It's all downhill from here.

Boink! We've hit the top of the Aegean, as far north as you can sail in Greece. Then it's south again with the wind at our backs. But hey, what's the rush?

This was always the plan.

To sail a thousand miles from Cyprus to the top of the Aegean for the start of summer. Seasoned local sailors, Turkish and Greek alike, told us things were ‘chill’ up north. Cooler and calmer than the Cyclades - Mykonos, Ios, Naxos, Milos, Santorini - to the south.

Cooler because we’re further north.

Calmer because we’re off the beaten path just enough to have anchorages to ourselves, even now.

The further north we’ve sailed, the more time and space we’ve found.

As Dimitrious, a purveyor of local wares and part-time Greek philosopher, explained to us before we sailed from Lesvos, “the further you travel north, the slower life becomes.”

He was just warming us up.

“There are only three speeds here”, he continued.

Pause for comedic effect.

“Slow, very slow, and reverse.”

Then a sonic boom of laughter to underscore the punchline.

So far, he’s been spot on.

We sailed 55 miles from Lesvos to the harbour town of Myrina, on Limnos, and parked up at the town quay for a few nights. Long enough to climb to the old castle, stock up on essentials, feast on local fare, rent a car to explore the island, and squeeze in a wingfoiling lesson with a pro.

Giorgos, a local Limnian and fixer of all things boat-related, stopped by to chat one morning. He loved that we were from Australia.

“You know, we have 13,000 Limnians on the island. But there are 45,000 in Australia, most of them in Sydney”, he explained. “Many of them drift back to the island when they get older. Life is good here. Nice and slow.”

Giorgos and Dimitrious were on the same page.

Us, too.

L - “Don’t park your donkey here”, Limnos. R - Hot and sweaty donkey parked on the castle wall high above Myrina town quay, Limnos. SUNDAY just visible beside left elbow.

We could have slow-cruised the islands of the Eastern Sporades all year. A sure sign that we’re getting ourselves into the local groove.

But we had friends to meet another 70 sailing miles to the west on the mainland.

Would the spell be broken when we left the islands?

Happily, no.

The island spell is an enduring one, and we’ll be back to islands soon enough anyway.

Besides, the peninsulas of Khalkidhiki have their very own spells to cast.

To the east of Greece’s second largest city, Thessaloniki, is the region called Khalkidhiki, and “the three fingers”, three parallel peninsulas, each one reaching about 30 miles southeast into the deep, and surprisingly, fishy waters of the Aegean.

Finger number 1 - Kassandra

The first finger, closest to the big city, is festooned with fancy resorts and marinas on both sides. Tonnes of fun for youngsters, jet skiers, and beach bar devotees, just not our jam.

Let’s bounce over #2 and come back to it.

Finger number 3 - Akti

Akti peninsula, the third finger, is by far the most spectacular, both geographically and culturally. At the southeastern tip, Mount Athos rises 2,033 metres from sea level to the gods, without interruption.

We could see the silhouette of the mountain 50 miles away. As we sailed closer, the presence and majesty of Mount Athos grew until we were humbled into silence.

In winter, it’s snow-capped, and the wind and waves are legendarily whipped into a fury during storms. Many a mariner has been lost at the feet of the mountain.

Now, in summer, conditions are generally milder, and the mountain sits there, one eye open, like a not-quite sleeping giant.

Approaching Mount Athos from Limnos. The scale is hard to believe. We’re still 20 miles away. Note the container ship on the horizon, extreme right.

No doubt inspired by the mountain’s proximity to God (or gods), the last 20 miles of the peninsula running up to the mountain are a strict monastic community. No roads. No electricity. Very few telephones.

And strictly no women.

By Greek law and by religious tradition, women are prohibited from entering the area. Sailing vessels with women aboard must stay one nautical mile off the coast, presumably to remove distractions and temptations from the naked eyes of the many monks who have committed themselves wholly, holy, and solely to god.

The rules have relaxed just a little since the edict of Constantine Monomachus in 1060: access was denied to “every woman, every female animal, every child, and every smooth-faced person.”

It’s hard to enforce the animal rule when seagulls refuse to follow the signs, and it’s hard to tell males from females unless you catch one laying an egg.

Same with the jackals, apart from the egg thing.

There are 20 monasteries on the peninsula. Some are Coenobite (communally run and resourced) while others are Idiorrhythmic (individually resourced) communities.

There’s also room for hermits of many different persuasions.

Anchorites live by themselves in seemingly inaccessible caves on the southern slopes of Mt Athos. Hard core, ‘Gold Star’ hermits.

Sarabaites live in a hermitage with one or two other hermits, like sharing a flat in Paddington, or Shoreditch. Possibly a bit soft.

Then there are the vagabond monks called Gyrovakes, the overstaying couch surfers of Akti.

It’s been this way for over 10 centuries.

Despite occasional calls for change, the Greeks and wider European community are holding firm. Akti is not about to fall into the hands of rapacious US property developers with visions of casinos, monkish theme parks, luxe hotels, and a Hooters.

Wiser heads are prevailing.

Finger number 2 - Sinthonia

Greek and Turkish sailors had recommended Sinthonia, the “middle finger”, as the best cruising ground in the area.

Pines and eucalypts grow in dense, unbroken forests on both sides of the peninsula, only interrupted by the odd fire trail scarring the hillside here and there.

We picked up our old friends, Cheryl and Guido, at a small marina and set off to explore. We’ve known them for 25 years, lived in Singapore, Hong Kong, and the UK at the same time, and had numerous holidays with them and their kids before, so a week on the boat was going to be great fun.

The plan was to inch along the ‘middle finger’ on the western side to Koufos harbour, then sail around the tip along the north-west facing coast. About 50 miles all up.

Top - Kalimitsi nudey bay at sunset. Middle - Cheryl and Jo hiking around Dhiaporos; planes water bombing wildfires near Vourvourou; mermaids bathing in the Blue Lagoon. Bottom - first friends aboard in 2025, Cheryl and Guido.

Overnight stops at Koufos harbor, Kalamitsi beach, the nearby nudey bay, Dhiaporos Island, the Blue Lagoon, and Talgo beach provided plenty of opportunities for paddling, open water swimming, colourful banter, and the simple pleasures of Greek tavernas - fresh fish, salads, calamari, and zucchini flowers washed down with Mythos and retsina - in the evening.

The week blew by in a blur, and our guests departed for home.

Just the two of us, again.

We fill the silences with chit-chat, planning the next two weeks, and the never-ending to-dos of boatkeeping.

We’re getting pretty good at managing SUNDAY now. It’s a commitment to love, respect, and the bargain we make with the universe called reciprocity, or the broader principle of karma if you prefer.

What goes around comes around.

We take good care of her so that she can take good care of us. She is our home, our means of transportation, and our life support system, so lavishing her with love and attention is our way of trying to pay it forward.

What’s the rush?

The weather has been friendly lately. Long, hot, cloudless days cooled only slightly by gentle breezes.

That will change soon enough when the meltemi roars down from the north as is its regular want in summer.

We can see it brewing now on our forecasting apps.

But for a couple of days, all is calm, and we can safely sneak into anchorages unfit for rough weather.

Heartshaped Bay, only large enough for one or two boats, is one of them.

Early morning in Heartshaped Bay, looking east to Mt. Athos.

We dropped anchor over a sandy bottom, flanked by steep hills and a hike-in-only beach with a few people camping out. In front of us, an uninterrupted view of Mount Athos 20 miles away, framed by the headlands of our bay, and lit perfectly by the rising sun.

This will do nicely.

Next stop, Mamma Mia!

Roughly 50 miles to the south of us are the Northern Sporades islands. Skiathos and Skópelos are the most famous of the group.

If you saw the excruciating 2008 film, Mamma Mia!, you may know them as the Mamma Mia islands. To the amusement of locals, most of the filming was completed there in 2007. The BBC described the film as “the closest you get to seeing A-List actors doing drunken karaoke.”

Pierce Brosnan’s singing drew particularly scathing criticism:

His singing was compared to "a water buffalo" (New York Magazine),"a donkey braying" (The Philadelphia Inquirer), "a wounded raccoon" (The Miami Herald), and Matt Brunson of Creative Loafing Charlotte said he "looks physically pained choking out the lyrics, as if he's being subjected to a prostate exam just outside of the camera's eye."

— Wikipedia

The film plays to sell-out crowds at an open-air cinema every night during summer.

I can’t wait to sing along as a Pierce Brosnan sound-alike one evening soon.

But first, we have to get there.

That meltemi I mentioned earlier, it hits tonight around 3 a.m. with a peak of 50 knots out to sea.

We’ll cool our jets back in Koufos harbour until the worst has passed. It’ll give me a chance to practice my singing, at the top of my lungs, over the roaring wind.

"I have a dream, a song to sing, to help me cope with anything."

— Abba, I have a Dream.

Smooth sailing until next time,

Craig and Jo xxx