Dontcha' just hate it when you're on a deserted beach and suddenly a boatload arrives?
Well, the beach wasn't deserted and we were in the taverna enjoying a leisurely lunch when a large motor yacht of the type we call a gin-palace (or I suppose we should call it an ouzo-palace) arrived. It decanted half a dozen bottle-blonde Greek ladies of a certain age and generous build, wearing rather too much jewelry and make-up for the beach (well only one bathed, the rest headed straight for the taverna). They were accompanied by two younger, fitter men with gelled hair, of the sort Greeks call "kamaki" (harpoons) which approximates to the Italian "gigolo". A crew member was kept busy going back and forth in the tender for items they'd left behind or needed taking back. Judging from his clumsy docking attempts, he hadn't been hired for his seamanship skills either! I cruelly dubbed them "The desperate blondes' last chance cruise".
        One day we took a cruise on a more modest vessel (kaiki) to the small islet of Marathi. Each Summer two families return to Marathi from Australia. Each owns a taverna and lets a few rooms to people who really want to get away from it all. Just a beach, a deserted village (100 people lived there up to WW2), and a few goats and chickens. An aged relative stays there alone in the winter to care for the animals. We enjoyed a nice lunch (I had the fava dip –no chianti- and chicken in lemon sauce since you ask- very nice) and admired the two large motor yachts in the bay. One was the size of a small liner and showed no signs of life. The other, closer inshore, was a similar size to the previous ouzo-palace, was a sinister grey and had state of the art radar equipment that led some to speculate that it wasn't a civilian vessel (despite the red ensign). It was called (wait for it) "Protect me from what I like", which proves, I suppose, that money and taste don't always go hand in hand. All the binoculars were out by now. Were we looking for Audouin's gulls or Eleanora's falcons? Were we, heck! We established that a white uniformed crew were supplying continuous drinks to two paunchy, balding, middle-aged men (takes one to know one!) accompanied by three younger, slimmer, bikini-clad young ladies, who, alas, showed no inclination to come ashore.
        Then, excitement! A helicopter circled low over the island, trying in vain to find a flat spot to land. After several passes it hovered and then landed on an uninhabited islet in the bay, scattering several goats. Another man of the same type as the others got down and two bags were handed down. He took a photo of the helicopter which led us to guess he wasn't used to travelling thus. He stood for a while as if waiting for someone to carry his bags. Then a motor boat came out from the yacht and went round to the far side of the islet where there was a landing place and he resignedly carried his cases down to meet it.
        He got aboard the yacht and a large bearded man in a black t-shirt and bandana, looking like a pop-star's bodyguard, took his cases below while he joined the others for more drinks. Was he bringing the nose candy? The proceeds from the Brinks-Mat robbery? The master tapes of the new Madonna release? No-one recognised any of the men so we will never know. Perhaps it was just a meeting of the Athens Shipowners Darts team or the husbands of the ladies from the previous incident.

RtS