Pessblaut gets hammered in various ways

Loads of cruisers go through the Suez Canal. Not many people bother to mention much about it in their blogs. For a reason. Loads of desert, a few military outposts and some big boats. Impressive work by those who dug that ditch almost 150 years ago, takes two days to pass, 'nuff said. For us the Canal brought some change in crew; not only did we have on board the essential pilot who showed us which way to pass through the canal (doh...), we had also expeditioned over to Cario to pick up Alex. A couple of days spent in Cairo, the guys together for the first time in a couple of years.
Leaving Suez and Egypt behind (damn we'll miss all the people trying to rip you off and the concept of bakshees) we had a couple of deadlines to catch. First of all Egils family were waiting in Crete, secondly Alex had to be back at work at some point. This idea of "getting back to work" requires certain fascilities, such as airports. These are normally found on land, complicating our schedule ever so slightly. So entering the Mediterranean and celebrating with water mixed about 60/40 into a drink called "Vodka", served in a convenient shot-glass, we discovered that in the Med most winds are generated by-, and therefore blowing directly from Crete. Alex got himself a rude awakening as to what blue ocean cruising can be all about, hammering up against the wind blowing a constant 15 to 20 knots from right where you wanna go, but being a good sport he later claimed to have had fun. (Reportedly apart from the first couple of days spent in utter misery and seasickness.)
We also discovered that despite the fact that The Mediterranean = Syden, it is freezing cold! We have actually been forced to use clothes. Quite a bit of clothes really. Things have just got colder since the Maldives, but this is outrageous. Øyvind have actually been force to use pants for the first time in 15 months, and has had to abandon his idea of making it home all the way in shorts. To cut the story short, we made it to Crete three days before the Larsen-family's easter holiday where up, but not before Crete had generated a final full gale to be served in our faces on the final approach. Using about every trick in our little book we just made it into harbour, not the marina we intended to go into, but a wharf smack in the middle of town. There Egil's family met up with a crew carrying their best "what? weather? storm? where?"-look.