Good morning.

In my foul-weather jacket and short pants, I turned on the engine and gave Bloom a small boost, just in case the anchor wanted to slide any. When we blew left I steered right, and so on. Three or four times I went forward and put my foot on the chain to feel for vibrations associated with anchor movement. There were none. On 30 meters of chain, we swung close to the elusive Dutchman's boat, Aura -- which didn't swing, being double anchored -- but we held off. A wooden fishing trawler blew to an arm's length of an ancient derelict boat, its mooring having dragged. I considered rowing over and putting all the trawler's fenders on the endangered side, but the wind was in the low 20's (20-knot range), I had emptied Ultra Violet (Bloom's tender) of everything including its seat and locked it for the night, and Bloom was better off if I stayed. All things considered, there were three reasons not to go, only one to go. The trawler didn't collide, and was gone when I looked this morning.

Looking back, I doubt that the wind ever reached gale force (I didn't think to turn on Wind Speed), and the bluster lasted only a half hour, and it was more interesting and refreshing than threatening. Bloom's deck and rigging got a great fresh-water rinse. If I had been on land, say at the Internet café where I had planned to be, Bloom would have been okay. But in such cases, it's always better to be on board.

The Olson skipper speaks with a German accent, and is a naturalized citizen of the United States, although he has lived on his boat for the last 25 years. Last winter he sailed over from the Caribbean. His family, who speak German with one another, is with him for the time being. We were close enough to talk across the interval comfortably. Although I not-so-subtly pleaded being alone -- "My wife is visiting her family in Boston". "for three weeks," I added, eventually -- they were very much with each other, and I didn't get an invitation.

Saturday afternoon, a few hours after Abby left for Boston, I heard the port police whistle, again and again. Eventually I looked, and the young man in white was gesturing to Bloom, pointing first way out to the mouth of the bay, then with his other hand to the port, further in. I rowed over to him, and he explained that Friday night the big excursion ship had had trouble laying its anchor because of my position. So I must move, "Now," as he put it in a polite yet insistent tone. (After returning from the wonderful performance of Medea at the 2300-year-old theatre at Epidavros in the mountains, as distinct from Palea Epidavros here at the sea) Abby and I watched those big ships leave Friday, and they seemed to have plenty of room for necessary turning.

That impression was corrected Saturday, when the ship came in, dropped its anchor just about where Bloom had lain, and then backed into the quay. The anchor had to be put down way to the north to offset the Meltemi, which had been blowing pretty much steadily day after day, and was somewhat stronger Saturday. Under instructions from the police, I was a good citizen -- at least as important in Greece as elsewhere. I took down the sunshade, otherwise cleared the decks, switched on the engine and weighed anchor, hopping several times to the bow to check the incoming chain for snags. A British family lay nearby, and we all watched, and it all went off without a hitch. I motored into the port, thinking it more secure than out near the opening of the bay, and dropped anchor about where Abby and I first did more than a week back. The anchor set against 2000 rpms in reverse, first try.

The Greek folk dances were performed Saturday night, on the temporary stage at the port, to a rather large crowd. Groups of children danced a couple hours to an adoring crowd. I thought that everybody must know everybody, with the obvious exception of a few strangers. A little boy, not much bigger than Ava but much older, picked up on the rhythms and did the steps with the spirit of Zorba and with knee lifting and arm moving matched the kids on stage, to the delight of his mother, and me, and a few others who paid him smiling attention. For us, he stole the show.

Sunday was quite a day, even before the storm. In the morning - not too early, after coffee, the last of the cornflakes and a few more episodes from the Odyssey - I patched 15 spots in the cockpit teak. Then I took a long walk to the south, along almost the entire stretch of beach in the neighboring bay. Five miles at least, requiring a big bottle of diet Coke on the return leg. Then in my bathing suit I rowed against waves the sweep of beach on the north side of our bay and swam there, UV pulled up on the sand. At the fresh-water shower there, I listened to a Greek woman at some length before she realized that I hadn't understood a word. My nodding might have led her on, although eventually it became apparent that I was missing all the cues, and my nods were random. Then she broke out laughing and said, "Englese?" Everybody else laughed, too, her husband and others queuing for the shower. I didn't dare mispronounce "ne," or confuse the situation by saying even that little in Greek, so I capitulated with "Yes" and a sheepish smile. After rowing back to Bloom, I made a tomato sauce with tortiglioni.

Friday was unforgettable. We had a wonderful bus ride inland to the ancient theatre at Epidavros. We saw an amazing production of Medea (the same play, in the same theatre, that people were watching 2300 years ago), which although in Greek we mostly followed, having read the play 2 1/2 times aloud and more to ourselves. I'll try to attach a photo of that great theatre.

Okay, off to other things. I'd like to get to shore, for one thing. No wind blows, and I think it's hot out there.

Cheers from the Peloponnese (one of many spellings),