THE RABBIT HOP GOODBYE

 After 2 weeks on Chios, we were about to sail to Lesbos. Well, trying to, but there was a vicious wind blowing and, in another sailing first for us, we had had to frantically leave the quay at 03h30 in the morning (where we were all alone again) as we were being buffeted by waves that had built up during the night. We were in danger of being smashed against the quay and anchoring at the head of the bay was a safer option. We still felt the gusts of 40 knots out there, but at least the waves weren’t slapping against the boat so badly and we were able to swing with the wind. It was cold and scary casting off in the pitch dark and finding a place to drop our anchor, but after a cup of rooibos chai at 5 in the morning, we calmed down and went back to bed and managed to sleep for a few hours. Only to wake up to the boat being hit by a ferocious gust, which pulled the anchor out, and we were dragged 200ft. As I said in a previous post, this sailing thing is not for sissy’s!

Setting sail at dawn feeling jaded

Our last night in Chios, in his inimitable helpful way, Henry tried to help this Greek navy patrol boat tie up. The wind was starting to pick up and they seemed to need help. They had him running from one end of the boat to the other, but in the end did it themselves!

We so loved Chios and we were not saying "Antio" which means "Goodbye" in Greek, but "Yeis to epanideín" which means "Until we meet again".

It might be because there are not streams of difficult tourists to jade the islanders, but without doubt the people here are amongst the friendliest and most engaging we have met since we started our sailing adventures. The island has a long history of shipping and is well known for its very wealthy ship owners and for the sea captains who are still trained here. In every village we visit, we are asked where we are from and “South Africa” makes faces light up. Every man we speak to has sailed to Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, Durban – and all have tales to tell. 

A few days ago in the village of Lithi, Steve called from across the road, asking us where we
were from. When he heard South Africa, he lit up and called us over to sit with him and his
wife Penny in the shade. He told us about the time in 1967 when he was third officer on a ship, and because the Suez Canal was closed, they had to sail to the Far East via Cape Town. They left Brindisi and, somewhere near Morocco, must have hit something which damaged the ship. A few hundred miles out of Morocco he noticed water filling the hold and called the Captain. They decided to continue, but about 2 weeks later, 500 kms from Cape Town they hit the big Atlantic rollers, and the level of the water was increasing rapidly. The mayday went out and 15 ships heeded the call, but before any arrived they had to abandon ship in the lifeboats and watch it sink. They were taken to Cape Town where a Catholic priest welcomed them, fed them, housed them and showed them the sights of Cape Town. After 2 wonderful weeks, the crew was flown back to Athens and Steve was left with a life long love of South Africa. Steve and Penny then offered us a lift back to the port, 2 kms away, and en route took us to their beautiful ancestral farm where they grow virtually everything they need. 

Steve and Henry

Steve picked a rose for me from his farm garden

Walking through the village of Oinousses with our friends Susie and Charles, we were admiring pots of flowers clustered around a small courtyard – when we were invited in for coffee and biscuits. Again we got chatting to the retired seaman who spends his days fishing or working in his small plot where he grows everything they eat. These people have so little, but they are incredibly generous, sharing what little they have. We are continually moved by this generosity in difficult times.

Drinking sweet Greek coffee in the courtyard

Oinousses

While we were getting the boat ready for launching, we, together with Susie and Charles who were with us at the time, stayed in the North of Chios in magical Spilia (an architectural gem that Henry has written about) owned by Kiriaki and Dimitri. Kiriaki soon realized we enjoy the same things, and she entertained us with stories about the island, its history, where to go and what to look out for. Dimitri could not speak any English at all, but he and Henry immediately connected, bound by their love of all things old and beautiful.

Following their advice, we explored the island, visiting the fascinating fortified mastic villages – built by the Genovese in the 14th century when the much prized mastic made them rich and earned them protection when the Ottomans massacred tens of thousands of the inhabitants of Chios; we discovered off the beaten track villages and beaches; we made sense of crazy, noisy Chios town - and everywhere we ate delicious Chioti food.

Pyrgi mastic village with it's intricately painted buildings

The painted surface of the wet plaster is scratched to make the pattern

Mesta mastic village courtyard

The Mastic villages were built out of sight from the sea and surrounded by high walls with a central tower that was the last resort in case the walls were breached by Arabic pirates. The tower was entered by ladders which were used as bridges from the rooftops and then pulled up.

The interior of the old church near Spillia was almost completely painted in white - something we have not seen before 

After church in the mastic village of Mesta

The bread baked in this traditional wood burning stove was delicious.

The day before we were due to leave Spilia to launch the boat, we discovered that all the shops would be closed for Saint John’s day and we had very few supplies. Kiriaki could give us eggs, lemons and some veges from her garden …….. and 2 rabbits – rather daunting for me, but we decided to give it a go! In the morning Dimitri helped us to the car and gave us the eggs, herbs and lemons. When I asked him for the rabbits, he did not understand. I waggled my hands above my head – he still did not understand. Susie said “Hop” – so I hopped, still waggling my hands above my head. Dimitri looked mystified but then smiled broadly and kissed me goodbye on both cheeks - clearly thinking this was some strange South African farewell custom. We were at a loss and Henry was about to go and find Kiriaki when she came running down the alley, carrying the rabbits. When he realized what I was trying to say, he buried his head in his hands and cried with laughter – as did we. He told us through Kiriaki that he thought this was a special South African goodbye! 

So now, in Kardamyilia, South Africans will always be remembered by the Rabbit Hop goodbye!