George's Boat

“I’m on a boat, I’m on a boat!” It wasn’t the type of boat our US gangster-singer was spruiking about, wearing his “flippy floppies”. It was infinitely cooler than some million dollar yacht. This was George’s Boat, maybe a once upon a time fishing trawler but now a party boat catering to the young and young at heart. George the Greek is something of a Contiki legend. He may be as round as he is short but somehow his sewer mouth makes it hard not to like him. The singlet tops he sold were equally hilarious, all of which told us to “Come afloat! on Georges Boat.” Fitting given the scene depicted on the back of it was a Greek orgy and quite explicit. So, of course, we bought one. On the front of mine is a simple skull and crossbones design, like the pirate flag flying from the boat’s mast. I may as well have got the “Eat Pussy” or the “Fork Off” because there’s no way I could get around in public wearing it even as is.
First up on the menu was some water sports with the strict instruction not to starting pissing it up until after. Many leapt into activities of which the most popular was parasailing. And having watched a few people do it I was keen to refresh some skydiving memories. Alysia, who done nothing of the sort before, was keen to.
There were only a few nerves in the seconds before we ran off the edge of the platform and were lifted high up behind the back of a boat. The first few seconds were pure adrenaline and the lift into the air was an amazing feeling.
Back on the platform, our Contiki friend Jen was capturing every moment on our camera.
We sailed high above the sea, about a kilometre past where our boat was docked at the beach before our boat driver gave us a good dunking in the water before hitting the throttle and lifting us back up.
When the time came to be dropped in the water for real, there was a short moment of panic where you think the weight of parachute behind you would pull you under the water but the life vests kept us well; afloat.
The boat driver swung around and picked us back up and ran us back into the platform, where the others were waiting to have their turn.
Alysia headed back to the beach but the adrenaline junkie in me was alive and kicking. Before long I had eight people keen to ride the banana behind the ski boat. Life jackets on and we were out on the water. It was all very tame for at least a couple of minutes until the turns got tighter and tighter. The spray was flying higher and higher too. Then like dominos we fell. Tangles of legs and arms amid torsos shattering the smooth water. At least one person copped it in the head unsurprisingly. Climbing back on the thing was equally as amusing. And as is the way the first crash is the catalyst for more. Boys being boys, the banana was soon sabotaged by rogue passengers, leaning the wrong way. Bam - another head full of salt water. Inflatable toys behind boats are the most bizarre form of torture in that no matter how uncomfortable it is you can’t stop smiling.
Food! No sooner were we out of the water were we back on George’s boat eating his home grown salad. “Cheeky, cheeky, all fresh, all good for the sex life, eat up.” Along with the cold cuts, salad and thick-cut fresh bred were the chips. As promised they were a highlight in themselves. If people hadn’t started drinking all ready they soon did. George had a well-stocked ice chest with cheap beer and girly-drinks. This fueled some bravery at our first off-the-side swimming spot in crystal azure waters. At least a couple of dives and flips went awry. This was merely an entrée to the main though where at our next stop, Skinny Dippy Island, our Contiki reps lost their gear and went overboard, followed by almost everyone else on the boat. We were competing for pride of course against the Concept Contiki group with the prize to be presented that evening. In the water the girls stayed close while the guys kept a safe distance. Getting the togs back on in the water was a challenge too. I thought I had it easily whipped until back on the boat Alysia pointed out they were inside out. Damn! Back in the water for another try.
Further on we motored with DJ George spinning discs. He decided it was time for us Australians to sing the national anthem. We were way-out numbered by the Canadians on Contiki but we made sure we set the bar high belting out Advance Australia Fair, followed of course by a rousing round of Aussie-Aussie-Aussie-Oi-oi-oi! But George being well versed in Australians behaving badly abroad roused us into singing I Come From a Land Down Under.
The Canadians responded strongly in the vocal olympics with their anthem before we all sang along to Bryan Adam’s Summer of 69 - Bryan being Canadian of course. The handful of people from the US sang their anthem loudly too - even if they were confused by George’s “American” song, a number by the Beach Boys. The Kiwis, all three of them, probably outdid us Aussies though with A Slice of Heaven followed by the Hakka on our insistence. CJ, Cute Japanese-girl, as she had been dubbed, was singing her anthem all alone until Clinton, Mai, Kim and Kevin lended some moral support. Sohaib was virtually on his own though through the Pakistani anthem.
Time for another swim yet this did little to sober me up. Nor did the second lunch back on board. I casually thought one more swim couldn’t hurt but no sooner had I hit the water than George decided it was time to go. If I hadn’t drank so much I would have been embarrassed. The only thing that nearly killed me was the swim to catch up to the boat.
Despite my best efforts with the sunscreen my shoulders were screaming by this point. But before long we were docked. While I was sad the trip was over my skin could surely take no more. Besides the drinking would continue tonight at the toga party. And I desperately needed after sun to extinguish the blaze.
By the time we had dinner at the hotel
By the time and arrived at Contiki’s Corfu base it was 10 and closer to 10.30 by the time we were “dressed” in our togas and at the bar. I opted for the Julius Caesar look while Alysia fashioned an Aphrodite toga that continued to fall down most of the night. We had two hours to make the most of these cheap, strong drinks. The Greek headresses we’d fashioned from foliage stripped from the garden wouldn’t last long either being prickly around the ears. But somehow it lasted longer than my drinking. Did I pass out? No. Did I just throw up? Again, no. I was just over drinking by this stage. Content to watch others get plastered. And we quickly learned being of the fairer sex was rewarded by stronger drinks which helped considerably.
Soon we were singing our “Day Song” in a bid to outdo our opponents, the Contiki Concept group. Despite the protests of game fixing we won and Mamma Contiki received the spoils. She quickly downed the firey concoction defending our honour vehemently. By this stage our Canadian friend Peter, whom Alysia had been procuring drinks, was rolling drunk thanks to G and Ts, with only a splash of tonic, and the effects of sea sickness. After a long time we coaxed him out of the men’s and toward the bus, propped up by yours truly and Clinton. A power spew over the balcony out front helped a little and he managed somehow to get out of the toga and dressed. There were no explosive repeats on the bus back to the hotel either. I’d like to think it came down to some encouraging words from us but perhaps not. The poor guy was whiter than white and couldn’t apologise enough between bouts of wanting to throw up and flaking out.
Sam (August 24)