I was, meet with the mechanic and hand over him the cash. He gives me a receipt and brings me along with the part back to my boat. They tell me they will start tomorrow and it should be done by the time I get back. With all fingers and toes crossed, I leave it in their hands. One last plead with my most hopelessly at their entire mercy plead, I give them a fond farewell

Flying Through The Air

The diver that inspected my boat tells me my problem is serious and cannot be fixed without my boat being pulled out of the water. Fortunately this port has several cranes that handle this on a regular basis. After meeting with the marina officials, the company that does the lifting, getting notarized by the police, my boat is hoisted overhead and as if in some remake of Peter Pan flies through the air and is put down on dry land. Somehow it seems all wrong to me. This boat is most happy in clear blue water. It is now more like a high-rise condominium.

The mechanic, his assistant, the Lagoon rep and I all look over the problem. It is more than serious. The bottom half of the screw drive to the propeller is broken completely in half. No one is sure what caused the problem. Of course they want it to be something I did so they do not have to pay out the warranty. I of course reassure them it is nothing I did. The jury is still out. We first have to fix the problem. After calling all over who knows where, we try and locate the part we need. I am still waiting for a shipment date.

The next day I am at the showers again in the middle of the afternoon. When I walk in, there is this guy shaving at the sink. He had on just some red trunks and his dick was straining the frabric with a full on erection. I am beginning to think these showers are more than for just cooling off. I decide to strip down and take my cool shower. That is actually the only option since there is no hot water. There are no latches on the door either. The shower is more like a pvc pipe with a on off lever. The water doesn’t seem really cold, and in just a few minutes you get used to the temperature. I have my head under the stream of water, and the door opens slightly. A head pops around the door. It is the guy from the sink. We are the only ones in the shower block at the time. He doesn’t come in, just watches me under the cool water. So I do like any good gay guy would do. I start teasing him with my dick. He is still hard from before but he seems to just want to watch. That is fine with me. I get nice and hard and end up giving him a little explosion at the end of the session. He grins and thanks me as he closes the door behind him.

Islands and Cracks

The next day I set sail for a little island across from Athens. It is close and has a ferry connection back to Athens. The wind is quite strong and the waves show their white tops. It is only a couple of hours away. As I enter the port, my starboard engine starts to make a strange whine sound. I lay down the anchor and back into the quay. With the help of some kind Greeks, I get the boat secured. It is a cute little island with a very small and very old town. Things have not changed much over the years except tourist have replaced fish as the main harvest. The port however proves to be not very well protected from the strong winds that blow in this part of Greece during the summer. My boat name, Etesian actually comes from the name of this breeze that blows through the isles. You would think that would gain me some favor with the winds of change, but I get knocked around about the same as everyone else. I decide that this port is not suitably protected to leave my boat and after reading in my pilot book decided to head to Mykinos. There is a new harbor there and the rates are cheap. Ferry connections to Athens are easy and it is only about 5 or 6 hours sail. As I head out, that starboard engine is giving more trouble than I thought. I stop the boat in the harbor and decide to dive down to see if I can determine what the problem is. It turns out to be a big problem. Instead of the propeller staying in a fixed position, it freely rotates from left to right. Clearly, this is something that needs some serious attention. I limp back to Athens using just my port engine.

With only one engine I find it impossible to turn left. So with luck and a prayer, I managed to bring the boat alongside the quay. No one is happy with my arrival. A Greek man starts yelling that I cannot stay. Charters are coming and there is no room for me. I tell him I have no steering. It is irrelevant to him. I must move. I have found that a lot of ranting and raving can go on, but in the end, nothing happens. So I just stay there. I don’t hear another word from the guy. I do however report to the marina and they start ranting that I cannot stay. I tell them that I will get the problem corrected as soon as possible. I don’t go back to the office, but just stay where I am. Fortunately there is a Lagoon dealer across the street and I arrange to have my boat looked at the next day.

It has been a hot and sweaty summer in Greece, hotter than normal. It means most guys are without shirts and I have seen my share of sculptured bodies that demand a long good stare. They have these showers for all the boat people to use at the marina. It gets so hot during the day I often take a shower in the middle of the day just to cool down. The showers are individually cubicals with doors, so pretty private. Yesterday when I went to the showers, this beautiful guy about 20, dark curly hair and lusting eyes was checking me out. He went into one of the showers. A couple of minutes later, I walked by and he had the door open, still in his blue shorts and red tank top. He motioned for me to come in. So I did. We shut the door and this guy pulls out a huge uncut dick. I was quite suprised. About 9 inches rock hard very veiny and curving to the right slightly. It was such a turn on. He grabs my cock and pulls it out and starts jerkin me off. I got rock hard almost instantly. I leaned down to suck his cock and he just melted. But his dick was so big and so thick I could not get it down my throat. I think the curve was causing problems as well making it more difficult. Then he pulls me off of his dick and strokes a couple more strokes and shoots a nice size load all over the shower. I shot a few moments after. He gives me this killer grin and slids out the door. I stayed in the shower and rinsed off. When I got out he was gone. I would love to see him again, but who knows where he is. I guess we just enjoy the experience and savor the moment.

I am a little bored just waiting for things to happen. It seems to take a full day for a small baby step towards fixing my problem. Friday night one of the sailboats that returned from charter is backed up to the quay on my way to the showers. It has about 8 guys on it in their 20’s and 30’s. They seem totally gay to me. They are usually on the back of the boat rather than the inside because of the heat. I guess they like my swimsuit I am wearing because when I walk by, they are all watching my crotch. I am not quite brave enough to go talk to them, and not sure what language they speak. But I do know they are speaking that international language of “nice dick you are packing in the suit of yours”.

Athens

With a stiff breeze all the way from Corinth Cannel we made it to Athens in about 5 hours. The harbor was crowded but we managed to find a place and settle in. We spent the next couple of days visiting all the tourist spots. The Acropolis is really one of the best historic sites in the world. A commanding view of the city and the grandeur of ancient Greece paints a beautiful picture in marble and fluted columns. There are ruins sprinkled throughout the city. Temples long forgotten erected to important god that is now relegated to myths and legends. There is no order to this city. Streets are strewn along with all the logic of a plate of spaghetti. And with the Greek alphabet coded on all the street signs, it is more like solving a mystery of some forgotten place in time than a modern city. But most Greeks speak English and with their kindness and help, we manage our way around. It seems no matter what city we are in, we are always drawn like moths to a flame to restaurants and tourist shops, and something I quickly tire of. After 3 days of exploring and soaking in the summer heat, my daughters wind up their time here on the Etesian. Reality starts to soak into their bones and with a fond farewell, they catch their flights back to the states and back to the real world. I miss them already. We have become a well-oiled crew with each person knowing just what to do as we cast the lines to the quay. When we set sail, everyone does their tasks with ease. Now I am by myself.

I too have to prepare to go back home. My youngest daughter Malorie is getting married. She was planning on a fall wedding, but seems to be driven to make the marriage happen sooner rather than later. So I schedule my trip for August 14th. I will be home for about a week. The marina tells me I can not leave the boat here because it is way over booked on the weekends when all the bareback charter boats come in from a week sailing in the Aegean. So I start off looking for a suitable port to keep my boat for the week I will be gone.

Nice Columns

Not much is left of the old biblical town of Corinth. Most of the ancient ruins have long come down over countless earthquakes. In its place is a bustling city. The harbor is rather small but close to the downtown area. Young boys are diving off the piers with big grins and lanky frames. Shops are filled with the latest designer clothes and restaurants offer gyros and Greek salads, which we are quickly getting addicted to. We spent the night and the next morning sailed through the Corinth Cannel.

The cannel is about a 3.2-mile stretch that connects the Gulf of Corinth with the Aegean Sea. Nero first started digging the cannel back in Roman times using 6000 Jewish slaves, but never finished it. It seems a little uprising in Gaul distracted him from the project. Octavia tried to bridge the gap by building a road and dragging his boats across this narrow stretch of lands. The remains of that road can still be seen. It wasn’t until 1893 that the cannel was finally cut through the limestone. We had to wait outside the cannel for almost 3 hours before we were allowed to cross in so the boats from the other direction could clear the channel. The interesting thing is there is a low bridge just as you enter the channel. Instead of raising the bridge, it is submerged into the water and the boats pass over it. When we came out the other end, we had strong winds and were able to sail for 5 more hours all the way to Athens.

Patras for the Night

Just a stop along the way, Patras is a pretty big city with all the noise you would expect and none of the charm of the islands. It is the largest city in the Peloponnisos and third largest in Greece. We are headed for Athens and this was just a stop for the night. We barbequed chicken and enjoyed the sunset from the back of the boat.

Kefalonia and Underground Lakes

Our journey continues to the Ionian Island of Kefalonia. We slung our anchor out and backed up to the quay of a small little town built around the harbor. The first thing on our list of things to do is visit the caves. They were about 5km away from us. So we decided to rent a taxi. But since there were now 5 of us, (Rebecca’s friend Amanda joined us in Paxos) we wouldn’t all fit in a taxi. The fare was 35 euro to take us to the caves and back. Since we had to rent two taxis, the cost would have been 70 euro. That was a little more than we wanted to pay. After looking at renting a car, or scooters or taking the bus, I decided I would just ride my bike and meet them there. So all the girls got in the cab and I followed on my bike. The taxi driver was quite surprised when I showed up just a couple of minutes after he did. The distance was not that far and the road was pretty level.

The first stop was an amazing underground lake. It looked more like a movie set from Phantom of the Opera than a natural grotto. The water was crystal blue and the air felt refreshingly cool to my hot skin. You could see 90 feet to the bottom without any problem. They had us get into a rowboat and a guide took us around the lake and into the cave. I asked him if he would sing to us, but he declined. He didn’t want to upset the fish.

The second cave is just up the road about 8km further. This cave was a big underground cathedral of stalagmites and stalactites in colorful hues of yellow, orange and creamy white. They looked like melting ice cream cones. The cave is a very big room that at times has been used for classical concerts. I can’t imagine the wonder and excitement of looking down a small opening and discovering such a wondrous site. I am sure I would vacillate between keeping such a place for myself and telling all of my friends, knowing that it would never be quite the same again. The girls got in the taxi to head back to the boat and as I was getting on my biking helmet, I see this nice Greek with broad shoulders and defined chest wearing a swimming suite that kept staring at me in my biking clothes. Well it isn’t the first time I have been stared at over here, so I don’t think much about it. He crosses over to the parking lot where he has a RV parked. I am just a bit curious what might happen. I guess I saw that hungry look every gay boy learns to spot when he feels something is up. Well the guy comes out of his RV with just a towel and starts drying himself off showing off his dick to me. I just had to investigate a little closer, so I rode my bike over to where he was. Evidently he was hoping for just such a move. He grabs my dick in my biking shorts and gives it a big squeeze. The next thing I know, he has my dick in his mouth and is giving me a much-needed blowjob. I don’t think he spoke much English, but we really didn’t have much to say to each other. Besides, his mouth was full anyway. He couldn’t get much in his mouth, but what wouldn’t fit, he grabbed with his hand. It didn’t take much for me to give him a taste of what he seemed to be waiting for. We both grinned as I stuffed my dick back in my biking shorts and headed back to the boat.

The next day, we headed to a beautiful beach strung out along the coast. I feel like we are living in post cards most of the time over here. It is everything you want a Greek beach to look like. The water is warm and a turquoise color. Blue and white umbrellas all lined up like soldiers in formation dot the beach. And most of them have a bronze Greek god in a tight speedo soaking up the sun under them. Their golden skin, toned bodies, dark eyes and oodles of curly raven black hair make them pretty good eye candy to take in. I have flights of fantasy on a regular basis over here.

Diving Through Liquid Sapphire in the Caves of Lefkas

Lefkas is a medium size town that was mostly leveled in an earthquake in 1953. They rebuilt the town stronger and better than ever. It still has a unique character to it. When they rebuilt, they used a lot of corrugated metal in the buildings. Strangely it works pretty well. There is a big downtown street that is just packed at night until about 1am. The Greeks like most of Europe stay home until about 7 or 8 pm. Then the whole family goes downtown and mingles with friends and neighbors. They walk among the shops eat gelato and sit in the cafes until about 1 in the morning.

The next day, we hop a bus to Dessimouon the other side of the island where we rented a boat to explore all the little islands scattered around the area. Across the channel is the island of Meganisi. We found a private beach where we snorkeled and swam and laid in the sun. It would have been fun to strip down with all of you and swim naked in the clear water. Then we took the boat further south to these incredible caves. You can take the boat in some of them but most you have to swim into. When you dive into the water here, it is like you are diving through liquid sapphire. The water is crystal clear with a blue tint to it. It is that blue tint that is found nowhere else on earth. Streaks of light shine down through making it even more magical. The first cave seemed to end at a wall. I climbed up the wall and looked over. The cave continued a little longer so we swam under the edge and into an opening on the other side. I felt like a kid exploring the wonders of some lost treasure. Light streamed in from the top and lit up this small circular pool of water. Some of the caves you would swim back as far as you dared until light and nerves ran out. It is a little creepy swimming into pure blackness. We took turns so that someone stayed with the little motorboat. It was all fun and games until Lindsay starts shrieking. She saw an eel in one of the caves and that was the end of exploring dark caves underwater. I tried to assure her that eels are very shy and hide from their predators because they are not very protected. Science does not matter when talking to a female that just saw an eel. I will make a note of that.

The next morning the girls headed to Milos, one of the top 10 beaches in Greece. I stayed on the boat to meet with an electrician to figure out why our windless was not working right. The windless raises and lowers the anchor. In Greece there are not always slime lines. So you have to put your anchor out and back into the quay then tie off. It works well unless other boats cross your anchor line, then it can be a bit of a job untangling things. I have learned to just be patient and have the boats leave in the reverse order that they came. It seems to solve the problem. He fixed some cable and we were back in business.