Fishermen in Zakinthos Port, Greece, watched with curiosity as the travel-worn, sailboat pulled out from the town wharf. They did a double take when the same boat stopped a ways out and  reversed back into its berth only to pull out and repeat the maneuver several times.  On arrival it had taken me 25 minutes to dock NANOU against a stiff cross-breeze, and I decided I needed to practice the unfamiliar "Mediterranean mooring" system. So instead of just heading docilely out to sea, I stayed in the harbour and carried out an extensive "docking practice".

That done, NANOU once again put her rusty nose out to sea. Sicily lay 290 nautical miles (roughly 550) Km to the West.

Once I had accomplished the usual routine (main sail hoisted, covers stowed, hatches closes etc.) I steered NANOU about 2 miles from shore before turning to begin rounding the island. Zakinthos stood between the direct line to Italy and us. I then went below to fire up the computer and write (this). There were no ships in sight, the weather was good and I felt I could stay below ten minutes at a time with little risk – after all, most of NANOU’s navigational instruments are at the desk in my cabin.

To my astonishment, upon returning on deck, NANOU was headed straight for land – aiming at a nasty looking bunch of rocks! I had set the automatic pilot too hastily. We were still in deep water but only about 5 minutes separated NANOU from the rocks! Over confidence can create danger even when there shouldn’t be any. A friend of a friend realized he had arrived at his destination when the crash of his sailboat hitting the port breakwater awoke him. The autopilot had steered the boat perfectly but Jean was not awake to take over when the time came! A sad way to lose your boat – most sailors would prefer a glorious storm off Cape Horn.

Anyways, a couple of hours later Zakinthos was out of the way and it was time to set the sails for Sicily. Being more or less an optimist, I set my largest sail – one that relies on good weather and steady winds. I always try to minimize work for myself, whist still spurring the little ship on as quick as she is able, so I wouldn’t set the big genoa in very unstable conditions as it needs to be furled (closed) before the ship can change tacks (direction). It turned out to be a good gamble – the wind remained steady all day and all night and NANOU romped along at 7 knots (14 km/hr) while I slept clutching my kitchen timer alarm clock.

To prepare to sleep, I tuned the RADAR on a passing ship to ensure it was well calibrated and set its alarm to wake me if anything came within 5 miles of us. My RADAR alarm is dastardly loud and always wakes me with a start. It sounds just like a bird has flown into my cabin and is about to attack! In fact, during the Indian Ocean passage, I did have a flock of birds on deck and they shared my annoyance whenever the RADAR would emit its ear splitting screech. The birds would answer in their own tone and then grumpily tuck their beaks back under their wing. They left in the early morning leaving me several "signs" that they did not approve too highly of my hospitality. Considering I was the only resting point for 500 miles in any direction, I reckoned that they were a spoilt bunch of birds and almost decided to take down my "CHICKS WELCOME" sign. It wasn’t really meant for them anyways.

The RADAR did wake me a few times during the night. I would stumble up on deck, take a look at it’s glowing screen, then squint at the distant ship through my ancient binoculars and decide whether there was any danger of collision. Only once did a "situation" develop. A large fishing ship was approaching obliquely to our course and there was a real chance of collision. Then, I was reassured by a spot light being beamed in my direction. I replied by lighting up my sails with my own light. "Oh, another damn sailboat", some fishermen probably grumbled as he changed course a couple of degrees. In theory, sailboats have the right of way as we are not too maneuverable. In practice this is not at all the case – large ships are just as unmaneuverable and may not even see such a "speck" as NANOU!

So back to sleep (after waiting for the ship to get out of my alarm range) – as usual setting my kitchen timer to wake me shortly for a routine check. In difficult conditions - or during a race - I would set the timer at 20 minute intervals. Now, however, I enjoyed the luxury of sleeping a good 40 minutes in between checks.

The rest of the night was uneventful and quiet . The noise of the wind in the rigging, the lapping of the waves and the monotonous grind of the autopilot united in my dream to form a delightfully cacophony freeing me of stress and anxiety. I dreamed the kind of dreams sailors dream – the kind you would hate to interrupt for the sake of a chirping RADAR or flapping sail. There were girls and sharks and wind and waves, there were Greek salads and ice cream and anchors smoothly hoisting from the bottom of the sea. And little white specks in the distance, growing to be ships carrying friends I once knew. Mysterious channels cut deeply into the desert leading to narrow bays with camels kneeling on the sand. There were vast oil rigs flaming in the night as we flew by in the black, and flapping tuna on deck after a hardy struggle. My dreams took me everywhere and eventually returned me right back to my pitching bed - to old NANOU. One sound began to grow and dominate and eventually became real. Outside, the sun had risen, the wind had gone and NANOU lay becalmed and flogging. It was time to rise and close the sails – time to be awake. I realized, though, that my reality and my dreams are strangely alike.

The sea is calm and, alas, I must motor. 170 miles to go – we are in the middle of the Ionian sea. I spend the day writing and editing pictures on the computer, eating way too much and generally slothing around. I hate not having good wind as it puts a damper to the joy of sailing – might as well have a motor boat in these conditions... As night falls once again, an adverse breeze comes up. 10 to 15 knots from Siracusa, my destination. I can only give way to the wind and change my heading. Now I am going in the wrong direction at a snail’s pace. NANOU writhes in the water as the wind in the big sails bows her over - she heels as a marathon runner with cramps her and she bleeds white foam leaving a trail of phosphorescence behind us.

I am tempted to change destination to Taormina – an easier town in Sicily to sail to with this wind. That would be cheating but I have the luxury of controlling the rules! One place is like any other – you sail towards the unknown and experience whatever it is that awaits you.

In the end I hung in there for Siracusa. I guess I still want to feel that I control NANOU and not the weather... It was a long night – waking continually to monitor the ships. The RADAR had a busy time.

This three day trip seems to be lasting an eternity. It feels very different than the longer ocean passages when I was content to drift slowly towards my destination without too much thought of passing time. Now surrounded by cities and ports that beckon, and with winter not too far away, I feel hurried and thus find that time passes with excruciating lethargy. My performance in the kitchen makes things worse – I have eaten a sandwich or a Greek salad at every meal since Greece. I have yet to turn on a burner or oven. Basically, if I can eat it straight out of the can, then I’ll go for it. If it needs to be warmed up, forget it.

It must be easy to go insane alone like this for days on end. You get paranoid thinking that nature is against you – the wind is always wrong, the waves too steep, it is too hot and stuffy and you are just too lethargic to do much about anything. All the good intentions and waiting projects remain untouched.

27 miles to go now. This would be good news if it wasn’t already 4pm. Now there is little chance of getting there before dark. This probably means floating around outside the harbour until light – or chancing a night entry hoping to find an easy berth and putting up with the added stress of darkness.

14 miles to go but it’s already 6:15 PM and I can’t even see Sicily. The RADAR sees it and I know it’s there – another landing in the darkness is inevitable now. Drat.

9.5 miles to go. Just saw the sun set behind the cliffs of Sicily.

3 miles to go. The wind is favourable now. It often is when the trip is just about over. I can see the town lights – just as you see them from an aircraft before a night landing. It feels like flying – there is no sound from the sea and there is an illusion of high speed. I spot the dark form of the entrance to Siracusa bay with the castle to the side – this is confirmed by my RADAR outline of the coast. I hasten to get NANOU ready for the sudden need to anchor (if I misnavigate or lose the motor) and get her ready for docking.

Just Glided By Siracusa’s Ancient Castle and Into The Port. Navigation was hassle free and the night is quiet. I let NANOU drift into the large bay and drop her sails – the engine takes over. I spot some sailboats anchored nearby and motor over to take a look. Then I see the town wharf in front of magnificent old buildings softly illuminated – as only Europeans know how. It is too tempting – I decide to dock in the old part of town putting NANOU’s bum to the dock just as in Zakinthos.

Thanks to my latest training, I have no trouble dropping the anchor and motoring back against the dock. The problem now is to attract the attention of some locals and get them to catch my mooring lines and make them fast on the dock bolards.

I shine my spot light at a group of three men sitting on a bench and shout: "Mi potreste aiutare con le corde?"  (18 years in Italy comes in handy). The three old men scurry over to receive my lines. Salvatore, Francesco and Giancarlo are all in their early 80s and were taking their evening passeggiata which they say they have not missed out on for the last 40 years. They slip my lines over the large stone bolards and then begin to argue animatedly about the knot to be tied. Tired as I am, I can’t help but laugh –each of the three little old men vies for his kind of knot. The winner of the 10 minute argument attempts to put his theories into practice but finds that he can’t quite remember. The others are also a bit rusty in the Marlinspike department and so they sadly trot up to the boat and report that they don’t know any knots to tie! We soon figure things out and NANOU – after sailing 24,800 miles from Australia is snug in Italy.

  The view from NANOU in Siracusa