On the evening of Sunday 14th August, my dad, my wife and I landed in Dubrovnik Airport and got a taxi to the quayside of Srebreno where we joined our friend Mark aboard the yacht "Amore". Within twenty minutes of boarding, we'd slipped our lines and were underway, heading towards Sudurad, a village and small bay on the eastern end of the island of Šipan.
As the sun lowered in the sky, we passed under the medieval walls of Dubrovnik's Old Town, nosing into the harbour for a quick look and pausing briefly to watch a water polo match taking place just outside at the foot of the wall.
Over the next thirteen days, we worked our way up through the islands off the coast of the mainland. From Sudurad to Šipanska Luka at the other end of Šipan, via a stop for lunch in Saplunara bay on the eastern tip of Mljet. We then sailed the length of Mljet to stop over at the village of Pomena, then made our way to Vrnik, one a scattering of smaller islands at the eastern end of the island of Korčula where we anchored for the night against a couple of stern lines that I'd swum to shore.
We spent the night moored bow and stern meters from the shore in the small bay of Mostir on the northern side of the island of Šćedro. We ate ashore at a small family restaurant where the menu was basically a choice between meat or fish, either cooked on their open fire grill.
The fish was delicious.
From Šćedro we sailed around the western tip of the island of Hvar to land on the quayside in the town of Stari Grad. The sailing was superb, but we had to sail through heavy rain to the sound track of accompanying thunder and lightning. There were a couple of other days when we had dry lightning storms, but this was the only rain we had in the two weeks we were out there.
From Stari Grad we turned around and made our way back. We mistook a cove at the end of Hvar for another that Mark knew, but were welcomed in by a resident RIB and assisted onto the restraurant's mooring, a sinking line to which me secured fore and aft, that stretched from a pinion on the rocky shore to a massive, submerged concrete block in the centre of the bay. There was a small bar at one end of the bay and at the other end a quiet restaurant called Konoba Mareta, where again we were offered a simple choice of meat or fish, either cooked on the grill of their open fire.
To pass time until supper however, Nikki, Mark and I took the tender over to the bar, leaving Dad n the boat to read, whilst we sat in the sun sipping our drinks between dips in the sea. After a couple of hours of this peace and quiet, it was disturbed by a succession of RIBs descending upon our solitude, depositing dozens of young holiday-makers. The sudden party atmosphere and distinctly vibrant crowd made for an amusing distraction, mitigated by the fact that after a couple of hours or so they all got back into their RIBs and disappeared again, ferried no doubt to their next party venue, allowing peace to descend once more on ours.
Heading back, we spent the night at anchor in Orebic Bay, eating aboard the boat. If was a fine, fast sail, gybing from broad reach to broad reach, specifically not racing another yacht of a similar size to ours, clearly intent on the same destination. And, despite their having a clear head start, we still won.
The next day we set off back to Pomena on Mljet, dropping anchor for a couple of hours off the island of Badija for a lunchtime swim. The final stretch from there back to Pomena was the last decent sailing of the holiday, as the wind faded completely for the final three days.
Moored stern-to outside the restaurant Konoba Barba Ive there was a bit of a mishap. There was something of a swell pushing into the shelter of the quay, making for a bit of a bumpy mooring. Nikki misjudged the distance between the end of Amore's bathing platform and the quayside, jumped to follow me ashore and mistimed it. She took a nasty fall, cutting up her leg on the concrete and badly bruising the instep of her foot. But thankfully nothing worse. She took it well, we cleaned her up and disinfected the cuts and grazes, and then had supper at the restaurant.
Afterwards, unable to walk well enough to make it to the bar at the other end of the village, we installed her back aboard the boat and I went with Mark to find her ice-cream.
The following day we motored down the length of Mljet to Saplunara bay. We took a restaurant buoy, and spend the day swimming and paddle-boarding. That evening, Mark retired early, but the restaurant's RIB came out to pickup Dad, Nikki and I and take us ashore for supper.
They had tuna steaks, the size of plates, which I think I've mentioned before. I'm a sucker for anything I haven't tried before, so seeing it on the menu asked for tuna tartare. With the benefit of hindsight, I'd now conclude that tartar is, basically, expensive cat food. I have a flexible palate, so can't say I didn't exactly enjoy it, but it's not an experience I intend to repeat.
From Saplunara, the following day we motored across glassy seas to our penultimate destination of Šipanska Luka, a stop worth repeating for the comfort and hospitality of the beach bar that owns the mooring buoy there.
That evening, predictably, the wind got back up, so when Nikki, Mark and I took the tender into town for supper, I got a little bit went in the bow of the dinghy acting as spray guard for the other two. Dad asked us to drop him off by the bar and elected to walk around along the flat, concrete waterside path.
We ate at a local restaurant away from the waterside, a cheerful friendly place with cheap wine and cheap food, then Mark, Nikki and I took the tender back to the boat, with me again taking a dousing from the wind-blown chop. Dad elected to walk back around.
Which led to the second mishap of our travels, as he got himself run over in the dark by a cyclist.
Bruised and grazed, but nothing broken. The cyclist was mortified and had stopped to help Dad back up; neither of them had any lights, which was a fooling oversight on our part. By the time I picked Dad back up from the shore by the beach bar, he was stiff and sore, but otherwise fine.
The following morning was Thursday 25th. We cast off early, needing to refuel and in the hope of getting that out of the way and finding some wind for the last leg of our trip, which would take us to Cavtat. Reaching Dubrovnik, we heading up the long, shallow inlet on the north side of the city to refuel at the marina, but heading back out found none of the wind that had been promised, so stopped on the south side of Lokrum island for a compensatory swim.
That evening we reached Cavtat, where we met up with Rob and Barb, Mark's friends and Amore's owners, who took our stern lines as we dropped anchor and reversed onto the town quay. Mark has been out on Amore since the spring, knows the boat backwards and has hundreds of miles and countless hours of experience handling her with both Rob and Barb aboard or his or their friends.
Mark's boat handing is superb. He can turn Amore on a penny, ahead or astern, and over the couple of weeks aboard her, I've watching him manoeuvre her through and out of some very tricky spots without scratch or mishap, hardly breaking a sweat as he did so. Picking up the leading line of the neighbouring boat on our keel in a nasty crosswind when leaving Stari Grad earlier in the week was one such example. He pivoted her around between submerged lines in less than a third of her boat length, unhooked our keel from the leeward line, and then reversed her out, to a round of applause from half a dozen of our erstwhile neighbours, who had come anxiously out onto the bows of their own vessels, fully expecting to have to fend us off.
Reversing Amore back on her anchor to pass her stern lines to Rob and Barbara however, I could see he was actually nervous. It was kind of cute.
And, obviously, he executed the landing flawlessly.
We had supper in Cavtat with Rob and Barb and their daughters Thursday night, and on Friday left our bags on board whilst they and Mark took Amore out for the day, and Nik, Dad and I caught the bus in to Dubrovnik to explore the Old Town and do some "touristing".
The Old Town is beautiful. The crowds no so much, but everybody was friendly. Away from the sea however, I think Nikki and Dad found the heat a little oppressive, whereas I have to admit, I revelled in it.
This holiday wasn't really about sailing. Luckily, I managed to finesse it so that it involved the sea and a boat, and involving a boat and the sea, it was only natural that Dad accompanied us. But really, this was mainly about having a holiday, and, more to the point, making sure Nikki had a holiday.
As a kid I grew up something of a nomad, as comfortable in an airport lounge as I was in my boarding school's dormitory, a bedroom at my Gran's house for an exeat weekend or, occasionally, my own bedroom during the school holidays. Then we came home just ahead of Saddam's invasion of Kuwait, stopped here and I met and married a local girl.
We met at a gig, and our first date was a coach trip late the next evening, taking a ferry across the Channel to one of those hypermarkets in Britany that used to be so popular with us Brits for cheap booze back in the early 90's. Nik didn't actually have a passport, so she spent the day before we left running around with the help of her cousin, who happened to be the then guitarist in my band, trying to arrange a temporary one. Such things were possible back then.
Until this month, she hadn't actually travelled aboard since. I've been abroad a few times with the band, but as a family, for various reasons, we've always holidayed in the UK. As a kid, Nik did have a family holiday once in Portugal, but she was very young and whilst she remembers the huge, delicious sardines, she couldn't remember the flight.
So whilst this recent trip was, in part about the chance to meet up with our good friend Mark and sail a gorgeous yacht in balmy seas, having finally bullied my wife into getting a passport, the most important thing was making sure Nikki had a great time and fell as in love with travel and "overseas" as I've always been.
Late on the evening of Friday 26th August, my dad, my wife and I landed back Bristol Airport, and my brother picked us up to take us home. Both Nik and Dad were definitely hobbling, but everybody was smiling, so I think that by any measure, the holiday was a grand success.
And Nikki has made it very clear that she wants to make more use of her new passport. But has specifically asked if we can go book a hotel next time. I'm not sure I get the idea of spending a week or two lounging around in a hotel, sunny foreign climes or no. But I'll try anything once.
Perhaps I can find one with a beach? And where there's a beach, I reckon there's probably a boat.
