The meltemi nobody warned me about
Every sailing guide will tell you about the meltemi. None of them will tell you what it actually feels like to anchor alone in a force 6 in a bay you've never seen before, with the anchor dragging and the wind screaming through the rigging and the sun still blazing overhead — because the meltemi is dry and relentless and doesn't care that it's 35 degrees.
I knew, rationally, that July in the Cyclades meant wind. I'd read about it. I'd planned around it: early mornings, short passages, arriving before noon. What I hadn't understood was that the meltemi doesn't build gradually. It arrives.
Paros at 0600
I arrived in Parikia, Paros, at six in the morning, having left Naxos at three to get ahead of the wind. The harbour was completely still. The fishing boats were just starting their engines. An old man was sweeping the quay. I tied up alongside the town wall, made coffee, and watched the sun come up over the windmills with my legs dangling over the bow. In twenty years of sailing, I'm not sure I've had a better moment.
What they don't tell you
Solo sailing in the Cyclades in July is challenging. Not dangerously so — the conditions are well-documented and the anchorages are well-protected. But it demands your full attention. And what they don't tell you is that this is exactly why it's extraordinary. There is no better teacher than a force 5 approaching from the north with nowhere to hide.