So pass our days in paradise. Every other day we are visited by the same tourist boat. The fishermen come almost every night and we are so accustomed to their presence that we usually just sleep through the whole thing. We have plenty of food, our solar panels provide us with enough electricity for most things and once a day we turn on the generator for an hour to run all the power-intensive equipment: the watermaker, water heaters, our portable bread maker and the laundry machine. This is when all our efforts at making Zangezi independent finally pay off. In fact, if not for the fresh fruits and vegetables we could stay here almost indefinitely.

On one of the days when the tourist boat does not arrive we take the dinghy ashore and walk the steep path up to the fortress. We spend hours in complete solitude strolling around the windswept ruins, climbing down the underground passages and getting our fill of the spectacular views. Sofia seems to enjoy our hikes, perfectly content in her baby sling attached to my chest. Being in this magnificent place with the two people I love the most is pure magic.

After nine days of uninterrupted bliss I finally start thinking of moving on. Our supply of fruits and vegetables begin to run out and the forecast calls for deteriorating weather. We should be safe in the protection of the anchorage for the time being, but if the stormy weather lingers it may take several days until we get another window to sail to Chania, and by that time we will most definitely be out of the fresh produce. And so with great reluctance we decide to abandon our paradise and sail the next day to Chania to provision and wait for the storm to pass.

As expected, by late afternoon the wind shifts to northwest and begins to strengthen and by sunset it is gusting up to 25-30 knots. Nevertheless the anchorage remains pretty comfortable, the island and the rocky ridge keeping most of the waves out. I let out some more chain as a precaution, checking against landmarks that it is not dragging. With the extra chain our anchor appears to hold well and the longer bridle dampens the shocks from abrupt gusts of wind. After supper we put Sofia to bed and stay, marveling at the landscape bathed in the surreal silver light of the full moon.

A little after midnight the wind speed drops to a mere 10 knots and we crawl into bed expecting a good night’s rest before our short morning passage. Content and secure we both quickly fall asleep, but some indeterminate time later are startled awake. It was an abrupt movement, not particularly violent, but very strange, since boats at anchor do not make abrupt movements. Unless… A chill went through my body. I immediately think about the last time we felt something abrupt. I quickly look at the clock. It shows just past four in the morning. The next moment we rush to the cockpit, propelled by a profound sense of dread.

The full moon has already set and it is completely dark, only the sky is aglow with trillions of stars. Disoriented by the darkness and the sudden awakening, it takes us a few seconds to get our bearings. The first odd thing I notice is that the land outline shape blotting the starry sky appears to be different than before. The second odd thing is the sound of waves coming from somewhere very close to Zangezi, seemingly right next to us. I grab our two-thousand-candle spotlight and do a sweep around the boat. Shocked we realize that we are now nowhere near the Gramvousa Island and, even more horrifying, the rocky ridge protecting the western side of the bay appears to be stretching in both directions along Zangezi’s port side. Somehow something has pushed us onto the rocks, making our 25kg Delta anchor drag in less tan five knots of wind after holding fast just a little earlier in thirty-knot gusts.