“What are you doing in Kos?” my cousin asked over the phone. “It’s full of gay bars.” You’d know I suppose, Jay, I’m just here to use the internet. Easier said than done, mind. When we anchored off Kardemena, a sprawling town for chavs, the northerlies were hitting 30 knots. At least anchoring was easy but I was amazed at how much fetch could build in such a short space of sea. Rowing over to Odin for a beer was ludicrously difficult so I had to get the outboard on the dinghy, another job never done on my own before (thank god our motor’s a paltry 2.5hp, anything bigger would have been a real struggle).
We did find a pleasant cafe called Velvet and we also found a quiet pub to watch the Hungarian Grand Prix qualifier (witnessing Masa’s crash). What was supposed to be a quick beer turned into an evening of drinking, ending up at Chez Chav restaurant, where we took the piss out of the English staff. “Where have you traveled in Kos?” I asked one. “Nowhere really”, she replied, “though I would like to go to the water park”. Says it all really. Kos: flying the Burburry flag for Greece.
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