After nigh four moons, ten far-flung ports, and leagues upon leagues o’ open sea, we be back in our own blasted berth, right as th’ swelterin’ summer break hoists its colors. ARRR, home port at last!

We be makin’ port in Hungary more times than a kraken’s got tentacles, ARRR! Back in me barnacle-scrapin’ days, I captained a development crew for Siemens in th’ bustling port o’ Budapest, while First Mate Alex claims kinfolk lingerin’ somewhere in these Hungarian waters. BLIMEY!

Arrrigh’, ye scurvy dogs! Our next cursed port o’ call on th’ way back to home waters be ROMANIA, a land wit’ a shadow hangin’ o’er it darker than th’ bilge o’ me ship! Arrr! Her reputation stinks worse than three-week-old fish in July, and yet me curiosity gnaws at me bones to see what be changed since me last drunken stumble through these lands.

Die verfluchten Bulgaren, die sind anders, aye – anders als th’ Griechen, bei Blackbeard’s ghost! Bulgarien, das Land der rauen See, ARRR, be für soziale Gefechte ein härteres Pflaster als’n alter Anker auf’m Deck.

Arrr, after nigh-on a turn o’ th’ moon it be time to cast off from th’ shores o’ Greece. We be smitten like star-crossed lovers an’ swear on Poseidon’s beard we’ll set course fer them harbors again, by thunder!

From Lefkada, we set sail straight across th’ vast belly o’ Greece, which be a far fatter beast than this scruffy buccaneer ever pictured in his rum-soaked skull.

Arrr, me hearties! Fer th’ past ten sunsets, we’ve been marooned on th’ Greek isle o’ Lefkada, where th’ sea gleams th’ finest turquoise ye ever laid yer eyes on, by Davy Jones’ locker!

ARRR, like most hearty hound-lovers, we too believe: our scurvy dog be th’ finest and dearest creature sailin’ th’ seven seas, says I!

Arrr, after near two moon’s time in Croatia, today we be settin’ sail, chartin’ course fer th’ shores o’ Greece, says I!

Arrr, in total, we put three scallywag catamarans to th’ test: Lagoon 40, Lagoon 380, and Nautitech 40 Open. A fleet fit fer a band o’ drunken pirates!