(sort of) Attacked by pirates!!

Sometimes I honestly wonder what I'm going to write about. Today is not one of those days.

17th May 2025

We were woken up in the night because the boat was rolling from side to side. The weather has been very calm since Libra moored in the bay but the wind changed direction while we slept. Once morning came we decided to move somewhere more sheltered.

As soon as we were awake preparations were made to move the boat. Igor pulled the tender (the small boat used to get from Libra to the shore) out and secured it to the deck. I stashed anything that might be breakable into a safe space, and by 9.30 we were on the way, motoring, the boat's bows crashing and slamming as the waves lifted us up and threw us down. Whilst this is a bit alarming if you don't know what's going on it happens every time you go out in certain conditions so it's just something you get used to.

Once the entrance to the port of Perdika passed we changed direction. As if by magic the seas calmed. The wind shadow of the island of Moni meant that the waves were no longer being whipped up. We raised the jib and turned off the engine, and with this Libra was making around 5 knots with no effort at all. About an hour later we were anchored in the bay below Sfendouri, a small chapel just visible on the nearby hilltop.

I finally cooked our breakfast of bacon and eggs with a cuppa. The sunshine was perfect, not too hot. We had the bay to ourselves, blue water, the deserted beach, the rocky cliffs, what could be better?

After a few hours Igor suggested sailing to the small town of Methana, a favourite spot from previous trips to Greece. The town quay has water and electricity and a short walk leads to one of my all time favourite restaurants. If the quay was crowded we could just turn back.

The passage there was short, with the jib up and the engine ticking over to give us the stability that comes from a little extra power. About an hour later we reached Methana Town Quay.  Only four or five boats were anchored med mooring style, stern-to to the harbour quay.

We chose our spot at the end of the line of boats. I dropped the anchor five boat lengths away from the pier while Igor motored backwards and threw the mooring lines to a helpful sailor from another of the boats.

A few minutes later we were sitting on the deck, congratulating each other on a nice peaceful and uneventful sail.

'Hang on', I hear you saying, dear reader, 'I thought you said this was going to be interesting and exciting?'

Patience, patience.

Igor arranged the gangplank or passerelle and went to shore to connect the electricity supply. I pottered around on deck, tidying up, in truth dithering a bit. I noticed that a small cruise ship had arrived in the harbour. It was 38 metres long (about 3-4 times as long as us) with three tall masts. The exterior was clad in dark varnished wood and it looked every inch a classic pirate ship.

Attached to the rear deck was a sophisticated gangway that could be lowered so that passengers could disembark in comfort and safety (no planks for them!) and below that their tender, a RIB about 12-15 feet long.

I saw that it was planning to tie up next to us. No problem, most of the commercial Greek sailors have an incredible skill level so I anticipated they would simply glide back, tie up and carry on partying.

A woman in her 30s was standing by the heavy mooring bollard provided for bigger ships. I thought she looked a little unsure of herself. At risk of generalising, most of the women I've seen working in the commercial yachting sector are very assertive and fairly sporty. She looked like someone who'd be happier working in an office with frequent coffee breaks (with cake).

The ship approached the quayside. A young male deckhand, all ponytail and suntan, had arranged the mooring lines over the end of the gangway and as they neared the land he threw the first one to the woman. First mistake. The wind was coming from the port side of the boat.  In order to maintain control you should always throw your first line from the windward ie in this case port side, but he threw it from the starboard side, closer to us.

She caught the rope and tried to pass the loop at the end over the bollard but it wasn't long enough. The deckhand obviously realised his mistake and went back to the gangway to release more line. It looked as though the line had got caught up on the gangway, the second mistake that was made.

The woman was quite obviously unsure what to do next. The ship was by now moving away from the quay and pulling her, so very sensibly she dropped the line, even as the deckhand paid out the extra length. For some reason the ship now headed towards the quay again. At this point I started to worry.

The ship was drifting closer and closer to Libra. I was alone in the cockpit so yelled out to the ship that they should move away, they were way too close.  Igor was shouting too, from the quay. They didn't seem to take any notice and got nearer and nearer.

The ship didn't seem to be under control at all, slewing in the water with the gusts of wind, and the gangway/tender were heading towards me in my cockpit.

I was seriously worried I'd be walloped on the head.

The body of the ship was inexorably edging towards our hull. Thankfully they had massive black, ball shaped fenders all along the side, plus we had the normal fenders we always use in port, so this spared us from the worst of the possible damage. As the huge (from my perspective) ship hit us we were pushed to the side.  I could only hope and pray that the anchor would hold tight under this additional strain.

The ship was by now moving forwards again, away from the quay, tight against us. Their gangplank caught in our shrouds, the braided metal stays which hold the mast in place. I heard something break and noticed bits of plastic falling in the water. I confess, I was a bit overwhelmed. I was trying to film what was going on in case we needed to make an insurance claim and I was sort of worried what might happen to me if the boat sustained severe damage.

Within, objectively, a few minutes it was over. The ship was in the middle of the port and well away from me and I was in one piece. A member of the port authority was passing so Igor told him what had happened. The response was, 'Do you have insurance?'. Great (we do).

The ship stayed at a distance for a while, probably assessing whether they were damaged and telling off the deckhand, then came to berth alongside the arm of the quay, thankfully not near us.

While we were waiting we identified the ship's owners and found an email address in case things went wrong. We'd also assessed the damage which thankfully is minor. A passive radar reflector that was attached above the lowest spreader (the bit of metal that holds the shrouds away from the mast) had snapped, causing the falling bits of plastic I saw.

Also, one of the stanchions, the strong stainless steel posts that hold in place the lifelines along the edge of the deck, was bent. It looks repairable. Had it not been for the ship's big fenders it could have been so much worse.

We went over to have a word with the captain, who was waiting on the side deck of the ship. Igor's first words were, 'Shit happens, both in little boats and in big boats.'

The captain said not to worry, he'd come over to our boat and sort it out so we went back and waited for him. A few minutes later he arrived. I was still on land so Igor welcomed him onto the boat. He asked me if he could smoke. I said no. It was nothing personal, I don't want the boat smelling of cigarettes. He and Igor had a good chat. He complimented our boat (well it is rather lovely) and discussed the damage. He explained to us that it wasn't his fault that the collision happened but as he was the captain it was his responsibility.

By the end of the conversation he was asking Igor to have a look at a couple of electrical faults on the boat. Igor declined, explaining his field is electronics not electrics!

After about quarter of an hour one of the crew arrived bearing a lovely bottle of cold white wine and 70 euros to cover the damage, the amount that the captain and Igor had decided upon. We decided we'd eat out at a restaurant tonight.

We finished doing all the little jobs you have to do when you moor in a new place then sat and had a glass of wine. It was good so we had another. It would have been a pity to just leave a little bit in the bottle so we finished it, just to be polite.

I then had to negotiate the plank to get to land so we could go and eat. Thankfully no photo of that.

That's the end of the exciting bit, now for the touristy bit.

On one of our first visits to Methana we decided to check out the restaurants away from the main sea front restaurant area. We found a funny little place. There are no menus, instead you're shown into the kitchen. There, on a couple of ranges, is the food, big well used pans full of delicious home made food that looks like the sort of thing your mum would make if she was Greek and a fantastic cook.

Of course that was where we wanted to go so we walked up a gentle slope to the street parallel to the water and turned left. The restaurant is on one of the roads leading back down to the sea. We walked to where we thought it should be. Oh no, it was a hotel now! It's been at least 6 years since our last visit to Methana so we felt a bit sad that it was gone, but I suggested we just walk a little further....and there it was! The signs outside said Mom's Food but here's a picture with the official name.

I admit we may have ordered a little more food than we needed but in our defence it was mostly vegetables - stuffed peppers, stuffed tomatoes, aubergine stew, giant beans, plus a small chicken leg, rissoles (or meatballs) and lemony fried potatoes, plus a beer to wash it down. Fantastic.

The waitress was wearing a t-shirt with a slogan that was obviously written by someone who didn't quite speak English. As I was getting a little squiffy by now I wrote it on WhatsApp and sent it to Igor (I did explain I was doing this). When I was looking at my messages next day I thought 'Why on earth did I send Igor a message saying 'Don't you f**k and us morning morning'. Then I remembered. Oh, and I did double check I'd copied it correctly.

So that was our day. Methana is a lovely little town, unspoilt, quiet with a lot to recommend it.

All the guidebooks say it's a dump that smells of sulphur from the volcanic springs. I'm pretty sure it's a conspiracy to keep the crowds away. Long may it continue!

By the way, the reason I'm not naming the ship or the captain is because everything was settled amicably so no need for public shaming.

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