When the Sea Has Other Plans: A Sailing Journey That Almost Didn’t Happen

Ronen Inbar
Feb 20, 2024
7 min read

Updated: Jul 7

Sailing in Greece—or anywhere, really—requires planning. Lots of it. And sometimes, despite all your preparations, the universe has plans of its own.

We started planning this charter six months in advance: four dads, six kids, and one beautiful Lagoon 42. Two of the kids weren’t entirely sure they’d join, but we booked flights for them anyway. The excitement was building fast.

We charted a route to destinations we hadn’t explored before—Spetses and Porto Cheli in the southern Peloponnese. We rented a catamaran to practice Mediterranean mooring techniques, got all the paperwork in order, and counted down the days.

We even planned to get the kids together a week or two beforehand so they could meet and feel comfortable on day one. But with today’s teens and their busy lives, it didn’t quite happen.

A month before departure, one of the dads told us his father was in critical condition and he might not be able to join. We debated whether to invite someone in his place, but in the end, we decided to split the cost and let him decide up until the last moment.

Saturday: Rockets Overhead, But Hope in the Air

Finally, the big day arrived. Our flight was scheduled for 10:00 AM Saturday. We set alarms for 6:45 AM—but instead of the buzz of excitement, we woke to the blare of red alert sirens across central Israel.

A massive rocket barrage had begun. Sirens after sirens. But we thought it was just another day of tension—we’ve lived through them before. So, determined, we made our way to the airport.

As we waited to board, sirens hit the airport too. Something didn’t feel right. We didn’t know the scope yet—but we knew it was different.

At 9:30 AM, we were told our flight was delayed due to rocket fire. Then, one of the kids—an 18-year-old soldier—showed me a video on his phone. A white pickup truck with armed terrorists driving through an Israeli town.

I gathered the kids (ages 17–22) and told them everything was under control, that it was just more fake news from Hamas. But deep down, I wasn’t so sure.

By 11:00 AM, we boarded our flight to Athens, still unaware of the full-scale attack unfolding back home.

Landing in Athens, Sailing in Our Hearts

When we landed, only one or two of us had cell service. My Greek SIM wasn’t working, so I waited until I could stop by a COSMOTE store.

A driver met us at the airport and took us to Alimos Marina. I dropped everyone off at a café, sent a few to the supermarket to prep supplies for delivery to the boat, and went to check in with the charter company.

I’ve known Dimitris, the owner, for years. We stay in touch regularly, and we’ve become friends. He knows I’m familiar with the boat, so he skipped the usual walkthrough. Just one question:“Any questions?”“Yes—where are the fuses?”

That’s it. We had a quick chat, and I called the crew to board and get organized.

By 6:00 PM, the sun was setting, and I hadn’t yet briefed everyone on their roles. So I decided to skip the night sail and push our departure to the next morning—even though I personally love sailing at night.

Sunday: Calm Seas, a Soulful Start

We woke up early—naturally. The kids were still asleep. We sipped coffee on deck and set our course for Poros.

Our original plan was to sail all the way to Spetses or Porto Cheli on the first day and then make our way back slowly via Ermioni, Hydra, and Aegina. But that leg would take at least nine hours, and for most of our crew, this was their first sailing experience. So we split the trip, planning our first night in Poros—my personal favorite of all the Greek islands I’ve visited (and I’ve been to many).

The sea was calm, but the wind was against us, so we motored.

The route to Poros is a busy maritime corridor. We passed massive ships on our way to Aegina, then continued on smooth waters toward Poros.

Poros itself sits just 600 meters from the Peloponnese mainland, creating a picturesque channel surrounded by quiet bays and emerald waters. It’s a breathtaking approach—one that’s hard to forget.

with a sandy beach and a small kiosk that even sells cold drinks and alcohol. The bay got its name in the 1920s, when Russia was one of several countries involved in the Greek revolution, and for a time, this part of Greece was under Russian control. They even built shipyards right on this very shore.

We slipped into our swimsuits, launched the SUP board and the dinghy, and enjoyed the crystal-clear turquoise waters. While the kids played in the water, we prepared a fresh lunch onboard. After a relaxing meal, we set course for the marina in Poros.

Since our charter was in mid-October, finding a mooring spot was easy. We docked right in the heart of town using the classic Mediterranean mooring technique — dropping anchor about 50 meters from the quay and reversing toward the dock, where we tied off with two stern lines, forming a perfect triangle to keep the boat steady.

We hooked up to shore power, took quick showers, and headed out to explore the charming streets of Poros.

The village of Poros is built along the slopes of a steep hill, cascading down from its peak all the way to the waterfront. The streets are narrow and winding, with locals zipping around on scooters and ATVs. After a short stroll through the village, we set out toward a family-run taverna called Apagio. But halfway there, a friendly restaurant owner recognized we were Israeli and passionately convinced us to dine at Oasis, his own place. A quick Google search showed a solid 4.6 rating — and I decided to go with the flow. It turned out to be an excellent decision: delicious food and an incredibly warm host made for a perfect evening.

Back on the boat later that night, we began receiving fragmented news about events unfolding back in Israel. At first, it sounded unbelievable — until I called my wife. She confirmed the situation and told me our son, who serves in a combat engineering unit, had been called up and sent south. I suggested she spend the night at a friend’s place for peace of mind. Still, the full weight of what was happening hadn’t really sunk in — not then, and not even after we returned.

Monday

Whenever I’m in Poros, I have a personal morning ritual: a one-hour walk followed by coffee at my favorite marina bakery. This morning was no different. After my walk and a strong espresso, we set sail toward Spetses. The original plan was to stop in a bay for some water fun before continuing on to Spetses or Porto Heli. But strong winds made it hard to find a protected anchorage, so we pressed on to Spetses.

Upon arrival, we realized the entire waterfront was shut down — and the marina had no available moorings. So, we cruised along the western coastline in search of a cove or a lively spot to anchor, but unfortunately found nothing suitable. We decided to skip Spetses and head straight for Porto Heli. But before leaving, we stumbled upon a peaceful, magical little bay on the island’s north side — and went into our now-familiar routine: lunch on board, then playtime in the water with all our toys.

We reached Porto Heli in the evening. The bay is massive, and it took a while (and a few loud exchanges with local sailors and people onshore!) to figure out where anchoring was allowed. By the time we got it sorted, there were no spots left at the marina. So we dropped anchor offshore and decided to spend the night aboard, cooking dinner ourselves — a quiet end to an adventurous day.

the kind of stillness that clears the mind. We sat on deck, letting it all sink in. Most of our crew took the opportunity to catch up on the news — myself included. But even 48 hours after the events began, the situation back home was still unclear.

My wife called me in distress — not because of the rockets, but because she feared terrorists might reach our home. I suggested she stay with a friend, but eventually, her brother came and took her to Netivot for safety.

I imagine the other wives and families were equally shaken, because that night, Assaf suggested we look for tickets and return to Israel early. We had a short discussion onboard. I was against it — I didn’t think we could be of much help from home. But others felt differently. Everything changed when Roy, one of the boys — a soldier in mandatory service — got a call from his unit asking him to return. We immediately reached out to a contact who could help us find flights, knowing that most airlines had already suspended service to Israel.

Tuesday

The next morning, we received news that flights were secured for Wednesday — two days earlier than our planned return on Saturday. The price: $500 one-way per person. Once again, Israeli airlines decided to exploit a national crisis, overcharging citizens desperate to get home. Still, we paid, confirmed the flights, and began our two-day journey back toward Athens.

That same day, I learned that my son, Assaf, was being sent into Gaza with a breach team — and suddenly, I knew I had to return home as fast as possible.

We decided to head back to Poros (did I mention how much I love that island?) with a planned lunch stop at Ermioni — a beautiful village on a peninsula of the Peloponnese, another favorite of mine.

The sea was flat like glass, with not a breath of wind, so we motored the whole way. We dropped anchor just 15 meters from shore, and instead of heading into town, everyone opted to stay onboard and enjoy the clear turquoise water. After two or three hours, we continued toward Poros. Mooring was again easy despite a strong crosswind, and we tied up Mediterranean-style in no time. We connected to shore power and headed off for another evening walk. This time, we dined at the taverna we originally planned to try — but honestly, it didn’t compare to the meal we’d had at Oasis.

We ended the night with ice cream, coffee, and a relaxed game of cards in the cockpit. Just after 11 PM, a sudden loud explosion and the sound of gunfire broke the calm.

To be continued in the next post…