Three Ways to Capsize a Boat - Chris Stewart [13]
I HAVE TO ADMIT that the boat was not up to much … I mean, it was a great gesture on the part of the Nikoses, but it was disappointingly similar to Keith’s wretched tub. Nonetheless, I was ecstatic at the mere thought of getting out there on that glorious sea with my girlfriend, in any kind of boat. And to Ana one boat was much like another.
So we motored out of the marina, hoisted the sail, and, with me happily wielding the tiller and Ana taking instructions at the jib, we sailed away on that sunny afternoon, hugging the coast all the way down to Sounion. Toward evening we anchored in the bay about fifty yards off the beach and, with our clothes in plastic bags held high above our heads, we swam to the shore.
As night fell we wandered in the moonlight alone at the Temple of Poseidon, high on the cape of Sounion. We sat side by side on a warm rock and watched the play of the moon on the ancient white marble, and wondered at the loveliness of Greece. It put Ana in mind of poetry. She began to declaim little snatches of epic verse I’d long forgotten … if I’d ever known them at all.
“That’s nice,” I said, slipping my arm round her shoulders. “Did you just make that up?”
“It’s Byron,” she replied … with just a hint of condescension in her voice. “He sat perhaps on this very stone, and I think he carved his name on one of these pillars of the temple.”
“No? Surely not. What a dastardly thing to do.”
“Indeed. And I’m pretty sure he slept here too. He was very keen on sleeping wild in classical monuments, or maybe he just liked climbing up to them to see the sunset and got stuck in the dark.”
I thought for a moment how romantic it would be to curl up together in the shelter of an ancient marble block for the night. But then I remembered how cold marble gets, and how sharp and very stony it can be, and our snug boat lulled by the calm waters seemed a much better option.
We drank wine at a taverna on the beach, and ate a sweet pink fish, alluringly arrayed upon its dish, while the foam from the wavelets lapped at our bare feet in the sand. Sated with all that succulence and not a little sodden with wine, we swam out to where the boat swung on her anchor and settled down in the balmy night air to sleep on the deck beneath the moon and stars.
Next morning we headed home, scudding on a west by northwest wind back toward the loathsome Kalamaki. It was a matter of getting the boat, which the Nikoses had clearly nicked on our behalf, back to the marina before its owner discovered its loss.
“You wanna be careful get that boat back here before two o’clock, because if not she turn into a karpouzi,” tall Nikos had said, rather pleased with his variation on the Cinderella theme. (A karpouzi is a watermelon.)
The sea was the deepest blue but for the pale white foam of the bow wave. The scents of baked rosemary and thyme and pungent, hot pine swirled in warm currents of air off the land to delight us as we passed.
ANA HAD ONLY A few days left before she had to return to Sussex. She had a business to see to. Just before I left she had begun supplying greenery to local offices to brighten their gloomy reception areas and the idea seemed to be catching on. So after little more than a week, she said her fond good-byes to the Nikoses, and, loading her bags in the back, I drove her back to the airport in the trusty trikiklo.
For all their qualities, the Nikoses had only the shakiest grasp of the workings of time, and thus the projected week extended ever further into the distant realms of probability. Some days they came, some days they didn’t, but little by little the boat started to take shape. We spent several days stuffed into the trikiklo cruising the business end of Piraeus looking for an engine. We found one that fit, humped it back to the Crabber, and the Nikoses set about installing it. I busied myself with the less technologically demanding work of sanding down and oiling the mast and spars.
We were clearly on the final stretch