Just as we were about to set sail here in Greece from the island Poros, our wind sensor suddenly stopped working. No wind direction, no wind speed. Not ideal when you're navigating open waters. Maybe it had been a bird? Or sun and salt damage? Or just one strong gust too many. Whatever the cause, I had to climb up the mast, attached to a line and helped with a winch. And ofcourse the new windmeter! So up I went — 22 meters high at the top of our catamaran’s mast and the camera rolling! I filmed the whole thing. Because this moment captures what it means to be a Digital Nomad: 🔹 Being ready to improvise 🔹 Making decisions to set clear couse again 🔹 Trusting your preparation, your partner and yourself 🔹 And staying calm, even with a shaky view ➡️ Want to see what it looks like up the mast, installing a new windmeter? 📹 Watch the video!

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Methana is a peninsula in the Saronic Gulf and is famous for it’s volcano and Thermal springs. We visited both and we loved also the charming village of Vathi were a small harbor felt very welcoming to us. Next to the fishing boats, we were the only sailing boat on the quay and after making it through the small entrance, we had a quiet stay in this beautiful scenery. Enjoy the drone flight we took over the harbor with the stunning mountains in the background.

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The Crazy Waters Bridge in Chalkis sits at the narrowest point between Evia and the mainland, where the strait is only about 38 meters wide. Because so much water is forced through this tiny opening, extremely strong currents are created — the reason sailors call it the “Crazy Waters.” The bridge is in the middle of the city and opens only once a day to avoid disrupting the constant road traffic. Boats may only pass at slack tide, the brief moment every six hours when the water is calmest. That’s why sailors often go through at strange times like 1:30 or 3:00 a.m. While waiting, boats are not allowed to tie up along the quay because the turbulence is so strong that it would be dangerous. Instead, everyone must anchor in the bay and wait for instructions from Port Control. We anchored there with about fifteen other boats and waited until slack tide at night. At midnight, Port Control suddenly called all boats in order — we were number three. Passing the bridge in the dark was surreal: strong currents below, quiet city lights above. The bridge didn’t lift; it actually slid sideways into the quay walls, disappearing completely. Once through, we moored safely just 100 meters further in the city. Experiencing this natural phenomenon at night, in such a narrow and powerful channel, was something I will not quickly forget!

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