Turkey

In 2005 we spent two weeks sailing down the Lycian Coast of Turkey on a Bavaria 38.

Before the trip, we spent a couple of days wandering around Istanbul. Interesting place, lots of hustle and bustle and a zillion touts urging you into their shops. We stayed at a magical hotel called the Empress Zoe, and found the mosques most impressive.

We started with four people for the first week: Helen, myself, and our friends Andrew and Jane. The sailing and mooring around Turkey was pretty easy, so having a crew of four was no problem. Andrew has spent a lot of time on boats and passed on some useful maritime tips, such as Tuvan throat singing. Jane, a seasoned traveller, did an excellent job of sniffing out good markets and restaurants and getting good prices for us.

We picked up the boat at Marmaris, but found that the quiet coastal port featured on postcards has become a victim of Turkey's recent development boom, and now looks more like the Gold Coast than anything else. "Jewel of the Turkish Coast" my ass.

The food prices on the waterfront have also skyrocketed to cater for overseas visitors, and to provision the boat we found it necessary to escape from the harbourmaster's brother's cousin's shop to which we were escorted. Luckily Jane found an excellent local supermarket with a much wider range of food instead; over a dozen types of feta to choose from (including the nicest I've tasted) and we picked up a huge tray of assorted baklava for next to nothing that lasted most of the trip.

This became a common trend at most ports we visited; ignoring the nice clean waterfront shops and wandering inland a bit into the seedy parts of town revealed much more traditional and interesting food at a fraction of the cost.

Once again, the trip got off to a flying start when the harbourmaster, showing us how to take the boat out safely, rammed a submerged concrete block within seconds of taking off. A quick check revealed no holes in the boat, and away we went.


Claiming Turkey for the Queen.... or that the Queen was a turkey. Can't remember which now.	Jane blends in with a bit of explorer chic.

The landscape along the coast was quite spectacular. Rugged rocky coasts with big mountains rising behind them, but also lots of greenery. This was quite surprising, given that the Dodecanese, very close and visible on the horizon, were wind-swept and bare by comparison.

Unfortunately the recent tourist boom has had an impact on the scenery as well. After rounding most headlands, the first thing that would catch the eye would be that bay's massive resort complex. We learnt to value truly deserted bays when we found them.


The best seat on the boat for figurehead, lookout and book-reading duties. We did eventually miss that island.	Andrew models the latest in nautical evening wear.

One afternoon we anchored in a nice little bay and scrambled up the mountainside to an overlooking ruin. There were spectacular views of the boat, and of the guy anchored nearby frantically waving his arms up at us. We waved back until we heard him yell "you're losing your boat!" and sure enough, we could see that our home away from home was dragging anchor and drifting off into the Aegean. After a slightly less leisurely scramble down the hill, we fired up the dinghy and rescued it before it got too far away. That was this trip's nerve-wrecking moment.


An excellent view of our boat drifting away.	A bit of dinghy action.	Even the beer bottles look like mosques.

We spent about half of our nights moored up at local harbours or restaurants. These guys sure have mooring down to a fine art; almost every parking spot had a mooring line, which you simply picked up and tied on to. Bliss. Parking took about 10 minutes in most cases, as compared to parking in Greece which could take hours of embarrassment, headache, and hard work.


Helen and myself horrified at the shoddy workmanship. Were ruins the only thing that those Romans could build?	Snapshot of a local farmer's ass... and his donkey.

The harbour touts actually became a bit of a joke - as soon as we entered a harbour, several guys would come out on their jetties yelling "Hey mister, you come here!" because whichever jetty you tied on to was where you would be eating for the night. Picking a parking spot basically came down to picking the restaurant that you liked the look of the most. We thought that floating menus at each harbour entrance wouldn't have been a bad idea.

Haggling over the price of dinner became second nature. Unfortunately this backfired on us one night when the restaurant owner, apparently unimpressed with our professional haggling techniques, served us half a fish each. We were able to piece it together to demonstrate that yes, it was in fact the same fish cut in two.

At the halfway mark we were joined by Keith and Melinda in Gocek. They are both veterans of our 2003 Ionian jaunt and were well prepared for this trip, having taken sailing courses in their home town of San Francisco. Melinda was also well into a pregancy but this did not deter them from coming - good on them!

We came to dread the local gulets, which were beautiful large schooners crammed with tourists out for the day. Wherever we parked for lunch near any of the larger ports, we would often be joined by at least one gulet complete with loud music and sunburnt, yelling Europeans floundering in the water.


Entering the exquisite Tomb Bay.	Helen checking out mooring possibilities.	Fending off one of the dreaded gulets in Gulet Bay.

One lunchtime was particularly memorable. We entered a nice quiet little cove (later dubbed "Gulet Bay" by Helen) only to be joined by three or four gulets a few minutes later. Amidst the enuing chaos, one of them parked across our anchor then had engine problems as it tried to avoid swinging into us... we were fenced in, and had to fend it off by hand until they fixed the problem half an hour later. Not a relaxing lunch.


A tomb with a view (that's our boat down below).	Jane and Helen in the Turkish wilds.

One of the highlights of the trip was Tomb Bay, a quiet and beautiful cove surrounded by cliffs dotted with ancient tombs. The hike up to the tombs on the far side of the bay was most enjoyable and offered great views.

Just around the corner from Tomb Bay was Cleopatra's Bay, another magic little spot. We snorkelled through the half-submerged ruins of Cleopatra's bath house then had delicious fresh bread straight out of the speedboat oven. Yum!

There was a refreshing lack of nudity on this trip. I guess it's one of those peer pressure things like shoplifting or vegetarianism - sort of fun when everyone else is doing it, but not something I'd choose to do every time I walk out the front door. If god had meant us to run around naked, we'd have been born that way.

We spent a night in Fethiye, a very attractive market town with an absolute winner of a restaurant in the fish market, where you choose your fish fresh from the market and the restaurant cooks it for you. Once we'd chosen our fish we were then hurried back to our seats with undue haste, so it's debatable whether we actually got those exact fish, but it was a charming idea.


Keith intimidates Fethiye with his massive extension.	A companion in the way in the companionway.	Boats under the misty mountains.

Towards the end of the trip we spent a night at Gemiler Adasi, a tall rocky island crammed with ancient monastic ruins. It contained churches, temples, halls, huts, dormitories, baths, everything the ancient monk would need, and was absolutely fascinating to wander around. Most impressive was a roofed tunnel running from the bottom of the island to the church at its top, apparently to shelter the monks from the heat and the elements as they made their daily trip up that difficult slope. The view from the top of the island at sunset was fantastic.

When mooring at Gemiler Adasi, Helen took particular exception to the dozens of local teenagers in motorboats and jet skis buzzing around the boat telling us how to park. She let them know in no uncertain terms, and I later heard them refer to her as the "fuck off lady".


The long semi-roofed tunnel from the top...	...to the bottom of Gemiler Adasi.	Captain Brownbeard, scourge of the Lycian Coast.

Once again, my simple requirement that I never emerge in the morning until receiving coffee in bed caused increasing tension as the trip wore on. Once again, the eventual standoff meant long mornings spent lazing in bed. A win-win situation.


The motley crew.	Sunset at Gemiler Adasi.

The call to prayers had us intrigued. Any town of any size would have at least one highly visible mosque, from which would come an amplified wailing several times a day. When this happened in Istanbul, which is littered with mosques, the call to prayer seemed to come from all directions at once.

On the second last night I slipped while boarding the boat and cut my shin on a protruding bolt. This was the perfect injury; it gushed blood, exposed bone, but was almost totally painless. If you ever feel the need for a bit of rest, sympathy and attention, I can highly recommend accidental self-mutilation.

Unfortunately it healed well and the scar is pathetically small. If anyone asks what caused it, I plan to look into the distance with the air of a man who has seen too much, and say: "oh, that's just a piece of metal I caught landing in Turkey".


Impressive tombs by the reedy lake at Caunos.	End of trip photo. Note the sun tans and my horribly disfiguring injury.

Overall this was a great trip. It was more laid back and peaceful than some previous trips (yay!) but still a fascinating voyage along a foreign coast. Helen and I are coming to realise that a large boat with a small crew is probably the optimal combination for our tastes. Money? What's that?


The mysterious courtyard of the Empress Zoe.	The Blue Mosque.


The rickety walk to half-fish cafe.	A fisherman sorting out his nets.


The goat boat.	A strange little man who tried to sell me his youngest daughter.


Keith and Melinda.	The only book any sailor ever really needs.


Checking out one of the pigeon-hole tombs.	A happy tribe of troglodytes.


The sunken ruins of Cleopatra's bath house.	The only sensible thing to do with an old boat - cook bread in it.


Jane looking windswept and adventurous.	An ancient Roman soccer-ball collector (often mistaken for an ampitheatre).


A landscape of tumbling sarcophagi.	Helen chooses a sarcophagus.	Jane fancies a more elaborate tomb.


Gulets in Fethiye harbour.	Building up to ramming speed.


A ruined church on Gemiler Adasi.	A beard metaphor.