Sail The Wine Dark Sea! - Photography Workshops + Photo Tours in Greece | Digital Photography | Santorini I In Search of the Real Greece

<body> <h1> | Photography Workshops + Photo Tours in Greece | Digital Photography | Santorini I In Search of the Real Greece</h1> <h2>Photography Workshops + Photo Tours in Greece | Digital Photography | Santorini I In Search of the Real Greece</h2> <div>Greek Digital Photography Workshops + Photo Tours in Greece, Greece Travel, Sail The Wine Dark Sea, In Search of the Real Greece. Stock Photography from forty nine Greek Islands.</div> <span class="links"><a href="index.html" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff"></font></a></span>   <span class="links"><strong><a href="portfolio.html" target="_top"><font color="#0f1f3a">Greek Photography</font></a></strong></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=1" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff">Photo Workshops Greece 2010</font></a></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=3" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff">BIOS</font></a></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=4" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff"> The Metaphysics of Photography: The Art of the Unseen</font></a></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=5" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff">Hydra - "Symphony"</font></a></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=6" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff">San Francisco Photo Workshops</font></a></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=7" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff">On Teaching Photography</font></a></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=8" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff"></font></a></span>   <span class="links"><a href="content.html?page=9" target="_top"><font color="#ffffff">Links</font></a></span> <div> <p><strong><font color="#ffd5ac"><strong>"Sail the Wine Dark Sea! Greece!"</strong></font> </strong></p> <p><br /> Shoot the Dodecanese, and sail the islands as did the first Greeks. Each day promises a new island, new sights, and new explorations.</p> <p>You shall board a captained and well provisioned <strong>49-foot yacht</strong> on the island of Leros. You'll shoot the secluded bays and castles of Leros, sailing north you'll visit traditional Kalymnos, photograph untouched Agathonisi and Marathi, and explore the splendid Patmos, the holy island of St. John. You'll finish on <img align="left" alt="" src="http://sitemanager.sitewelder.com/users/GlennSteiner1388/images/GlennSteiner13881007970T.jpg" />the island of Kos. </p> <p>We shall rise early and shoot in the morning light. At mid day, we shall cast off, hoist the sail, and ride a whisper of wind to a new port-of-call. Coming ashore, we'll seek out new experiences in the brilliant glow of the late day sunlight.</p> <p>Participants will explore their personal artistic vision in an everchanging panoply of castles, harbors, xoras and temples.</p> <p><strong>"Sail The Wine Dark Sea" includes self-serve provisions for breakfast and lunch, and all drink aboard ship. During the warm evenings, we will eat out at local harbor-side tavernas, and drink in the night time ambience. </strong></p> <p><strong>Pricing of $2400 is for shared berths aboard ship. This is a shooting/adventure workshop. All media, traditional and digital welcome. Processing film will not be possible. We shall review digital media aboard ship, if desired.</strong></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><font color="#ffd5ac"><strong>Sail the Wine Dark Sea 2000- New Worlds to Discover</strong></font></p> <p><font color="#cccccc">This is one of the six journeys that Rose and I have made along the Dodekanese' Wine Dark Sea</font></p> <p><strong><font color="#ffd5ac">Sail the Wine Dark Sea</font></strong> by Glenn Steiner (c) 2000</p> <p>Vasillis, our valiant sea steed, pushed against strong, "nose-rly" headwinds. The drum of the engines and bashing of sea swells had awoken us. One by one, we left the comfort of our berths, silently climbing on deck, rising to face the sun, a molten orb lifting from a volcanic sea. Turkey's Turquoise Coast sped by in all its diversity, a fierce, waterless, crag-like landscape filled with pole-like pine trees, bleating goats, and screeching sea birds. Rose and I had to smile. Half the voyage had come to sweet fruition. The islands of Greece lay far to the distance. Fortified with stout Greek coffee, we raised the mains'l halyard and set the sails, anticipating the unknown.</p> <p><br /> Six hours sped by. We passed mist bound Symi, small Tilos, and volcanic Nisyros, far off to our port side. These isles would remain unexplored for another time.</p> <p><br /> As morning grew into afternoon, the boats passing us, changed in frequency from the wooden Turkish gulats to the familiar multicolored Greek fishing boats. Onwards, we pushed. Finally, Kos! We could see the huge, monolithic, crusader castle, which dominates and guards Kos harbor. Our stop here would be all too brief, with time enough only for a brief email and stamping of passports. Yet, the sounds of Greek Rembetika, drifting from the tavernas, beckoned Rose and I. We ate chicken souvlaki in an ancient square, shaded by massive plane trees and palm trees filled with dates. Racing back to Vasillis through narrow cobble stone streets, past ruins 2500 years old, we both agreed that we had barely scratched the surface of Kos. As we pushed away from the harbor and helped raise the anchor, we swore to return.</p> <p><br /> Sweeping north and west, we cut the engines, passing Pserimos to starboard, a dry chunk of lava, defiantly thrust up from surging, white capped waves. Rose and I had to smile as we saw the Greek flag of blue and white, facing the Turkish peninsula. Visions of David and Goliath came to mind. Though only a few lived on the islet of Pserimos, they seemed to say in unison: "This land is Greek!"</p> <p><br /> Another hour and we sailed into Pothia, the main harbor of Kalymnos. Diane again executed a perfect "10" in med <img alt="" align="left" src="http://sitemanager.sitewelder.com/users/GlennSteiner1388/images/GlennSteiner13881007968T.jpg" />mooring, narrowly nestling in our 52 foot yacht between two cruiser sailers with one foot to spare.</p> <p><br /> From Vasillis, we could see the steep hills, which ringed the working harbor of Pothia, and shielded it from wind and sea. Multicolored houses of Italian descent climbed the sides of the bay. High above the harbor lay a wondrous church, which was spot lit, and stood out against the darkening, color-filled skies.<br /> For centuries, Kalymnos had reigned supreme as the sponge capital of the world. Yet, over-fishing of local waters had signaled the demise of the sponge business. Everywhere one looks, one can see sponge shops, fishing boats, tavernas and hotels. The Kalymniots are a proud and traditional bunch. Though they have warmed to the tourist trade, they refuse to embrace it whole-heartedly.</p> <p><br /> Diane and Rob leave the boat after a rough w, taking a night at the Olympic Hotel. Barb and Al take a room as well. Rose and I choose to stay on Vasillis. A quick mousaka at Xefteries Taverna, and its slumber time.</p> <p><br /> With morning, Al, Barb, Rose and I rented mopeds and sped across to the Bay of Telendros, along a precipitous cliffside road past Myrties and Masouri, to a two-taverna inlet called Arginontas Bay. A lovely no name taverna awaited. We devoured a wonderful omelet made of fresh multi colored eggs from his chickens, and bread covered with honey from his hives.</p> <p><br /> If anything, this is why Grecian Islands are ever so wonderful: the sweetness of the people, the freshness of the food, the pure quality of the Greek light or FOS dancing on cerulean wavelets.</p> <p><br /> Al and Barb left to the hotel to pack. Rose and I continued onwards, and met a goat herder. His name was Kostas. Kostas was very proud of his family of goats, which swarmed down the mountain and crossed the road in front of us. This part of Kalymnos reminded us of Yosemite, with its precipitous, massive cliffs of stone, stretching far, far above. On the road, we passed stone houses at the base of these cliffs, one house crushed by a massive boulder, as if some Greek God had reached out with his foot and flattened someone's cottage like an aluminum beer can. We glanced up, shuddered and sped on towards the end of the road, Emporio. We took the trail to the beach, and were met by a small protected harbor with a few houses, hotel named Harry's and a taverna called Artistico. The water was irresistable and we took a quick swim in tranquil waters among sailboats. We played like children in the water, and upon drying off, treated ourselves to an ice cream at Artistico's. Climbing our mopeds, we buzzed back to Pothia and gave up the mopeds. The winds had once again risen to stellar heights, and gusted strongly to Beauford 8!</p> <p><br /> Upon joining Vasillis, we left port and motorsailed for Vathy on the other side of Kalymnos. The word "Vathy" means "deep" in archaic Greek. We partially circumnavigated the island in high winds and sea, and headed for a gap in a forbidding cliff. We passed through a small, narrow entrance, thirty feet wide, a hundred feet long and about 150 feet high on either side. Inside the passage was a small, bell shaped harbor, protected from the rollicking seas. Many had already moored here, seeking sanctuary. We sistered up and tied off to another ship. Within an hour many boats had arrived, but too late for the dock. The newcomers had to tie off against the cliffs using warps and fenders, to hold and protect their hulls.</p> <p><br /> Tonight, the cruisers outnumbered the gaily color Greek fishing boats. Yet, the fish we ate came directly from the nets of the brave Greek fishermen to the local tavernas. We interupted a local fisherman, tenderizing "to oktopudi mou," his octopus, on the harbor rocks to pose with Diana for a shot. Sunset soon slid into night, as bouzouki music drifted across the bay of Vathy.</p> <p><br /> At Poppy's, we met Momma, who taught Rose how to make Dolmades, meat flavored rice balls covered with marinated grape leaves. Rose had Poppy's internationally famous swordfish steak. I enjoyed dolmades as a mezede, domades for dinner, and domades for desert. I walk back to Vasillis, stuffed with enough rice to start a Chinese restaurant! "Truly dolmades from heaven!" I thought to myself. We retired to sleep while the taverna adjacent to Vasillis rocked on. The many foreign cruisers, our German, English and Swedish neighbors, partied late into the morning.</p> <p><br /> Aeolus, the wind God, was angry and filling his cheeks, blew hard and long. Poseidon had thrashed the seas raw all night with his trident. We heaved off but the winds were too high to set sail. We motored cautiously for several hours around the eastern coast of Kalymnos and north to Pendeli Bay in Leros. By this time, the winds howled at us. As the turbulent winds struck the rigging, the ship's lines began to sing, rising in pitch! The wind driven seas, with white caps short and steep, inhibited our passage. Finally, Leros appeared around the corner!</p> <p><br /> "First come, first serve" cried the harbor master at Pendeli Bay. Other sailors had taken all the available berths, side ties and moorings. Diana chose to med moor outside the harbor. We set the anchor a ways off and backed towards a rocky shore against the hurling winds. First mate Rob tied a stout line to his foot and dove in, swimming to shore. Diane motored delicately and held her position against fluctuating winds. Finding a huge, solid rock, Rob tied off the line. We used the starboard winch to haul us in tight, the boat safely stretched between bow anchor and land borne line. Another line was tied off. The boat was safe, and everyone jumped into the waters and went swimming.</p> <p><br /> The cliffs sheltered the waters about Vasillis, as the sun shone brightly. Taking the dinghy to shore, we rented mopeds at Pendeli Bay. We rode up switchbacks upon switchbacks to visit an old castle above the bay. The view ripped away one's breath. To one side, we had the harbor and Vasillis, and to the other, we could see the full force of the storm beating the coastline. Staying on the bikes became difficult, as the winds often blew us capriciously four feet, side to side. Al, Barb, Rose and I hung on for the ride of our lives!</p> <p><br /> The castle was closed, as the Greek keepers had shut the gates to enjoy the traditional Greek "mezimeri," or nap/relaxation time celebrated daily between 2 and 5 PM. We moped cautiously on streets made slippery by sand to visit the old port of Agia Marina north to the seaside resorts of Alinda. Turning west and north, we four toured the road to Blefoutis Bay, visiting the 3000 year old "Temple of Artemis." At sunset, we came across Agia Isidora on the road to Kokkali. The forces of wind and water had separated this Greek Orthodox Church from the mainland. The church now rested on a tiny spit of rock in Gourna Bay, connected only by a thin slender pathway 150 meters long. I rushed off my bike camera in hand, and scrambled down the cliff, to photograph a matera (mother) helping her yiayia (grandmother) along the long path to worship.</p> <p><br /> During our return home, the Port Captain for Leros had closed the island to all arriving and departing traffic . The winds had grown to Beauford 10. Neither ships nor airplanes would move for two days. We spent the time exploring Leros. We dined at Taverna Pserapoula and Zorbas, Rose and family enjoying wonderful fish. I stuck to mousaka, an eggplant dish. Later that night, we snuck down to the Savanna Bar, owned by two friendly Englishmen, Simon and Peter. Their heavenly concoction, the Blue Savannah, went down like windfire, fueling an evening of dancing and merriment.</p> <p><br /> On the third day, we left Leros. We motored through stormy seas to Lipsi, the island of the ancient Goddess Calypso that shares and celebrates her name. Lipsi was the laid back essence of the real Greek life, whose great claim to fame was sixty blue domed churches and beautiful beaches. I love shooting the harbor. Heyxos Konstantinos painted most of the local ships, and did a superlative job. We had a nice walk through the countryside, say "Hello" to a few donkeys, had lunch and cast off to westward, reefing our mainsail severely in the high winds. No motoring would be needed today. We boomed along in high winds on a beam reach through exciting seas.</p> <p><br /> We wove our way through the long channel passage into Patmos' main harbor, Skala, (the Greek word for steps). Laundry time had finally arrived. The family and I commandeered bright red, powerful mopeds from Theo + Georgios in Skala, while Vasillis circled the coast and headed south to Grikos Beach. The ride to meet them was sublime, as we dodge in and out of coastal inlets past white houses stuck in volcanic black cliffs. A huge monastery, that of St. John the Theologian becked high above on the mountaintop. We rode like demons. That night we dined at Diogenes, and enjoyed Greek pizza and pine-y retsina.</p> <p><br /> The morning brought new explorations. Amidst blue skies, we cruised up the steep mountain to the Monastery. An amazing, spiritual, quiet feeling pervaded the ancient stone walls. The museum moved me greatly, as I looked at original manuscripts dating back to 600 AD and other important documents dating back to the origins of the Byzantine Empire and the beginnings of the Greek Orthodox Church. On the way back to Skala, we stopped at the Cave of Revelations, to see where St. John dictated the Apocalypse to his aid de camp in 95 AD. One could see where St. John placed his head in a small cleft in the cave's volcanic wall, and the handhold he had used to lift himself upon resting. The triple fissure lay directly above along the cave's ceiling, where the voice of God rang out and spoke to John. Al and Barb knealed and prayed. Rose and I sat there in silent wonderment.</p> <p><br /> Slightly shell-shocked, we transcended the road past Skala, exploring northwards to Kambos and Lampi. We returned to Vasillis, bearing gifts of clean laundry from Skala, weighed anchor and bore off to a tiny barren island, Marathi.</p> <p><br /> What makes a person want to explore an island where the goats outnumber the people one hundred to one? White beaches and small coves stretched as far as the eye could see. Two tiny tavernas served the odd cruiser who dropped by. Small fishing boats would occasionally bring tourists, but few ferry boats ever made this a port of call. The lone island phone stood beneath a tree. Stone ruins and old sheep-herder, stone dwellings filled the hillsides. The waters of turquoise and blue lured and beckoned, as meltemi winds cut the heat. Beneath the shade of our bimini, life again slowed down. We could see the passing the seconds, as wind ripples swept across the Bay of Marathi.</p> <p><br /> The journey of Vasillis was to end the next day. We weighed anchor and set out on a short, sweet beam reach in 30 knot winds back to Lakki harbor and the island of Leros. This saddened us, as Al and Barb, my beloved brother and his wife, and the rest of the crew would soon disappear to points on a compass.</p> <p>Yet, Rose and I still had three weeks to explore. Donning our backpacks, we would jump on the next ferry from Leros' Lakki harbor for points unknown. So many new islands, so many new places to explore. We would go where the winds would blow us.</p><div> </body>