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It was about 10 p.m.
in Portocheli, Greece, when I realized I had succumbed.
Because the wind was
kicking up in the Saronic Gulf southwest of Athens, our captain had decided
to move the 85-foot Oh Que Luna across the strait for the night,
into the harbor of this quaint mainland town. It’s not on the typical
charter itinerary; it’s the kind of secret place locals go to do
exactly what the tourists think they’re doing in the islands. There
are a few shops on the waterfront in Portocheli, but none with the name
of the place painted on everything for sale. The tavernas serve real Greek
fare, not just the omelets and salads the ferryboat passengers find at
each new harbor.
My sister Michelle,
a local friend, and I were indulging in a snack of small fried fish served
popcorn-style (heads and all) along with a carafe of ouzo, the favored
nightcap in Greece. The joint was awash with dark-haired men in polo shirts,
all spinning worry beads through their fingers and letting out the occasional
whoop toward the soccer game on the rabbit-eared television. I looked
down at the skinny stray cats with wide eyes begging for supper on the
sidewalk, then looked back up at Michelle. She let out a cavernous yawn.
“No wonder you’re
tired,” I said with utter, ridiculous sincerity. “You didn’t
get your second nap today.”
Our friend laughed and
poured another round of ouzo. “It’s gotten hold of you,”
she giggled, raising her shot glass for a toast. “Here’s to
the Greek sleeping sickness.”
I rarely get one nap
a day back home, let alone two, but the pace of life is so serene in these
warm, sunny islands, it’s impossible to cling to American speed.
Here, where simple white
houses cascade down the mountainsides and mules still serve as a major
form of transportation, existence is more simple. It’s more primal.
You eat. You sleep. You eat again. You sleep some more. You don’t
have a drink while waiting to do something else; you have a drink because
it is the thing to do. Conversation is the dominant sport. Café
is a verb.
And boats are the only
chariots to this paradise. From Athens, a city that sprawls like a dusty
puddle of short buildings, dozens of ferries and high-speed hydrofoils
depart daily for the scenic Saronic Gulf islands. All are within a few
hours’ cruise, navigable almost by sight, moving at speeds that slacken
the farther you get from shore.
It’s soothing to
become immersed in this dreamy culture, but it’s downright decadent
to succumb while being pampered aboard Oh Que Luna, one of the
finest charter yachts in all of Greece.
Next page >
Part
2: All meals are served family style, which allows you to try new things in varying portions. > Page 1, 2,
3, 4, 5
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