Cruising the Greek Islands and Corinth Canal with SeaDream Yacht Club
On the straight and narrow in the Greek Islands.
‘They’re plump, they’re sassy and they floss their teeth.” I have just stepped off a tender boat into the furnace-like heat of Hydra and our Sea-Dream tour manager, Jeff, is introducing the local transport.
A heat haze dances above the jetty but I can just make out a handful of tethered donkeys at the far end. Groomed and well padded, these are the Mercedes of donkeys. With one eye on my flip-flops and the other on the steps that comb the hillside town, one of the muleteers hands me his card. “For later,” he winks.
Although I have no intention of riding one, donkeys are the modus operandi on this car-free, picture-postcard Greek island. It is said that during Leonard Cohen’s stint here in the 1960s, Hydra’s famous adopted son knew he had become one of the locals when the rubbish collector began calling at his house (which I hope to find) with a donkey. Mules move everything from groceries and building supplies to fridges, octogenarians and mountains of lemons. All of these loads overtake me as I wind uphill past townhouses, pocket-sized chapels and mansions flanked by exotic gardens and well-tended courtyards towards the Monastery of St Constantine.
This is much-needed exercise. While most passengers on the 112-passenger SeaDream II have spent a few days in our ship’s embarkation port of Dubrovnik, or are enjoying the luxury of a back-to-back cruise, I have arrived fresh from the office and as tightly wound as a Swiss clock at a Brexit negotiating table. With stops at Itea, Hydra, Patmos, Naxos and Mykonos, we are to sail through maritime passages that resonate with mythology.
But as we approach our first port, Itea, and SeaDream II empties out for excursions to Delos, or a cycle ride through Parnassos National Park, I flop on to one of the ship’s day beds, line up my Kindle with the horizon and pretty much stay that way for two days. It doesn’t take long to slip into the rhythm of life at sea when each day the sun shines, breakfast segues into lunch and the ship motors gently on to drop anchor at the next harbour.
At first, the absence of announcements (so prevalent on larger ships) gives me FOMO. Is everybody somewhere I am not? There is no daily captain’s update, no call for excursion departures. But this is the whole point of a SeaDream Yacht Club (to give it its full name) cruise. “Yachting, not cruising” is its mantra. To call our ship a yacht is pushing it — the hardware is getting on a bit (SeaDream I and II were built in 1985 and 1986 respectively) but regulars return again and again for the house-party ambience, the relaxed but finely tuned service and outstanding food.
At breakfast you can sprinkle bee pollen over homemade granola. Come evening, dressed in “yacht-casual” attire, you can choose from a raw-food menu or go full vegan without raising a waiter’s eyebrow. The first night I dine al fresco on grilled halibut with gingered white asparagus and a beurre blanc sauce. I am joined at the table by two Australians and a friendly Norwegian on his 18th SeaDream cruise. “The chef loves to listen and find out what you like,” says one half of the Aussie couple. “Anyone that doesn’t like the food on here is a muppet.” I have too much gold-leaf topped chocolate fondant in my mouth to comment.
Service is personal and polished. One morning a couple of regulars roll up to the Top of the Yacht bar at 11.30am and order champagne with eggs Benedict and all the trimmings. Only they don’t order. They simply bid maitre d’ Silvio a good morning and sit down. Fifteen minutes later brunch arrives. My preferred type of coffee is soon noted and over the next few days staff take it upon themselves to gently direct me around the (small) ship.
Relaxed though it is, my first day on board isn’t entirely devoid of excitement. Late afternoon the ship is scheduled to transit the Corinth Canal. This channel between the Peloponnese and Greek mainland shaves 650km off a captain’s log. Transiting vessels cannot be wider than 17.6m, which precludes most cruise ships. SeaDream marks the transit with drinks and nibbles. I head out on deck to find the baby boomers owning the occasion, clinking flutes, availing of canapes and generally having lots of fun. (Doh! Who waits for the timetabled approach time?)
As we near the mouth of the Corinth I find myself curiously excited, in part because it looks like we are headed straight for a mountain. “Where is it?” I ask one of the sailors as a tug guides us towards a wall of limestone. Then, of course, a gap appears and the narrow isthmus swallows us up. With mere centimetres to spare between the bridge wings and sheer walls it is a tight fit. Even the boomers calm down for a bit. Sliding under two high bridges where observers line up to wave, we emerge 6.5km later into the peachy post-sunset glow of the Saronic Gulf.
On sea days passengers read by the pool, perch at the bar or settle into one of eight, sea-facing double day beds designed with privacy and afternoon napping in mind. I wonder, who are these people doing back-to-back cruises and ordering their first Old Fashioned before the yard arm reaches noon? A serial cruiser I meet in the pool one morning sums it up. “What do you do when you are minted enough to take several luxury holidays a year but can’t be bothered with your own yacht? You sail on SeaDream.”
While at anchor a marina platform plops down at the back of the ship for kayaking, cat sailing and swimming. I don’t find the sea as conducive as I had hoped for paddleboarding. No sooner am I up on the board than I’m upended by a pesky white crest.
The day after my boarding dawns overcast and breezy. Up early, I catch a rare sighting of the captain, who is doing his rounds. “I haven’t seen the cloud nor the mist for many months,” he says. “It’s the only thing that we can’t control.”
After breakfast we learn that the Patmos beaches caique tour is cancelled due to high winds. Each morning I have noticed a fleet of shiny mountain bikes propped against the rails of the tender deck. Plan B unfurls.
“Any tips, Jeff?” I ask as I wheel the bike off. “Gyros and Greek yoghurt — Patmos has some of the best of both. Other than that you’re here for St John.” The Monastery of St John, where St John the Theologian is said to have written the Book of Revelation, crowns the hillside port, its sombre battlements looming incongruously over the whitewashed Chora spread at its feet.
But inside those solid 15th-century walls I find colonnaded courtyards, inlaid stone floors and hidden crypts. Enjoying the drape of the building’s shadows on my shoulders I count the residents — kittens: eight; monks: four — before making my way to the diminutive Chapel of St Christodoulos. Now a museum, the frescoed room holds chalices, crowns and manuscripts and, rather more thrillingly, the skull of “doubtful Thomas”.
By the time I reach Skala (the lower town), just after 2pm, I don’t much feel like gyros. Instead, for a couple of euros, I catch a bus to the shingly beach of Grikos, about 4km along the coast. There, I swim in limpid water and snooze under the feathery fronds of a tamarisk. I’m glad I skipped gyros.
That evening the chef prepares a poolside seafood amuse bouche of fat prawns, langoustines and caviar served the traditional way, atop a whipped egg. On this, our penultimate night, I have signed up for one of the cruise line’s signature experiences, the Balinese Dream Bed.
An invitation in my cabin confirms my reservation. “Kindly be advised that your bed under the stars has been prepared for you tonight. Sweet Dreams!” Next to the invitation are initialled pyjamas. The bed was conceived as a romantic treat, the chance to sleep on a semi-circular bed under a canopy in a secluded area at the front of the ship with a butler and champagne included. Now staff make up two or three more al fresco beds on the day beds.
Around 10.30pm I venture up to the top deck and try to get cosy in bed number 7. But a breeze fans my neck and the bed that during the day felt so comfy, now feels insubstantial. Dropping off around midnight I wake up 1½ hours later to a howling wind and an unexplained banging from somewhere nearby. Worse, fumes from the ship’s funnel seem to be blowing entirely in my direction. The air is damp and the sea sounds angry. I feel like I am about to star in my own horror movie and return to my cabin for a shower and walls. “Don’t worry it’s not you,” says a lady in her 70s when I tell the story at breakfast. “I tried it a year ago and lasted half an hour.”
In Mykonos I have booked a place on the island Jeep tour. Leaving the chi-chi designer shops (who comes to Greece to shop at Lancome?) and Chinese tour groups behind, we motor north in the direction of Armenistis Lighthouse, a lonely seafaring relic with views across the sparkling water to neighbouring Tinos. We then double back and head east, up and over the spine of the island towards Ano Meras and the small but beautifully formed Panagia Tourliani Monastery before stopping for views over the talcum-white bay of Kalafatis. It is a fine end to the cruise.
On Hydra, where it turns out there are no street names, I don’t find Leonard Cohen’s house, but I have fun trying. Oddly, I find myself directionally challenged on leaving the ship, too. Seeking the exit in the small customs and immigration area I somehow end up back at the beginning, in front of the embarkation luggage scanner. And there at the other side of the body scanner, arms crossed and a knowing twinkle in his eye is Silvio, the maitre d’. “You know we would love you to come back, but I’m afraid it’s not possible. Tonight we are sailing full.” They know their guests all right.
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A seven-night cruise on SeaDream II from Athens to Dubrovnik costs from $7127 a person, twin-share, plus port and handling fees, departing July 25. Ports of call include Itea, Hydra, Parga, Kotor and Fiskardo with a transit of the Corinth Canal.
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