Sailing into the sunset

To the Royal Hellenic Yacht Club, high above the tiny gem of a marina once upon a time known as Turkolimano, its name changed to Mikrolimano after the 1974 Turkish invasion of Cyprus. The yacht club also dropped the Royal, which is par for the course. Actually, it is the standard method used by Greek busybodies and other pests for seeking redress against those who have never sinned against them — like the Greek royal family. Never mind. The club will always be connected to the royals because it is they who sponsored it and put it on the map. The present King Constantine was our first post-war gold medal sailing winner in the Rome 1960 Olympics, and it was he who as crown prince managed to get Athenian society to turn into sea wolves.

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Needless to say, those were heady days for the club and for its members. The building itself is beautiful, hidden high above the port among pines and cypress trees. Members back then owned sailing boats which they anchored below, people wore white linen suits or blazers, and there were elegant dinner parties on the terrace every night. On Sunday evening, when the boats returned from the islands, we dined informally in the port below, entertained by strolling troubadours singing songs of lost love and perfidious women. (In the syllabus of Greek songs, I do not think I’ve ever come across one that tells you otherwise.)

Last Saturday night was nostalgia time. The Greek royal family was there in force, including the King’s sister Sophia, also known as the Queen of Spain. Many of the old members resigned after the King was deposed in as phoney a referendum as there ever was, but now, under the presidency of my schoolmate Andreas Potamianos, there’s been a rebirth.