Fantasy islands: yachting in the Greek islands provides an exotic escape from everyday life

The yacht was rented, and Gigi was to be our captain. Second in command was her husband Mike. Cookie, my husband, was chef. I, lacking any other useful talents, was the scullery maid. With yacht and crew in tow, we were off to Greece.

This was Captain Gigi's seventh sailing vacation, but only her second as captain. It was the maiden voyage for me and Cookie.

Captain Gigi consulted guides and charts to map our course. She related to us details of her calculations far beyond our comprehension. She decided the distinctly green Ionian islands off the west coast would best suit her sporadically exercised sailing skills, and we all agreed Corfu would be a perfect centerpiece to the trip.

By the time we were on our way, Captain Gigi was dizzy with excitement and the weight of her responsibility. She reviewed all she had learned in sailing school and worried a great deal about the Mediterranean mooring, also called stem-to, which is akin to backing into a parking place.

Our trip started on the island of Lakka, one of four Greek bases for Sunsail, a Florida-based yacht charter firm. Like many of the towns nestled in pretty inlets, Lakka is a red-roofed jumble of buildings and lazy pleasures catering to yachtsmen (and women). There we found our 39-foot Apollo motor sailing yacht, which had been christened Jason. It was a clean and pretty vessel, with three wedge-shaped bedrooms (we used one for luggage), a kitchen and salon, two bathrooms and ample deck space.

We bought provisions in Lakka, including everything from paper towels to savory local olives and ruby tomatoes. We spent the night on board Jason and listened to those onshore getting loudly drunk to a soundtrack of '70's American pop. This, in various forms, is what Cookie came to call the "traditional Greek racket."

By 11:00 the next morning, I had battened my first hatch, otherwise known as closing a window. Captain Gigi declared the ship and crew aptly prepared and our trip began. We weren't exactly sailing, but rather motor-sailing with bare masts (engine on, sails furled) on blue sea under blue sky.

The duration of our trip saw us lazily cruising among olive-green islands, past fishermen in colorful wooden boats, while trying not to get sunburned. Sometimes, Captain Gigi cut the engine and we jumped overboard for a dip. Cookie and I would rouse ourselves to whip up lunch, usually a saute of olive oil, onions, tomatoes mushrooms and olives over spaghetti with a side of chewy fresh bread.

Our first anchorage was a pretty green cove near Mourtos, where Cookie and I were introduced to the art of setting the anchor. Captain Gigi set a bow anchor, but we found ourselves doing 360 [degrees] turns in the currents, nearly colliding with an adjacent yacht. While the Captain and mate debated the merits of setting a stern anchor, Cookie and I helped by going below to take a nap.

This stern anchor debate/nap combination became a vacation ritual. Captain Gigi decided to anchor at all our stops rather than enter the yachting metropolis by tying up at the quay. This way, she was able to avoid the dreaded Mediterranean mooring.

We saw it done once with amazing grace in Lakka. We watched admiringly as another crew slipped its vintage wooden yacht in next to us as delicately as threading a needle. However, we also witnessed a nightmare Mediterranean mooring involving a loud crunch and a man knocked from his afternoon nap, his head bloodied and boat damaged. Captain Gigi was mortified for the vessel's crew.

We dropped anchor in different ports each night but one. All shared the same liquid light, bougainvillea-draped streets, abundant tavernas, mangy cats and inviting languidness. The waters were studded with yachts, from jalopies and lovingly maintained antiques to streamlined luxury vessels.

At port, we swam and snorkeled or putt-putted to land in our inflatable dingy and, wandered the town streets or hiked through olive groves. We dined on tzaziki (yogurt and cucumber salad), dolmades (stuffed grape leaves), and calamari (squid) under glorious sunsets. Come nightfall, we would return to Jason to sip retsina (Greek wine) on deck and gaze at the Milky Way until we started to nod. Despite the small bed and intermittent mosquito attacks, sleeping in the gently rocking boat was peaceful.

In the mornings we sipped instant coffee on deck and lazily planned our day. Sometimes, matey Mike would start muttering about things being "ship-shape" and hand Cookie a bucket. The two of them would then proceed to vigorously swab the decks before we sailed.

We spent two nights at our most spectacular anchorage just below the Old Fort in Corfu Town, where we were watched over by a white church that glowed in the magic light of late afternoon.

Corfu, a florid and indulgent island, is a popular resort for Europeans. Corfu Town is an exquisite and vital relic, a medieval city with a strong Italian flavor. The first afternoon, we explored the twisting streets and dined at a cafe at the Liston, an arcade by the town's busy esplanade. The next day we careened around the island in a rented car and spent the afternoon on the island's north coast in Sidari, relaxing on the long beach and clambering on limestone rocks beaten into fantastic shapes by wind and water.