Wake surrounded by massive catamarans. So much wealth in this bay. Hard to believe that we live in a world filled with wicked probems. Hot tea. Route planning. Ithaca to Cephalonia. Still. Windless. But cool. Wasps are back. Seeking sweet water in my hair, on my feet, between my fingers holding a mug. Movement paused as their wings brush my skin. Smooth departure, no sailing. Without wind, power propells us forward over the glass-like sea. Arrive in a tiny cove, any space? Only 3 boats possible. We claim the last available spot. Careful. Too slow. Not completely prepared. Embarrassed. Worried about causing bother. M stressed. Help arrives from neighbouring boat. More speed, the check anchor. Turn faster. Secure. Day boats arrive and leave again. The whole bay is ours. Swim. Warm surface water blends with chilly (fresh?) water. Tiny fish dart past. A flounder! Evening comes, with friendly Danes. Watching the beach. Goats emerge. Goats drink sea water, apparently. Rocks appear nearer that befoe. Anchor safe? Will landlines hold? Where is the NW wind. No wind tonight. Curled up reading Matter by Iain M Banks. M drapes a sheet over me, goes to watch stars. It is fully dark when bed beckons, aside from our mast light and the backlight of my book as I try to finish a few more pages.
