And so here we are again, back in Kos after 2 weeks away. (We took a break in Germany while we were unable to sail due to an infected diesel tank.) The airport bus drops us in the centre of town from where we can walk to the marina. We stop on the way at one of our favourite restaurants, and, hungry as wolves, devour several choice dishes in minutes. This is pure comfort food for us. Ralph became a regular here in the winter when it was one of the very few restaurants open in Kos town. His favourite dish is a Turkish aubergine dish called Imam Bayildi. There are various stories as to why it is called this, but all are to do with the massive quantities of olive oil the aubergines are cooked in, and the impact of the deliciousness of, or the volumes of oil used in the dish, on a Turkish priest.
Back on the boat, everything looks very clean and tidy - we did a good job before we left. We just need to make the bed and then we we drop into it like stones. Tomorrow is a busy day.
There is no breeze at all when we wake, and the water in the marina is as smooth as a mirror. I forget how close Bodrum is; from the marina you can clearly see the white buildings stacked up the slopes on Turkish land. From a little further away it looks like a snowy mountain peak.
It takes a few hours to get back into the routine on the boat. It feels odd too to be wearing shorts and a vest top again after a few weeks of normal clothes. For a moment I feel inappropriately underdressed, like a toddler. But as it is so hot I very quickly shed this feeling.
We discover that the big fridge has not been working so the inside and the fridge contents have all gone mouldy. This is the first task to tackle today and an unexpected one. Then Ralph fixes the big fridge, now cleaned of mould, while I sort the 4 bags of washing we picked up from the laundry.
The marina is emptier than I have ever seen it, at least during the season. All the charter boats are out, and a good stretch of 200m of pier G where the catamarans line up longside is also empty. One of the marineros said 109 boats were expected to return during the course of the day on Friday. And sure enough while we go about our daily business the marineros zip past Opua in their powerful dinghies, to guide one boat after another each into their allotted space. Opua rocks and jiggles on the churned-up water.
In the late afternoon the mechanic arrives as promised. He's not in a good mood as he is over his head in work, and has unexpectedly had to fix the marina's 3 outboard engines. About the last thing in the world he feels like doing is help us pump off 200 litres of diesel through a filter. (I sympathise.) However that is what he proceeds to do. He brings us a pump and a filter, as well as 2 big barrels for the diesel. The pump needs some persuasion but finally agrees to participate: all the diesel from the infected tank is pumped, via the filter, into the two big barrels standing on the pier next to our boat. And then the mechanic is released to finish his working day at 7pm. And we are released to greet our Austrian friends who have just returned to Kos. After a shower we enjoy a low-key dinner together at the Skipper restaurant in the marine.
The next day the marina buzzes palpably. The charter company teams are working at top speed to complete the cleaning and preparation of the charter fleets for the Saturday arrivals. The marina is overrun with crews. Those who are leaving today are milling around or enjoying a last coffee at Skipper before embarking homewards. New arrivals are waiting on the pier or at the cafés for their boats to be ready, surrounded by travel bags and piles of food shopping. If they are lucky they will be able to make it out of the marina today and get in a bonus few hours of sailing.
It is nice to be back on the boat again. I am secretly pleased with myself for having a system, a place for everything, and everything in its place. (Although sometimes I forget what the place is, and sometimes everything makes for a few too many things overall)
We continue with our work on the tank. Regrettably we cannot access the tank to scrub the bottom and sides as there is no access except through a narrow vertical tube at the top. This means we have to rely on chemicals to kill of the microbes and on the filtering to remove them. We hope this will at least see us through the rest of the season. After more research we conclude that the product we already have is as good if not better than any other we might try in vain to buy here. We decide to put 100L of filtered fuel from the barrels back into the tank, filtering it a second time as we do so. And then we add a quantity of the chemicals to "shock treat" the diesel. This should both kill off any remaining microbes and disperse any remaining water. We tidy up and then wait for the action to take effect.
In the afternoon I do a big shop. I help some clueless British blokes trying to work out if passata is a ready-made sauce and of course they quip, can I come and help them cook. Big sigh. Every-day sexism. As soon as I have paid, a man from the supermarket whisks off with my two trolleys and pushes them up a ramp into the back of his van. I jump in, and in 2 minutes he is at the pier and I am handing the groceries over the railing to Ralph. Ralph has unusually not joined me on the provisioning exercise (as we sailors like to call it) as he is busy with the mechanic, who is now fixing the propellor on the outboard engine. Apparently this will now make all the difference and we will be able to speed across ruffled bays like James Bond.
More significantly, Ralph and the mechanic have given up waiting for the chemicals to take effect and have reconnected the engine to the problem tank...and the engine is running! We are not holding our breath though because last time - way back when, in Loutra harbour - it puttered out after 20 minutes. I am still busy storing the 6 weeks' worth of dried and tinned goods when I hear the engine stop. I hope it is because they have turned it off, but when I go up to the cockpit I find out it has turned itself off. Ralph remains remarkably sanguine. We decide to leave the chemicals to get with their business all day tomorrow asphyxiating the microbes in their millions, and go off for dinner with our friends. We talk so long it's really late by the time we get back to the boat, and we fall into bed.
Sunday starts late and slowly for us, and we lie in our cosy cabin and listen to the roaring of the wind. A number of crews managed to leave last night and the others all depart one after another today after their breakfast, despite the 25 knots of wind whipping up whitecaps. I see them go past as I sip my coffee. I imagine they are full of anticipation at starting their week's sailing, as well as perhaps, of toast and cereal. Having missed the early morning slot I set out this afternoon on a walk out of town towards the windy headlands. The sea is fairly spectacular when it's so rough. I share the footpath with a few other walkers, some runners, and loads of cyclists from the outlying hotels, bumping over exploded pavements. We are all dodging each other and and ducking the low overhanging branches. There is a persistent smell redolent of hash from some wild plant. On the way back the wind picks up and drives in off the water. Walking into it I have to increase my stride length to keep my pace. When I arrive in the marina it is starting to fill up again with boats whose crews have changed their minds.
Ralph is out and about so I have the boat to myself. The wind is howling in the background and Opua is fighting her lines like a caged tiger. There is some deep creaking from the mooring lines, as well as the occasional sharp jerk as she tries to free herself from her restraints. The walk has worn me out but I am revived later by a delicious roast dinner cooked in our gas oven. Ok so it took 3 hours as it does not get very hot! But on the positive side, turning on the gas can now be done from inside the boat at the flick of a switch as Ralph has just installed a valve on the gas supply.
The next day we are woken by the wind thundering so loudly outside our window that we might as well be trying to sleep next to a motorway. But it's time to get up anyway and get back on diesel filtering duty. Our Austrian friend Gerhard kindly comes to help and we equip him with a pair of enormous pink rubber gloves. The big achievement of today's operation turns out to be the removal from the tank of a huge and slippery wodge of sludge, like a monster slug grown fat on lettuces. Maybe with this chap out of the picture there is light at the end of the tunnel? After pumping and filtering the fuel out of the tank, we duly proceed to pump and filter it back in. And now we can get on with the rest of the day, with calls to family and a homemade bolognese. The marina is now almost empty except for those boats belonging to live-aboards and/or those who have already finished for the season. In the evenings there is a hint of a chill. It's almost time to think about long trousers or even long sleeves.
Tuesday is a good day. I am promoted to diesel filtering, standing proudly on the pier next to the big red barrel, and looking very fetching in the pink marigolds. Ralph and I conduct a very smooth-running fuel-filtering session which is almost wholly unhindered by sludge or sediment. This gives us hope. I also manage to go for another long walk, which always keeps me on an even keel. The mechanic comes round on request, to check both engines. While he is here we also test-run the starboard engine fed by the once-was-infected tank. Fingers crossed. We reach the 20 and then the 25 minutes stages at which the engine got choked on previous occasions. I am counting now. I pretend not to be, while I prepare the dinner, but actually I am keeping a close eye on the time. 25 turns into 30, 35...in the end after 50 minutes of the engine's running quite contentedly it is decided that it has passed the test, the diesel is clean, and we can turn it off.
We are planning to leave on Wednesday in convoy with our friends when we get a call from the marina to say that the replacement fridge has been delivered. (We had to order a new one when we were in Germany as the previous one was no longer functional.) While we could postpone the installation and struggle on bravely with the current situation - everything piled on top of everything - it is a pain in the neck. We decide to install the fridge on Wednesday and then sail on Thursday. And so it is. Fitting the fridge entails all sorts of unexpected challenges and additional tasks. Ralph meets these head-on with such energy and determination that when we finally finish after 4 or 5 hours we are good for nothing. Luckily there is some leftover Bolognese sauce so dinner is a walkover. It feels chilly in the night, definitely high time to pull the duvets out from the storage under the bed.
Thursday comes and it is time to set off again. After time away from sailing I always forget what a lot there is to do to get the boat ready to set off. Eventually everything is done. Both engines are thrumming. The water sparkles full of promise. May chapter 3 begin!
Translated to German with DeepL (free version): DeepLcom, with some tweaks
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