Some made their own explorations of what Portoheli had to offer: a smattering of small, friendly restaurants, with the far corner of the harbour being a favoured spot.On the hottest days, the sun leapt off the waves like fragments of a shattered mirror as the boat flew with the wind. At the end of another afternoon on the water, the half-board arrangement meant dinner was sometimes at the hotel, sometimes in a local restaurant.Many guests ate together, and the spirit of sporting bonhomie was infectious – and in some ways difficult to escape (though if you were not a gang sort of person you would not feel obliged to join in). This is particularly useful for beginners.For lunch, there would be either a buffet meal in our hotel, or sandwiches and beer from the beach bar, as the dinghies bobbed in rows along the shore. With varying degrees of skill and enthusiasm, we caught the wind and spun to and fro in the large bay where – for strange reasons of the junction of tidal patterns – there is virtually no tide to worry about. But one week after walking into the travel agent’s, we were on a plane to Greece.A two-hour coach transfer from Athens took us across the Corinth canal, through winding mountain roads to the Peloponnese town of Portoheli, where the subtle boat-navigating arts of tacking and gybing were to be imparted.Starting with the basics, we learnt how to rig Toppers and Wayfarers, progressing to Lasers and faster, trickier boats with alarming-looking harnesses for the more ambitious.
In my mind’s eye, sailing was a cross between an Arthur Ransome adventure of jolly little boats on English lakes, and sophisticated, chianti-fuelled trips in the Mediterranean.Then a friend who had spent her childhood messing around on rivers found a holiday firm that undertook to remind her how to do it all over again, and to teach me from scratch My opportunity had arrived I had only hazy notions of what I was letting myself in for. It was nerve-tinglingly invigorating.
Despite growing up only a mile from the sea, I had never sailed before. Swerving in and out of the waves, with water skidding the surface of the dinghy in sheets, there seemed every chance of plunging beneath at any moment The wind was God. As a novice dinghy sailor, it was gratifying to watch the big boys falling in It was also terrifying. On the second, gusting force four winds capsized even the experts. The first day out on the water, the breeze died and sailing class adjourned to theory on land. Information on events is available from the Organisation for the Cultural Capital of Europe at 105 Vasilissis Olgas Avenue, Thessaloniki (00 30 31 86 78 60)..
Open 9.30am-5pm from Monday to Thursday, 9.30am-4.30pm Fridays.A good source for books on Greece is Hellenic Bookservice, 91 Fortess Road, London NW5 1AG (0171-267 9499; fax 0171-267 9498).Thessaloniki is European Capital of Culture for 1997. Details from Thomas Cook on 0990 666222.Finding outNational Tourism Organisation of Greece, 4 Conduit Street, London W1R 0DJ (0171-734 5997) Nearest Tube: Oxford Circus. Greece is a casual country, so `on the Tuesday afternoon or evening we’ll catch a ferry’ approach will be far more successful.”Casting offSeven days sailing at Portoheli with half-board costs from pounds 332 low season to pounds 610 per person. A warning from the chapter “Planning an Itinerary”, for example: “Build a two-week itinerary along the lines of `on Tuesday we’ll arrive at the port at 14.20, giving us a free 20 minutes to sup a pint of ouzo before catching the 14.45 boat’, and the chances are you will come unstuck sooner rather than later You would also end up extremely drunk. Not only is this a comprehensive survey of Greek ferry services, it is also a joy to read. Careful study of timetables should also give three connections a week between Sikinos and Amorgos, via Naxos.Your constant companion should be the estimable Greek Island Hopping 1997 by Frewin Poffley (Thomas Cook, pounds 12.95). The least bad is the Milos Express (in a previous incarnation the Sixties-built Sealink ferry Vortingen).
For example, Unijet (0990 114114) has flights to Corfu in June from Gatwick, Stansted, Birmingham, Manchester and Newcastle for between pounds 145 and pounds 199, inc tax.Ferry ‘cross the AegeanOut of season (October to June) there are at least three boats a week from Piraeus to Folegandros and Sikinos. Thessaloniki, served daily on BA via Stuttgart, and direct four times a week on Olympic, costs pounds 181.90 including tax.
For travel from places outside London, and/or to reach destinations in the islands and elsewhere in Greece, the only prospect for a non-stop flight is a charter. For this price, you must book by 14 May, and at least two weeks in advance of travel. In early summer, British Airways has a World Offer of pounds 161 plus a massive pounds 18.90 tax – Greece charges more departure tax than any other EU country. Taking off
Most scheduled flights between the UK and Greece operate between London (Heathrow or Gatwick) and Athens on British Airways (0345 222111), Olympic Airways (0171-409 3400) and Virgin Atlantic (01293 747747). After the statutory inquiry about how many children you have, the next is always: “How did you get here?” Even if you cannot report that you have any sons, the answer, “Me ta podia” – on foot – will always be a response that delights.. But early in 1996, a strange video was smuggled to Europe, made by the INA’s chief bomb-maker, Abu Amneh al-Khadimi, in his headquarters in the Kurdish city of Sulaymaniyah.
It is easy to pay them to do something very dangerous like planting a bomb in Baghdad.”As many as 100 civilians may have been killed by the bombing campaign At first, little was known about it. “There are plenty of destitute Shia young men,” says one Iraqi opposition leader “They don’t have a life and they don’t have a future. And to show its long reach, the INA was exploding bombs in Baghdad and other cities in 1994- 96 This was not difficult to do. Between 1992 and 1995, the money spent on its covert operations against Baghdad dropped from $40m to $15m. When an intelligence agency has a sudden fit of honesty, wrings its hands and publicly admits to doing wrong, outside observers usually count their fingers and check their wallets. Born Losers might be a better title, but I wouldn’t want to sound bitter and twisted, because let’s face it, men just don’t find that sort of thing very attractive.. So it’s 1997, and we have to choose between the fluffies, the princessas, the Spices and self-obsessed slut redeemers.
