Chichester U3A News Spring 2025
Parking is such sweet sorrow
Bill has been sailing for more years than he cares to remember. Actually more years than he can remember
now. Bless him. He likes to reminisce but is a bit fuzzy after 1985. I’m the same. Memory is like that. The recent bits
sort of fall out of the top of the bin, but the older bits like the words of all the songs playing in the summer when you
met your first love; or who starred in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, they sit snugly at the bottom, easily
dredged up.
Anyway, we were sailing round the Ionian Isles. Some lovely names – Lefkas, Nidri, Scorpios, Ithica. I’ve always
wanted to go to Ithica. It was the birthplace of Homer and his hero King Odysseus, and of Odysseus’ queen. She is my
namesake, Penelope, so I had to eat at Penelope’s restaurant. The original Penelope had a hard life. After swanning off
for 10 years to the Trojan wars and spinning some story about
sirens kidnapping him, Oddy came back, didn’t like the way
that she had carried on and bumped Penny off. The current
Penelope’s hubby is a nice chap, sort of round and Greek
looking. I can’t imagine any sirens fancying him much, but I
can’t imagine him bumping off the missus either.
We called in to Frikes, a small harbour full to overflowing
with charter yachts in August, as is the whole Ionian area it
seemed. We got in early and enjoyed the spectacle of the late
afternoon wind causing panic amongst flotilla crews trying to
park in a crowded marina. It should be called Fracas. Anxious
wives/ girlfriends nervously clutching ropes, as the skipper for a week, screaming instructions, hurtled towards a wall
or another boat, to the enraged shouts of local Greek boat owners. “You not anchor there“, “You go back,”
“ ξεκουμπίσου !!!”
Bill and I of course have years of experience, so we don’t need to shout. After 3 weeks on a boat we were hardly
talking at all! Bill’s boat is lovely, but it doesn’t go too well in reverse he says. I don’t know cos I am not allowed to
park it, That requires the special ‘parking lobe’ that men think they have in their brains. It’s next to the real ale
appreciation lobe. He says his boat was made to only go forwards so we usually tried to find quiet places to drop
anchor. Not easy in the Ionian, they mostly resemble a parking lot in Croydon, but on Ithica we found the perfect
place. A bay called Sarakiniko. Just a little beach and a few fishing boats moored with a line ashore. That was our
plan. I rowed across in the dinghy, a very long way, he doesn’t like getting close in as it might scratch the boat, and I
tied a line to a rock. A long line, about 70/80m., with three fenders attached to it. We really were not going to scratch
any rocks, but we did annoy an incoming fishing boat as our line was halfway across the bay. So I was told off to row
back whilst he reparked. What happened was not my fault, I was gathering up 80m of heavy rope and 3 fenders,
watching him re-anchoring, and a rock bit the dinghy. It was a sharp little bit just below the surface, and the dinghy
went “psssssssssssssssssssss”. Uh oh I thought. I started rowing out towards the
boat , he was still anchoring, so I shouted calmly , “ I’m sinking’ , “what” , “I’m
sinking”, “ go back , you’re a hazard “, “I’m effing sinking”.
By the time he had re-anchored, I only had half a dinghy, the seat had collapsed,
and one oar and the other half were under water. Of course, the boat wasn’t near