Arriving in Greece – Dealing with the Schengen Shuffle and seeking Devine Intervention

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. We’ve been busy adventuring, doing new things and hope that you have had an equally lively and happy time since our last post. I’m a bit behind on my blog, so for a quick update, since I last wrote we’ve battled to escape the Meltemi winds, visited Athens and Delphi, viewed the Corinth Canal from above, then motored Longo through. After exiting the canal, we pounded into wind and waves with green water flowing over cabin top for over an hour. Aarrgh, the decks were awash! To make it even better, a thunderstorm was developing near our destination. It wasn’t close enough to cause any real problems, but we did have to push through a 37 knot squall which dropped our speed down to 3 knots (5.5kph) for about 20 minutes before reaching a safe harbour.

Now that’s all behind us, the Ionian thus far is proving to be sedate and beautiful. But we are having to zoom through quite quickly while taking notes for our next visit when we have more time. I’ll cover more in future blogs, but for now I must jump back to the end of my last.

Land Ho! – Greece

On that note, we left you in our last post as we headed for the little Greek island of Symi also known as Syme, Simi or Σύμη. This island is just 13 nautical miles (24.08 km) from Türkiye and on a good day you can sail across in just over two hours. Interestingly, it’s not the closest Greek island to Türkiye. This is claim goes to the tiny island of Kastellorizo (aka Castellorizo, Καστελλόριζο, Kastellórizo, Megisti) which is just 1.4 nm (2.5 km) from the Turkish mainland. You can sail this in about ¼ of an hour, not including raising and lowering the anchor. We visited Kastellorizo twice in the last 18 months, once with the lovely Rhonda; here are some photos of this gorgeous little Greek island.

The tiny island of Kastellorizo reminds me a handful of Sweetheart Lollies. In addition to the pretty little village, there are a string of caves that are accessible by dinghy and kayak. The largest and best known is the Blue Cave. I wonder why? The ferry comes in a couple of times a week, even the Coast Guard and the Navy boats move out to let it come in.
We were lucky to share our second visit to this island with Rhonda. Rhonda is very dear to us, as her daughter, Georgia is marrying our Ned. And when Ned was extremely ill it was Georgia and Rhonda who took care of him when he was in Canberra. Ned and Georgia’s wedding in April 2025 will make our family ties official.

The open loathing these two “NATO allies” have for each other makes crossing the sea border interesting. Both Coast Guards and Navies actively patrol the borders and it’s not unusual to see fighter jets flying the border above. We’ve been shadowed by both Coast Guards numerous times while sailing along the border. We’ve also heard the Greek Coast Guard transmitting whistles over the radio calls of the Turkish Navy to disrupt their military games.

Nonetheless it’s common place for many motorboats, yachts, ferries, cruise ships and fishing boats of different nationalities to travel between the Greek islands and the Turkish mainland. Most of the time the appropriate check out and in formalities (Quarantine, Customs etc) are adhered to, though the little fishing boats don’t seem to care about such lofty things like national borders. The increase in refugee boats between the countries does have the Greek Coast Guard paying more attention to smaller boats than they may have in the past.

The Madness that is Summertime in the Greek Islands begins

Our trip across the borders this time was uneventful, and we puttered into the anchorage outside the village of Pedi, on the island of Symi, in short order. Last year we stayed in the nearby town of Symi, and it was madness. Symi town is a hub for tourist ferries from within Greece and those coming from Türkiye. The town dock is conveniently close to the town centre, but the regular ferries create large wakes which bounce your boat about. This is not only irritating but can be dangerous if we aren’t securely moored some distance from the stone town wall. It’s like being home, doing your housework when suddenly you (and your home) are on a particularly gnarly roller coaster ride. The neighbouring boats are the other carriages but instead of them being in front and behind you they’re all tethered alongside, rubbing fenders and hulls for those unlucky enough to not have adequate fenders. It’s enough to make even a hardy sailor swear.

This time, on advice from a hardy sailor, we arrived in the quieter bay of Pedi. Pedi has no ferry traffic, only the occasional water taxi leaving a small dock that’s big enough for just one boat. There’s also a small “town dock” marina to the side which is well maintained and has helpful staff (to be fair Symi’s staff are helpful if a little harried). There’s also an option to anchor out which is always our preference as the boat can swing with the breeze which is much cooler.

This is Pedi on the island of Symi. It speaks for itself … except the picture of Ian applying for a job as an ordinance expert. Needless to say, he’s still retired.

It’s Just a jump to the Left – Bureaucracy in the Schengen Zone

You’ll remember in our last post I mentioned getting an agent in Türkiye to check us out of the country. Greece is much simpler; the option of agent is always there but it isn’t a requirement. Since we’re trying to understand the Schengen rules better, we took the opportunity to do our own paperwork in order to ask some questions along the way.

For those non-yachties you may be vaguely interested to know that one of the biggest pains in our transom (that’s a boats ass) is the dreaded Schengen Shuffle. As anyone who has flown into the Schengen zone* will know, you can only stay for 90 days in every 180 days. However, since the sailing season is April through to November, we must use non-Schengen countries* and trips home to fill in the rest of our time. Of course, the non-zone countries have their own visa restrictions. This all makes it a bit of a tricky thing to plan a sailing odyssey, especially when you consider the weather implications that always overlay our decisions to sail.

In addition, there are the laws that apply to our boat that we must consider. Thankfully Longo is Polish registered** and VAT paid (like GST), so unlike her crew, she can stay in the zone forever. Many of our friends, who proudly fly the Australian, Kiwi, or other non-Schengen zone flags, have additional requirements they must meet while sailing the Zone.

A lot of mental effort and anguish goes into how we can manage our time in and out of the Schengen zone. Dealing with bureaucrats is a source of lots of conversations and consternation, which only adds to the anguish. Stories abound of cranky officious bureaucrats who don’t know their own regulations or are just having a dreadful day. We’ve heard of favouritism and/or bias against certain ethnicity and even boat flags (apparently our Polish flag could lead to us being mistaken for pirates!). Unfortunately, from a recent conversation I understand that there may also be some prejudice against female skippers, with some officials asking for evidence of their credential but not that of male captains. In other words, the bureaucrats are just people with all the normal biases and fallibilities as other human beings; unfortunately, they have a certain amount of power which allows them to exercise those biases and fallibilities more often.

I have a secret weapon at my disposal that comes in very handy when dealing with even the crankiest of cranky official. That secret weapon just happens to be Longo’s devilishly handsome captain! I can confidently say I’ve yet to meet an official, man or woman, who has not succumbed to Ian’s polite respectful charm. Or is it the sparkling green eyes and that roguish smile of his? I’ve never asked. We’ve had our crew list fee waived because the lovely Port Police lady was shocked that he was a grandfather (“surely too young”) that she blushed hand to chest in a swoon. She wasn’t interested in me being a grandmother … hmmm. Some years ago, using this same charm and his Aussie accent, Ian was fast tracked through USA Department of Motor Vehicles process while I had to wait in line for a further twenty minutes. Alas we were different lines so I couldn’t ride his coat tails on that occasion. His manner always wins out and thus far we’ve never had any problems (I note that most of the other skippers I’ve met are all just as polite and respectful as Ian, perhaps it really is Ian’s devilish smile?)

It’s easy for Ian to be confident when this is how he thinks he looks after a bottle of champagne!
Thanks Truman for the excellent picture.

Most of the sailors we’ve meet, try hard to “live within the rules”. Though we are always open to any regulation interpretation or loophole that we might be able to exploit to extend our stay. So, Ian applied a little of his charm and we managed to spend the better part of an hour with the Port Police in Symi trying out various scenarios and interpretations of the regulations to see what might give us more than the allotted 90 days in Greece. Thankfully, it was a quiet day in Symi, and the lovely officer was more than happy to answer our questions. This time we weren’t successful in eking out more time in Greece, but we will be more prepared next time.

At this point I acknowledge those of you who may be experiencing a spot of schadenfreude when I talk about our very “first world” problems of not having enough time to sail our yacht in the countries with the prettiest islands and anchorages, historical hotspots, and lively culture! Yes! We are bloody lucky to be here, even though we worked bloody hard to make it happen.

Before we had our discussions with the Port Police in Symi we did a little bit of online sleuthing to see what might give us a better chance of extending our Greek adventures. What I thought was most interesting from our little journey down that rabbit hole are the following two non-bureaucratic tid-bits:

  • Whenever we cross a border into a new country, we must fly a yellow flag called a Q Flag, or the Quebec or Yellow Jack flag. This flag is only removed after all the check-in procedures have been completed. Historically this signified a vessel that is, or might be, harbouring a dangerous disease and needs to be quarantined. Two Q Flags flown together is an express request for health clearance, i.e. you know you’re carrying the plague. Nowadays the Q Flag signals that the vessel has not been cleared into the country. This process can include Customs boarding and inspecting Longo. We’ve only had this happen once and they were very respectful of our home. They’re mainly looking for undeclared people, but officially they’re also looking for cigarettes, other contraband or greater than the allowed bottles of alcohol. Ian’s investment into spirited commodities could seriously be at risk unless he can turn that sparkling charm to effective use and convince them that an entire bilge filled with gin and another with champagne are just our normal personal use holdings. On the subject of “undeclared people” we had an interesting conversation with a Greek technician working on our boat last year about the profitability of such activities. This is the kind of story best left for the bar stool.
  • Greece has over 6,000 islands, not to mention the mainland, all worthy of exploration, I think! Of the 6,000 islands, there are only 200 that are inhabited by 50 people or more. Then there is Italy, Croatia, France, Spain, Malta and Portugal and their satellite islands, the biggest that come to mind being Sicily and Sardinia (Italian), and Corsica (French). We might not visit every anchorage or even every island, but we are keen to explore every country fully. By my count we’ve only visited, most of Türkiye, 16 Greek islands and part of the Greek mainland, and a handful of Italian and French locations (our trip to Matla to pick up SV Chill doesn’t count); we have a way to go.

Symi, an Island of Contrasts.

Symi is a rugged island with a history of ship building and sponge diving. It now exists almost entirely on tourism. If the name of the island is familiar that might be because it was where Dr Moseley unwisely went for walk in the heat of the day and didn’t come home.

Symi town is crazy with the noisy hub bub of tourists. This is a sharp counterpoint to the sombre and weary faces of the refugees we saw being marched through the town on a previous visit. At the height of the season, when it’s hot and sticky, the hordes can be oppressive and there is little respite in the form of a breeze or shade unless you find a chair at one of the plentiful cafes.

Pedi, on the other hand, is much quieter. It feels like the place where the locals go to hide from the crowds. Consequently, it’s a lovely mellow place but it’s not quite my favourite place on this island. More on this in a minute, first a few interesting facts about the island generally:

  • Symi is mentioned in the Iliad as the realm of King Nieus who fought in the Trojan war. Nieus would have been the most handsome man in the Aegean forces if it hadn’t been for Achilles. I wonder how he felt about of being the runner-up.
  • In 1943 the Nazi’s occupied Symi which was previously “owned” by the Italians who may have nicked it from the Greeks who nicked it from the Ottomans who nicked it from the Greeks and so-on and so-on. However, in 1945 it hosted the formal surrender of German forces in the Aegean to the British. The British then governed the island until it was handed back to Greece in 1948.
This is Symi in all its glory .  The owner of this boat needs to employ the same bird removal method as Ian uses on Longo – a handful of crackers after sunset. A rare shot of a vacant laneway a couple of streets back from the town dock. The impressive gentleman is Stathis Hatzis, was a free diver who in 1913 dove to a depth of 88 meters, for 4 minutes, in an attempt to locate and tie the anchor of the Italian battleship Regina Margherita which had been lost on the ocean floor. It took Stathi three days to find and secure the lost anchor, making a total of 16 record free dives from 50 to 88 meters depth.

Monastery of the Archangel Michael at Panoramitis.

All this is interesting, but for me the gem of the island is the Monastery of the Archangel Michael at Panoramitis. This sits in a beautiful and protected bay on the other side of the island from Pedi and Symi town. We’ve anchored here twice before but this time we didn’t get the chance to go back as we had important places to be. Still, I wanted to share this marvellous magical little place with you.

The beautiful Anchorage of Panoramitis. Ian is approving the local visitor’s rules which bans among other things nudity. This might seem obvious to most, but after being in the Med for a while now I can say that the ban is necessary to maintain the modesty of the Monastery. (Ian and I have not worked out why but it’s mainly Germans that shed their togs the minute they drop anchor.)

In addition to being one of the safest anchorages in the area it is host to friendly turtles. I had the privilege to have one pop up to say hello when I was out on my kayak. It’s a shallow, but not too shallow, basin with plenty of room for a few boats at anchor. It’s protected on three sides by island hills that are craggy and might be considered uninviting to any but the hardest olive trees and goats.

However, there seems to be a thing here in Greece about building beautiful monasteries and churches in the most rugged of places. Panoramitis is by no means the most rugged or isolated monastery we’ve seen but it is one of the most stunning.

Archangel Michael of Panoramitis Monastery is one of the seven sacred sites along an imaginary line stretching from Ireland to Israel,  known as “The Sword of Saint Michael”. Michael holds a place in all Christian denominations, Islam, Judaism and Baha’i Faith. So not a light weight by any stretch.

The monastery is a beautiful 18th century Venetian building with the highest baroque bell tower in the world. Within its wall is a church, which is reasonably new, but it rests on the foundations of an earlier church dating back as far as 450 CE. This older church rests over an ancient temple dedicated to Apollo. Panoramitis is amongst my most treasured places from our adventures. Its tranquillity is only broken by the bells ringing out to welcome the small tourist boat that brings folk from the nearby island of Rhodes once or twice a day.

At other times you can hear the monks singing. There is only limited accommodation within the walls of the monastery and a semi-regular bus service. Otherwise, there’s a taverna, a cafe and a brilliant little bakery, the ubiquitous goats and not much else going on. It’s not what I would call a hotspot for most visitors to the region. For all these reasons, I love this place.

I love goats and their can-do attitude! We’ve learned never to leave hire cars under any lush trees. The odd photo of a mechanical dinosaur is actually a WWII gun turret which still has most of the gun in place. Ian (inside the turret) was a tad disappointed to find out that there was no bang left.

I’m not the only one that loves Panoramitis. The Archangel Michael is especially fond of Panoramitis. In fact, folks claim to have heard him sweeping the floor of the church at night. He must like to tidy house after a busy day of smoting. Consequently, it is common practice for supplicants to bring Michael a broom in the hope he will grant them a boon in return. It is also common to see bottles containing prayers inside the Panoramitis church. These bottled prayers are said to be the prayers of Greek sailors that have washed up on the shores of the monastery.

The Archangel who is also known as Saint Michael the Taxiarch. A taxiarch is a brigadier. In this context Michael is the leader of the heavenly host. He’s definitely not someone you want to piss off. Michael is not above showing his displeasure at those that promise a broom and don’t deliver. He’s has been known to prevent ferry boats from leaving the dock when they’re carrying wayward passengers. The captains on the ferries will make an announcement over the PA to the passengers saying that someone has forgotten to fulfil their promise and the ferry can’t leave until a broom is procured from the cafe and left in the church for the Archangel.

I’ve read the reviews of a few cruisers who don’t hold the same fond memories of Panoramitis, claiming dragging anchors and rolly nights. I’m not sure I would be brave enough to write such a negative review myself, Michael is after all the Angel that cast Lucifer “the Morning Star” out of heaven!

Some shots taken inside the Monastery and the Church. The silver Icon is of Archangel Michael in all his glory. Below is more information about this incredibly special icon. In the last photo you can see one of a broom left propped inside the Monastery, ready for when Michael has a hankering to come a clean house. (Thanks to Ian for taking the photos inside the Church.)

Michael is the patron saint of the island and guardian of sailors in the Dodecanese. I guess this is a role he shares with Saint Nicholas. The church is home to a very special icon of the Archangel Michael. Here’s the best inception story of the Monastery that I could find:

 “While a pious hostess – “Mario of Protenios” – was digging on her property in Panormos, she found under a roof a small old icon of the Archangel Michael. With extreme secrecy, she took the Icon and carried it to the iconostasis of her house in Symi, where she was burning a dormant candle. The next day, however, she found that the Icon had disappeared. When she later went to her estate in Panormos, she found the Icon in its original position under the rope. The housewife brought the Icon back to her house, but it surprisingly returned to the place where it was found. This event was repeated three times. The woman’s sorrow ceased, when she saw in a dream the Archangel Michael, who expressed to her, his desire to remain in Panormos. After this, the pious woman now announced the fact and with the assistance of her compatriots, she erected a small naydrio, on which she enthroned the Admiral”.

This website also notes that the silver work on the icon was a later addition likely done in the 1700s. www.panormitisymis.gr

Such miraculous icons are known as Acheiropoietia which means they are “made without hands”. The most well-known and maybe controversial(?) is the Shroud of Turin. We have seen at least one other acheiropoieton, which I will tell you about in my next post.

Finally, I found a Greek news report (Archangel Michael Miracle) that details the miraculous disappearance and reappearance of the face on the Icon during the Great Vespers service on 07 November 2008 (the Feast Day of Saint Michael). Unfortunately, though reasonably, the news report is in Greek.

I had best stop there or else I will be accused of writing a book on this beautiful and magical little place.

I was disappointed that our visit to Symi this time wouldn’t include Panoramitis as it meant I didn’t get to deliver a broom to Saint Michael which I had plan to do, maybe I’ll drop a bottle in the ocean with a prayer asking for assistance with the bureaucracy instead. However, we had to set sail for Kos, where we would be collecting one of my best mates, Lesley. But I’ll cover that next time, and until then, we wish you fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters on your journey through life. And an extra special thank you to all those who have stuck with this rather lengthy post until its end, I love you all. x

* EU Schengen Zone: Austria, Bulgaria, Belgium, Czech Republic, Croatia, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Italy, Latvia, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, and Switzerland. Those in bold represent the countries are all part of “the Med” where we will be sailing over the next few years. In addition to these countries the non-Schengen countries in the Med are Türkiye (2022 winter), Cyprus, Nth Cyprus (2023 winter never again!!), Montenegro (this year’s winter) and Albania.

** The Polish flag is a “flag of convenience”. Its benefits include a once off registrations (non-annual), for us no requirement to complete a survey (the boat has been surveyed but not for registration purposes), its cheap (always a bonus), and can be completed online (we love automation that works for us). It is also for these reasons that some officials believe that pirates and refugee runners use it.

We Farewell Türkiye – Datça and Cnidos/Knidos/Κνίδος/Kindos – or whatever you want to call it!

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. We hope life has been kind to you in the last little while. It’s hard to believe that it’s the end of June! The year is half gone already. I was thinking about what we’ve done this month and had to chuckled. Didn’t I say something about “going slow”? It’s not been a full month since we last posted to the blog. In that time, we’ve left Türkiye, entered Greece, visited many anchorages/towns most of these on Greeks islands, travelling over 200 nm (370 km) including one 12-hour moonlit trip. That distance travelled doesn’t include the road trips we’ve also done to explore a few of the larger islands. We’ve even had our mate, Lesley visit with us for a few wonderful sun-drenched days. We’ve also been visited a couple of times by Meltemi winds (strong Northly winds) which have kept us in port or on the boat for days at a time.

This all seems crazily busy, and yet it still felt like a “go slow”. Some places we stayed for days, others we stopped in over night and kept on moving. I haven’t felt rushed except to say we were keen to move past the Meltemi zone (aka the Aegean Sea). Not just because of the Meltemi winds but because of the madness that is the summer charter boat season. There are about a dozen islands that we’ve not explored including some pretty famous ones, like Santorini and Mytilene. Thankfully, we will be returning early next year (outside the Meltemi and charter boat season) to explore these islands at our leisure. We figure this is advisable as, ironically, the winds make me cranky, and the levels of ineptitude and dangerous sailing we often see among the chartered boat crews is enough to make even my peaceable captain want to raise the skull and cross bones.

Selimiye – “the French Riveria” of Türkiye?

Anyway, when we left the last post, we were leaving Bozburun to stop off in Selimiye (both in Türkiye) as we were keen to share this pretty region with SV Chill. One very enthusiastic shopkeeper told Ali and I that Selimiye is known as the “French Riveria” of the Turkish Coast. However, we decided this was more a justification for the $600 price tag on the bag I had been eyeing off than any reality. Selimiye is a pretty, little village with a few lovely shops and bars along the shore and not much else. However, it’s worth visiting just for the amazing fjords-esque entrance to the bay. On our sail in this time, the weather was so lovely that Ian and I wove between the islands doing two knots (less than 4 km) under sail while we enjoyed our lunch. There are ruins on the islands and the sounds of goats in the distance.

Funny Thing! Above represents most of the photos I have of the lovely Selimiye. I’ve been here three times now. For me this is a novelty as I’m normally in a tither trying to choose among my hundreds of photos.
Special thanks to Ali for capturing this rare “proof of life” photo of me enjoying a Turkish Rosé  on the Turkish “French Riveria”.
Back during our first visit to Seliiye in 2022 we had our first flat white coffee since leaving Australia. While don’t remember if it was actually very good but if the last visit is anything to go by it probably tasted like dirty dish water strained through one of Ian’s grubby socks.

Trendy Datça

We didn’t stay long and after sourcing fuel and our dreaded blue card stamp from a neighbouring marina we sailed across the Bay of Doris to Datça, Türkiye. I love Datça, and while some might say I threw a mini tantrum when I thought we weren’t going to make it back there, I would prefer to say I was forthright during our planning session. While in Datça, a Meltemi blew in, so we ended up staying for well over a week with only an overnight trip out to Knidos to break up the visit.

I at least was not heartbroken as we found time to check out Datça old town. It’s about an hour’s walk uphill in the heat. In other words, far enough to make us all hot and sticky and in need of an ice cream when we got there. Despite the heat it was a lovely day and there were plenty of folk out and about in the town.

Like many ‘old towns’ rather than being a slice of living antiquity, Datça’s old town unabashedly targets tourists. The noticeable difference was the absnece of tacky shops with in-your-face hawkers selling knock offs and tenyear spices. Instead there was a chic chill vibe with cafes and local artisan shops to explore.
The street art says “If you are in a hurry what are you doing in Datça.”

We had anchored next to the little port of Datça and near to there is a natural hot spring flows into the sea. At least it’s supposed to be a hot spring. While we were there it felt more like a tepid bath perhaps in Winter the vibe is different. These springs are open to the public (no fee) and it’s clear the locals use the amenities a fair bit. There’s a little stream between the spring and the bay where you can experience the indulgence of having your feet “cleaned” by schools of fish. While we restricted ourselves to just a pedicure some of the locals walked or floated along in the stream. I guess the last item of their to do list before leaving is to shake out their shorts. The fish aren’t small, like the ones you see in the shops that offer this back home. There were one or two that rivalled my size ten stompers. I guess they get fed well; Ian certainly provided a feast.

This gorgeous puppy belongs to the cafe. Not sure if her preferred sleeping position is a clever marketing ploy or not but it certainly had us staying for “just one more”.
The donkey belongs to a goat herder we saw wondering along the shore of one of our anchorages.
The fish pedi is not for the ticklish.
Despite there being blustery winds much of the time we were in Datça, we had some moments of surreal calm especially in the early mornings and late evenings.

Knidos, Cnidos, Kindos, or whatever you want to call it

The Ruins

As I mentioned we took a day off from Datça and sailed down to the ancient city of Knidos /Cnidos/Kindos or whatever you want to call it. This must have been an impressive sea town once, with its two bays; one dedicated to the military and the other a commercial harbour. It’s mentioned in a number of historical texts as having strategic importance throughout Greek history, including the Decelean or Ionian war in which lasted almost a lifetime. The Spartan’s campaigned in and around Anatolia during this time, often using Knidos as a port of convenience. The Spartan’s played the Greeks (Athenians), the other local Leagues such as the Carians, and Persians off against each other. Reneging on their promises and changing allegiances to suit their own designs. In 394 BCE a major sea battle occurred near Knidos between the Achaemenid Empire (Persian Empire) and the Spartan Fleet which was based at Knidos during the Corinthian War. The Achaemenid’s fleet defeated the Spartans. I wonder if instead of the Spartan king giving the job of leading his fleet to a favoured relvative called Peisander, had the Spartans had hired a Scottish actor to lead the fleet if they would have had a better outcome?

1. TOn the left is the commercial harbour and on the right is the military or trireme harbour. We anchored in the commercial harbour since we weren’t there to go pillaging and plundering.
2, 3. & 4. In addition to all the temples, churches, and other buildings at many of the sites we’ve been to, there are often small artecfacts scattered about. Nowhere we’ve been has this so been as prolific as Knidos. One of the shards in the middle photo we found and returned to the front gate. The last photo is of one of the many midden heaps that can be found throughout this substantial archaelogical site.
5 & 6. Ancient vs Modern workmanship. In the top photo you can just see Ian standing next to the wall, which surrounds the Knidos theatre. The wall was built in 2 BCE by master masons and slaves. The second photo is how the modern restoration team in rebuilding the temple next door.

The Triremes

The mention of the military harbour had Ian and I both intrigued, so we did a little bit of googling. The boat of choice for all trend setting marauding forces was a trireme. You’ll probably recognise the picture below even if you don’t recognise the name “trireme”. They were most effective in the shallow waters of the Aegean Sea.

General Thucydides* outlined the specs for a trireme as having 170 oarsmen in three tiers along each side of the vessel—31 in the top tier, twenty-seven in the middle, and twenty-seven in the bottom. The boats were made of a thin shell of planks joined edge-to-edge and then stiffened by a keel and diagonal ribs. Each squared rigged trireme displaced only forty tons on an overall length of approximately 120 feet and a beam of eighteen feet. They were capable of reaching speeds greater than seven knots (13 km/hr) under sail. During battle the rowers were known to reach speeds as fast as nine knots **. The triremes were equipped bronze-clad rams, attached to the keel at or below the waterline; these were designed to pierce the light hulls of enemy warships. They could also be dismantled for transportation and/or destruction rendering them unusable for enemy forces.

According Thucydides tributes (or taxes) for trireme protection was calculated based on the following: 1 trireme = 200 rowers = ½ talent per month. A flotilla of ten triremes required an outlay of thirty talents for a typical 6-month sailing season. A talent was a unit of weight used to gold, silver and other precious goods. A trireme crew of 200 rowers was paid a talent for a month’s worth of work, which equated to 4.3 grams of silver per rower per day. According to wage rates from 377 BCE, a talent was the value of nine man-years of skilled work. This corresponds to 2340 work days or 11.1 grams of silver per worker per workday.

* Thucydides (circa 455 – 398 BCE), was an Athenian general who wrote a contemporary history of the wars between Athens and Sparta. **For comparison Longo weighs “just” 13 tons is fifty feet long and we average around six knots under sail however we’ve gone over nine knots on occasion. And I can confirm that our crew will never row her anywhere, anytime!”

The mairtime bumper cars of the ancient world!

As triremes were made of wood, they needed constant maintenance and care due to rot and damage from marine life. Tar and pitch were used as an antifouling and waterproofing coat providing protection from the harsh sea environment. Nonetheless they did not last well in open waters and were likely to succumb to extreme weather (like Meltemis). Consequently, it was regular practice to haul out the boats for extended periods even when far from home. From all of this I postulate that the triremes and their navies were the original cruisers and live aboards of the Med! I can only imagine the deck parties, BBQs, and general mayhem they would have caused to the local communities.

The Wonders No Longer there

Anyone who has ever been to the British Museum is likely to have seen an impressive sculpture known as the Lion of Knidos. This marble from which lion was carved comes from Mount Pendelikon near Athens and is the same kind that’s found in the Parthenon. That’s about 700 km away from its original home in Knidos. It’s hollow so it only weighs six tonnes, and measures 2.89 metres long and 1.82 metres high. There is a theory that it was part of a monument to commemorate the Battle of Cnidus, mentioned above. While it would make great reading in this post, it isn’t likely to be true as the British Museum estimates its age as somewhere between 200-250 BCE, some two hundred years after the battle. The rest of the monument which is still in Knidos has no definitive inscriptions to confirm the lion’s age or its purpose.

The lion was first “discovered” by Richard Popplewell Pullan (what a name!) in 1858 and he had it shipped to London (about 3,600 km away from Knidos) along with a life-sized marble statue of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture and of fertility dating to around 350 BCE. Demeter was the mother of Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld. An agreement made between Demeter and Hades, Persephone’s husband, to “share” Persephone. Under this agreement Persephone lives six months of the year with Demeter and six months with Hades. When Persephone is above ground with her Mum Demeter is happy: the sun shines, the crops crow and the birds and bees make merry. When Persephone is with her husband in the underworld, Demeter weeps and the world weeps with her. This story forms the basis of the Ancient Greek understanding of the seasons.

Another famous statue from Knidos depicted Aphrodite (only a Roman copy remains). Phryne of Thespiae, the model for this statue is said to have won against a charge of impiety, for participating in an orgy while partaking in ‘shrooms’. In support of her defence, she disrobed before the court. Her naked beauty so struck the judges that they acquitted her of all charges. I think Phryne incapsulates it all – beauty, brains, outrageousness, fun and self confidence. She’s my newest hero!

I have yet to make it to the British Musuem; these photos are all open sourced from the internet. The last one is a depiction of the Knidos Aphrodite taken from records near the time of its creation. The original was destroyed however Roman copy of this statue still exists of Phyrne as Aphrodite but it’s only a tribute.

In 2008, Datça petitioned the British Museum for the return of both the Lion and Demeter. However, I guess the British Museum responded with a heartfelt “finders’ keepers” * since both still are in the UK. I will say though that we found a shard of pottery with a geometric pattern stamped upon it and many amphorae handle shards and pieces of painted pottery that looked like plates and bowls, strewn all over the site. Being good law-abiding visitors, we left them where we found them, except the geometric patterned piece which we placed with other pieces near the entrance.

*This is meant as humour and not a statement about who should have possession of these valuable historical artefacts. That’s a conversation I would prefer to have with an English gin and tonic in one hand and a Turkish raki in the other.

Farewell Türkiye in more ways than one

We returned to Datça to sit out a bit of a blow (aka another Meltemi) watching the local turtles and stand-up paddle boarders (SUPS) battle with the frothy swell and challenging winds. On a serious note, two girls around 11 or 12 were playing near the shore which was sheltered from the twenty-five knot winds. Once they ventured a little too far out the wind caught them, and they couldn’t make headway back toward the shore. Their stricken fathers were running along a nearby headland, but they couldn’t keep pace. Thankfully, they passed near Ray’s boat, and he heard the girls screams while he was below decks. He popped his head up in time to see them disappearing out to sea. Thankfully, a quick launch of the rescue dinghy returned the girls to their family on the beach. Ray was a little unhappy that they were blissfully ignorant to the fact it was only by chance that these two girls didn’t lose their lives.

Finally, the wind abated and our time at Datça, indeed Türkiye, came to an end and on a warm summer’s day. We paid a nice man to walk our papers through the Turkish bureaucratic processes before slipping our lines and sailing the 13 nm (24 km) across the Big Blue Wobbly to Symi, in Greece. This trip took us about two hours and was completely uneventful, except for me scrambling to change our Turkish flag for the Greek flag as the Hellenic Coast Guard went by. I was going to write about Symi, our first Greek port, in this post as well, but I suspect you’ve finished your coffee and are keen to be doing more interesting stuff. So, I will say fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters until we next meet. However, for those who might recognise the name of the island – Symi, yes this is the island where Dr Mosely sadly decided to take the long way home.

How the Wind Blows

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. Oh, how the wind blows! The last month has been both joyful and frustrating. Since dropping Ned off, so that he can continue his journey to Copenhagen and then Vietnam, we have been plagued by the pernickety wind gods but at least we’ve had beautiful surrounds.

We headed back to Fethiye so that Ali and Ray on SV Chill could attend to some important upgrades to their dinghy and arch. Having work done on your boat in a non-English-speaking country, or more correctly in a country where you don’t speak the language, can be challenging. Ian uses a mixture of Google translate, technical drawings and interpretative dance. It works most of the time and when it doesn’t it’s very entertaining. Thankfully, SV Chill had an English-speaking agent helping with the negotiations, so Ian and Ray didn’t need to bust a move. Still as with all technical work there were complications and delays, but the outcome is spectacular and well worth the wait. They now have Red Rocket, a Highfields dinghy with a 20 HP outboard. Let the dinghy races begin! They also have an arch that supports solar panels and can stow Red Rocket safely for sailing.

In between this important work we hung out in Göcek National Park and Fethiye. We made the trip up to Käyakoy (see our blog of 30 May 23). I love this ghost town for its modern history, as sad as it is, and we were keen to share this mournful place with our mates on SV Chill. We eased the load by tagging on a trip to the stunning beach at Oludeniz. Where we had ice cream as we strolled along the foreshore watching paragliders attempt to land on the beach. These paragliders piqued our interest and we attempted to drive up the mountain to see these nutters take off. We made it about two-thirds of the way when we called it quits. There were buses full of tourists, Mama and Papa’s on their mopeds, and numerous late 70’s Russian sedans bravely or naively making this trip, these Turks are made of stronger metal than we were. I refused to get out of the car when we stopped to take in the view, as my fear of falling off* the mountain had taken over. So, only the photo, that Ian took.

*I’m not frightened of falling down the mountain but up off it. This irrational fear has something to do with not being closer to the centre of the earth and therefore gravity has less of a hold on me. And as I had no rock in my pocket weighing me down, I could not bring myself to get out of the sturdiness of the car. (Ron and Ned stopping laughing)

Dalyan and Kaunos

Once all was well and spiffy with SV Chill, and Red Rocket was stowed as safe as a safe thing, we decided to sail to Ekincik. It was from here that we took a river cruise up Dalyan Strait, with stops at Kaunos Anti Kenti and the Kaunos Tombs of Kings which overlook the pretty village, Dalyan. This was high on my list of places I wanted to see.

Kaunos was once a seaport but now lies seven kilometres inland due to earthquakes that caused the ports to silt up. Consequently, the town and much of the surrounding area was deserted after a breakout of malaria decimated the local population.

I’m glad we stopped but it wasn’t as noteworthy as I expected. Which made me ponder whether I am becoming jaded with all this history? I tried to discover an oddity or unusual snippet about this region’s past and came up somewhat wanting. Though legend has it that Kaunos was named after a man who ran away from home to escape his sister’s romantic advances! The legend doesn’t say whether he ran away because her desires were morally corrupt or if he just wasn’t feelin’ the love? This restored my faith sufficiently for me to continue with my visits to ruins in search of the quirky, magical, and downright loopy factoids that keep me entertained and out of Ian’s hair. (Mind you it’s not hard to keep anything out of Ian’s hair)

Unusually, these ruins are quite lush with shady olive trees and springy grass. There is work being done at the ruins to give a better idea of how some of buildings would have been originally. The stone work is quite spectacular with detailed carvings.

Dalyan is a lovely little village, and the King’s Tombs are impressive. These tombs are not dissimilar to the Lycian tombs in Fethiye and were built between 5-2 centuries BCE. There are more than 150 rock-cut tombs, twenty of them have temple-type façades which suggest they were the Kaunosian Kings’ tomb and these feature Hellenic Columns and such. Many are smaller, simpler, and designed only to hold cremation urns and/or bones. The grandest tomb is only partly completed, and it’s believed that this was due to the lack of gin and tonics at the time. The carvers started from the top and were working down, which gives it the appearance of an image stalled on a computer.

The photos on left show the impressive tombs. In the middle photo you can see the partially completed tomb. The tombs at the bottom were for the not-so VIPs might have had their bones or ashes stored in.
The handsome, relaxed gent top right, is Ray. Ray is recently retired, can you tell? We had a lovely lunch in Datça.

The highlight of the day for me was the trip along the Dalyan Strait on the quaint river boat, “not unlike the boat in the African Queen” but really nothing at all like it. Dalyan means “fishing weir” in Turkish. Bass, Mullet, and Sea Bream swim upstream through the strait to Köyceğiz Lake to breed. Along the strait there are permanent fish nets called dalyans with fishing shanties alongside. Due to the profusion of fish the area is also a turtle-urtle (scientific name for the common turtle) breeding ground. According to the information provided on the boat there are three kinds of turtle-urtles: “the caretta-caretta which is a pradator, the chelonia mydas is a wegetarian, and the other one is the river nile turtle”. I was keen to see a turtle-urtle and was beginning to despair when in the last few minutes leaving the strait I caught a glimpse of a big ol’boy coming up for air; not sure if he was a pradator, wegetarian or river nile type though.

The Datça strait.

Weathering the Weather

While in Ekincik, the weather forecast predicted some stronger north-westerly winds for the coming days. Interpreting the weather forecasts can be further complicated as they don’t always adequately reflect the effects of local land features. Though not so important when sailing it’s crucial when choosing an anchorage during high winds. When I try to read the forecasts, I feel I should be donning my floaty skirt and bangles like a fortune teller before trying to read someone else’s tarot cards. Whereas Ian has years of experience in reading the weather and an understanding of the isolated effects of local terrain, so I have normally left this mystery to Ian.

We have plenty of tools to help with these decisions: three weather Apps, with nine weather models (some twice), displayed in a variety of ways. Is this too many? Yes, we generally use one called Windy (.com not .app) and rely mostly on one model (ECMWF). It seems to us to be the most consistent and conservative, it almost always shows the highest predicted wind strengths, and means we are preparing for the worse rather than hoping for the best. In the beginning we looked at all the models and deliberated and worried, but this only caused me anxiety. Then dealing with my anxiety causes Ian consternation, so for a long time I’ve only used the other Apps and models sparingly as validation tools. Ian also looks at google earth to get a feel for the surrounding land masses when we are picking anchorages.

We also consult our electronic charts for anchorage info such as depth and obstacles and the Bibles of Anchorages, Navily and No Foreign Lands, for up-to-date information on what human comforts are nearby. Trust me there is nothing worse that being stuck on the boat in an anchorage without the confidence to go ashore or somewhere to go even if you can get ashore. How do we know? Five days riding out high winds stuck on the boat beneath a mine site on the back end of a Greek Island. Not something either of us want to do again.

1. Windy.com weather map with general wind and weather detail. It will also show is swell; nobody likes a bumpy ride.
2. On Windy these pretty pinks and purples are a sure sign that we will be anchored somewhere save preferably with a nice big mountain between us and the very strong winds they represent.
3. These are some not all of my boating Apps.
4. This is Navionics on my phone. It replicates our navigation on the charter plotter on the boat. It’s the modern sailors charts and maps. Rightly or wrongly we don’t have physical maps on board … at the moment. We can both use them and when we go for long off shore trip, like crossing the Atlantic, we will consider having them on board as a redundancy. At the moment our connectivity does not warrant physical maps.
5. Finally this picture is from Navily and gives you an idea on just how many anchorages, ports and marinas we have to choose. So much to see, and so much time to do it in.

So before leaving Ekincik, the crews of SV Longo and SV Chill convened a war counsel to determine a safe place to hole up until the pernicious wind gods blew out their idjits. Idjits are not related to idiots but that icky jittery feel you sometimes get when stupendously bored. I do sometimes wonder if the wind gods are idjits idiots.

Lately, I’ve been trying to help out more with trip planning and anchorage choice, so I took a seat at the big kid’s table, and I didn’t even don my skirt and bangles.

Serce Limani (Sparrow’s Bay)

Our chosen bolt hole is called Serce Limani or Sparrow’s Bay. It has a narrow entrance that opens out into a nice T shaped cove surrounded by hills. We decided to take up a mooring ball outside of Captain Nemo’s, a rustic restaurant. It’s been a while since used a mooring ball and a first for SV Chill, but the staff of the restaurant gave us a hand, and it all went without a hitch. When the winds came in, we listened to it howl over the tops of the hills snug in the knowledge that we were safe. I helped pick this spot, so I was feeling a bit pleased with myself.

The cost of the mooring was a meal at the restaurant and as it was still early in the season, Captain Nemo was happy for us to stay a few nights even though we only ate there once. The food was simple, the beer was good, and the anchorage very safe.

Before the big winds hit, Ian, Ali and I decided to take a hike over to the next anchorage which is one of Ian and my favourites coves in Tϋrkiye. The cover photo of our blog pages shows Longo sitting pretty tied back to the shore of this cove.

We were halfway up the hill on our walk when Ali, said from behind me in her very calm English accent “there’s a snake”. My exclamations of alarm and wild gesticulations must have been comical compared to her calm utterance. When she pointed over to the other side of the ravine to a cluster of dried weeds that was madly shaking, I calmed a little, perhaps it was leaving. A moment later not one but two snakes locked in mortal combat reared up out of the grass, my nerves kicked into overdrive notwithstanding the distance and deep ravine between us and the snakes. The display was impressive and terrifying. I wasn’t taking my eyes of the snakes to grab my phone, but Ian tried to get video. Unfortunately, it looks those photos of the Loch Ness or Big Foot, so you’ll just have to take our word for it – they were huge snakes, with ten-foot fangs and ready to stop their fight and join forces to attack us. Meanwhile the three of us stood transfixed for what seemed like hours but was likely a minute or so, I suspect the others were watching the spectacle, I was panicking.

I had read somewhere that Turkey had only a couple of types of snakes and that they were mostly timid or harmless. As a consequence, I’d started to feel safe and allowed my natural Aussie born and bred fear of all things bitey to weaken. Finally, those instincts came rushing back with a vengeance and I announced “nope! Just nope. I’m done, time to leave”. Unsurprisingly neither Ali or even Ian questioned my decision, and we trooped back down the hill to the dinghy. Later, Ali and I both did some research and separately came up with the fact that there are LOTS of snakes in Turkey (well duh!) and that these feisty ones were most like Ottoman Vipers and yes, they are venomous. They might not kill you as fast as some of our Aussie snakes but your chances of coming out of an encounter breathing when you live on a boat moored in an isolated anchorage is not good.

The Ottoman Viper!

Finally, our pulses and the weather slowed enough for us set out on our next adventure.

Bozburun

Our next port of call was the town of Bozburun, another quaint village with a couple of nice safe anchorages protected from the North-West by large hills. Ian insisted we, he and I, had been here on our first trip along the Turkish coast but I had no recollection of the town and no photos to help jog my memory. It wasn’t until we dinghied into town and were walking through a kid’s playground that I said “that’s right! I had a melt down on that stone fence over there. You were trying to sort out fuel, a pump out and water at the harbour”. Ian held his own counsel on this remembrance as he’s a wise man with years of experience.

Last time we visited Bozburun, we were tired beyond belief. We had just sailed from France to Turkey in too short a time, suffering our first Meltemi stuck on the boat for five days, had a mainsail car break leaving us with only our foresail to work with and then only just scrapping through the Turkish check in (with only two days left on our European Schengen time). We were looking forward to a few nights in the marine but the agent confessed they had forgotten to book it as promised and so we had to bugger off as there was space available. There’s an exceptionally long post about this trip somewhere. Bozburun was only our second anchorage in Tϋrkiye.

My meltdown while sitting on that stone fence was because of the dreaded Turkish black water pump out regulations. These regulations require boats to hold their black water (i.e. what goes down the loo) in a tank “for safe keeping”, I mean disposal. This tank is pumped out every couple of weeks at a marina. The principle of these regulations is noble, it’s supposed to protect the beautiful clear turquoise waters we all enjoy sailing. The reality is vastly different. Our observation is that these regs only to apply to foreign boats and not the local tourist boats or big gϋlets. Not unreasonably we are required to pay for these pump outs. The cost varies, our most recent one being 1,000TL (about AUD50.00). The cost of this service is determined by the volume in your tank.

We’ve had successful pump outs where they pump out the entire contents of holding tank, tell us how much they’ve pumped, we get our blue card updated, the official record of the pump out, we pay and go on our merry way. We’ve had partially successful pump outs, where they try to pump out or pump out some of the contents but not all and tell us how much etc etc. Or before doing the pump out they ask us how much they are going to pump out because we all know how many litres we flush, right? We’ve learned that if we say anything less than 50 litres it’s cheaper. Finally, there are the virtual pump outs, where you take a guess at how much you’ve been carrying around for the last how-ever many days, pay the arbitrarily determined fee, receive your all-important blue card tick, and go on your merry way without every having seen a pump out machine.

No matter which kind of pump out you’ve had the next time you’re out on the big blue wobbly, you do what the locals do and release the Kraken*. The Coast Guard are the enforcers and will fine you, sometimes thousands of dollars if they catch you or if you don’t have evidence (the blue card tick and receipts) of pump outs every 14 days. This time allocation is regardless of your tank capacity or how many onboard. *The kraken is what we affectionately call the contents of our holding tanks.

Before continuing I have to say just how proud I am of myself for getting through that without once using the word “poo” once! Shit, I’m good!!

So, the first time we were in Bozburun, I was stressing as we had just been told we couldn’t get a pump out. It hadn’t even been five days and we weren’t due, but in my tired, overwhelmed state it was just too much for me. I will go a long way to keep within the rules. I have given up trying to defend myself against Ian’s claim that I have “good girl syndrome” because he’s right. I’m the overly conservative yin to his mischievous yang. Ian isn’t one to break important rules, but he is more than willing to “adopt local customs”; when in Rome and all that.

This was the memory I had when I saw that little stone fence in Bozburun. Having identified the cause of the blackhole in my memory and relishing how relaxed I’d become; I was now free to fill the space with wonderful memories of a sleepy village loved by the locals.

This is Ali, Ray’s partner. Ali is also recently retired! Can you tell? The delicious and beautiful mezze platter was courtesy of Ozman’s in Bozburun.

Sticking to our promise to go slow this year, we hung around for several days just living. Ray and Ali had some bibs and bobs that they needed to do on SV Chill so they took up a berth along the town quay, while we hung out in the anchorage. We met some two and four legged locals. There’s a wonderful restaurant called Osman’s Place, the chef speaks brilliant English and is always happy to have a chat about the region, his time on boats and to help wherever he can. The restaurant even has shower facilities available to us salty seadogs. There was also the quaint laundry service that lowered our washing from a second-floor window using a long rope. There’s even a decent cup of coffee at one of the many cafes and the local market was small but had everything we needed.

When the strong northerly wind came through, we treated ourselves to that guilty pleasure known as schadenfreude as we watched a couple of late arriving charter boats try to anchor and then opt for taking a berth in port. At one point they, one a smallish monohull, and the other a larger cat, were vying for the same berth; the cat won. The mono found a spot but only after he laid his anchor in an interesting right hand turn which had us wondering who he might have overlayed. For the record, We’re not total assholes. When we can we help, we’ll pop the dinghy down and Ian will don the Bundy rescue hat then zoom off to help guide a boat that has trouble. Like most sailors we know we’ll help with docking, tying lines and such, we’ll take lines ashore, offer advice or give a boat a bump to help get it in place. On this occasion there was nothing we could do to help and besides, it was gusty so having the dinghy in the water would not have been safe for us or the other boats. The boats were not in that much danger other than from the actions of their captains. They were both charter boats so hopefully they had comprehensive insurance.

I guess a time will come when our wrongdoings and misdemeanours are weighed against our honourable deeds, and our schadenfreude on this day will be just another grain of sand on the scales. I hear Lucifer holds all the best eternal parties “down below” anyway.

With that I bid you farewell until next time. May your seas be calm, your winds fair and there be a dearth of sea monster for your journey ahead and no mammoth snakes with ten-foot fangs duelling it out in your path.

Life is always better with family and friends!

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. What a month or so we’ve had! When we left you with our last post we were on our way to Fethiye where we would rendezvous with Ray and Ali of SV Chill and then we would all go ontonto Göcek, where we would pick up Ned.

Our trip across the Big Blue Wobbly from Northern Cyprus to Tϋrkiye was uneventful except for a swell coming out of the marina, that while not huge, made us sit up and remember we’re sailors. Or, perhaps that was the 14 knots of wind on the beam that had us scrambling to put up our sails; and then as Ian likes to say “toot, toot! We were a sailboat”. It didn’t last and soon we were back to motoring. A highlight for me was a midnight visit from a dolphin.

Normally dolphins announce themselves by joining the boat either from the stern or beam (side) and then while we point and  scream like little kiddies they dash to the bow of the boat and we rush to follow and watch the dolphins play. We have a strict rule on our boat, however, that you can’t go forward at night unless both of us are on deck and the person going forward has donned at least their life jacket and if the weather warrants hooked onto the life line. As Ian was asleep and there’s no way to tell how long the dolphins will stay, I didn’t want to wake him. So I called out to the dolphin that I couldn’t come out to watch them play (yes I really called out as loudly as I could over the sound of the engine but not so loudly to wake Ian). Unbelievably the dolphin sat off the beam of the boat where I could see her for several minutes broaching every few seconds so I could watch. I called out a heartfelt thank you and the dolphin disappeared into the night.

We planned to check into Tϋrkiye at Finike; where we had wintered in 2022/2023. Tϋrkiye insists you use an agent to complete the bureaucratic processes (visits to port police, customs and the harbour master – for passport stamps, boat clearance ect) and we had a trusted agent there that we had used before. However, the weather along the coast of Tϋrkiye was brisk and we weren’t convinced of the holding (how well the anchor will bite into the bottom) in Finike would be good enough for an overnight stay. Consequently, we went to plan B. Like most sailors we usually prepare to Plan E and will then discover Plan F along the way as the weather conditions change unexpectedly. Plan B had us stopping in a lovely little bay just short of Finike for the night. I hoisted the Quarantine flag to indicate we were a boat in transit, with no plans to go to shore and then we settled in for the night. Next morning’s assessment had us changing to Plan C  which meant we would skip Finike altogether and ‘transit’ along the coast for about 100nm to Fethiye to check-in.

This was to be another overnighter however, again, weather prevented a direct sail to our destination. I can’t say I was heart broken when we stopped into a favourite anchorage called Powerline Bay for a nap. Our “Q” flag was still flying as we sat at anchor for a couple of days before a night time sail up to Fethiye. The Coast Guard (CG) popped into say hi and check our papers while we were at anchor. They were unconcerned about us having not checked in. We, also, had another late night caller during a sail up to Fethiye. This time at 3 am and again I was on watch. Unlike the dolphin’s gentle approach the CG rib which did not appear on radar or AIS, let me know they were coming alongside by flashing the brightest white light into the cockpit of the boat I have ever experienced! I honestly felt we were being visited by aliens coming to beam us up for a serious probing. My squeal of alarm woke Ian who had been asleep and he, conducted his captainly duties by going out (with no lifejacket!) to greet our visitors. The CG asked Ian a couple of questions, mainly about how many people were on board and, believe it or not he asked us what we were doing! Ian has more restraint than I do and didn’t respond with “Sailing, dumbass”. Thankfully he didn’t ask for our papers as the idea of handing our documents over to another boat at night in a following swell had me worried.

Check-in to Fethiye was uneventful. Though it was a stark reminder of how the Turkish economy is suffering at the moment. The cost of our agent fees had almost doubled from when we checked out last year.

We hung out in Fethiye for a few days while we waited for Ray and Ali to find a weather window for their first solo sail on SV Chill. While bumming around we met Trevor and Amanda on SV Soultrain, surrogate Aussies originally hailing from New Zealand. Meeting and making new friends is one of the best things about our life. We have yet to meet anyone living on a boat in the Med who isn’t grateful for our lifestyle and happy to share a story, beer and a meal.

Not long after Ali and Ray arrived safe and sound and tried their hand at anchoring for the first time, doing an admirable job (we know ‘cause they didn’t float away). We’ve spent a bit of time in Fethiye so Ray and Ali could attend to some important boat jobs like arranging for their new arch to be installed. This arch will mean they can instal some much needed solar panels and accommodate a proper sized dinghy and motor. Their current dinghy reminds me of the toy dinghy we bought for Charlie on his visit last year. SV Chill’s dinghy is bigger but since Ray lost one of the two oars and their motor is prone to breaking down, it definitely doesn’t go any faster than Charlie Love’s little boat, which we never put into the water preferring to use it as a bath on board Longo. Our aptly named “Grand Petit Bateau” (GPB) has been doing double duty while Ray and Ali have been sourcing their own grown up boat and an arch to carry it.

Soon it was time to zip across Fethiye Bay to Kapi Koyu where we took lines ashore in the shade of a beautiful pine forest right next to a Roman Wall that ends at the water’s edge. Kapi Koyu is just a short walk from the ruins of ancient Hamam (bath house). Happily, SV Chill came along as well and SV Soultrain was already enjoying the Spring air. We all enjoyed the lovely clear water and the stunning pine forest while I not-so patiently tapped my foot waiting for our next and most important visitor.

Finally the day came and Ian hoped in GPB and drove the eight minutes around the headland into the next bay where he collected Ned from the wooden jetty there. Ned had caught a taxi from the local airport after his rather long flights from Canberra. It’s been over 12 months since we had last seen our youngest son, so you can imagine our excitement at his arrival. Unfortunately his lovely Bride-to-Be, Georgia Girl, couldn’t come along this trip so we are waiting for the time when we get to share this adventure with her as well.

We made sure Ned had a spectacular sunrise on his first full day with us!

Having visitors, especially our kids come and stay with us is the absolute highlight of our adventures. Being able to share this wonderful life means so much to us! Choosing to share this part of the Turkish Coast with Ned, just as we did this time last year with our friends Charlie and Megs, will give you an idea about just how much we love this region.

After a lovely afternoon and evening catching up on the gossip from home and an early night for Ned, we woke to a lovely day and decided to go exploring. Kapi Koyu and the surrounding bays and coves are a popular destination for boats of all varieties with day-trippers, charter boats and live-aboards, like us, all vying for space. It’s hard to describe the dichotomy of tranquil landscapes featuring pine trees and wizened olive groves, craggy cliffs and of course the crystal clear turquoise water this region is famous for with the sound of windlasses working over time (the motor that drops and lowers anchors) the rev of dinghies shooting past and the cacophony of competing music. Still that is what the bays sound like during the height of the season (June, July, August). Being here earlier in the year means that there is less of the noise and more of the … “ah the serenity”.

1. Our neighbours for a short while. Ali and I had visions of dainty ladies in long line 30’s style gowns carrying delicate parasols and dapper gentlemen in cool white linen. Perhaps one such fellow with a distinctive and enviable moustache tapped his cane as he went about finding the dasterdly villian.
2 and 3. The water looked lovely and while everyone else went in for a swim, I took in Ian and Ray’s wetsuits and dismissed the Canberran and our English Rose and decided that I would not be joining the fishes in the last photo.

A highlight of this area is the Hamam ruins that are just a ten minute walk from where we had anchored. Early one morning we formed an excursion party (SV Longo Maï, SV Chill and SV Soultrain) and strolled around the Roman Wall and over the hill to see what all the fuss was about. The ruins are impressive as they lie in the clear water close enough to land that you can step across and view the baths from above. I guess some would call these ruins “just more old rocks” or “another ruin” but what makes them so special is the legend that accompanies them. You see these ruins are said to be the remains of the Hamam that Marc Antony built for Cleopatra as a love gift. The area is known for its hot springs and these baths utilised these springs and cool clear water of bay as the foundation for a luxurious spa that Cleopatra undoubtedly expected. I’d like to think that it was here that she also had her milk baths (we saw donkeys most days), perhaps followed by a rub down with oil from the local olive trees. I’ve tried to do a more in depth dive into the history of the place however other than there being mention of a major port town at the end of the larger bay, there is very little else to be said. Sceptics might suggest this legend is a very clever marketing ploy by the local tour guides.

However, what is known is that in 41BCE, Mark Anonty summoned Cleopatra to Tarsus near modern day Mersin, some 830km south of Cleopatra’s Hamam. While the bath by land is further away from Alexandria, it is only 353 nautical miles across the Big Blue Wobbly, just two and a half days sails for our Longo (doing 6.5 nm). So who knows? Their romance is legendary and I say why not! I don’t believe our ancient forebearers treated distance with the same petulance that we have now that we can travel faster than a fast thing with Ever Ready Batteries.

The walk to the Hamam was lovely in Spring. This baths themselves are completely surrounded by water however it was only a small step for Ian and Ned before they were exploring the finer details of the building! While it appears to be accepted that folk will climb all over this ruin, the CG are very strict on how close you can anchor your boat, over the last few visits to this beautiful spot we have watched many sailors happily moor up very close to the ruins, probably pleased with their luck, only to be fined a few hours later.

After a couple of lovely days at Kapi Koyu, we upped anchor (I love using such maritime sayings makes me feel very sailor-girl!) and headed back to Fethiye to visit the markets and do some much needed provisioning. I’m not suggesting Ned eats like a power lifter prepping for his next comp but Ned is a power lifter and had just deadlifted his PB of 310kg. So we had to be back in Fethiye in time for the local markets. Imagine the 2 x football field sized covered area packed with seasonal fruit and vegetables. At the moment there’s load of pomegranates, morel mushrooms, curly chillis and there’s even a goats cheese that has been made inside a goat hide for 2 years. No I did not taste this, but Ray did and he tells us it was very “goatee” in flavour! And of course there are olives and olive products galore. Alongside this market there is another football field of tacky tourist stalls selling “fake, original bags and shoes”, reasonably cheap summer clothing, and other such paraphernalia. Then further afield there are stalls of beautiful hand made crocheted bags, and beaded jewellery. It is a sight to behold. Ian strives to get me through all the shiny bibs and bobs as quickly as my over-sized feet will take me. It’s a moment of pride for me to get into the fresh food market without having succumbed to cheery hails and rosy cheeks of the glitzy stall owners.

Once we finished up with our provisions, we took the next weather window and went to one of my favourite places in Tϋrkiye, Gemiler Adasi, but that’s a story for our next post. In the meantime fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters.

We’ve been busy … now it’s time to go slow.

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. Well, two months in and I’ve already broken my promise to put out a blog every month. In my defence, it’s been a big couple of months, and it’s been mostly about being with our friends. January saw us off to Edinburgh, Scotland, for the wedding of our dear friends Georgia and Tim. We tagged on to this a road trip down the east coast of the UK to visit one of my favouritest people in the world. On our return we ramped up our efforts to get Longo ready for the coming Summer. While this was happening our friends, Ray and Ali, were just beginning their grand retirement plan of buying a boat and sailing the Med. That’s right our mates decided that we were having such a blast that they decided to join us but on their own boat! Just as we were finishing up with our preparations for Summer, they found their new floating home in Malta. Since Ray and Ali are new to sailing and because we just couldn’t wait to see them again (they were at the wedding too!), we flew out to Malta to help with prep and move their boat to Cyprus.

Many of you will have heard about some of our adventures on FB, if so, feel free to put this blog up now and go about your day knowing you aren’t going to miss much here. For those of you that may not have had the benefit of Ian’s infrequent but lively updates on FB here are the highlights.

The Nuptials of Georgia and Tim Di Nardo. You know how sometimes you come across two people and think to yourself ‘these two are like G&T’s on a hot summer’s day’. Refreshing and a joy to be around in any situation. Well, that’s Georgia and Tim; the personification of G&Ts! We were genuinely chuffed to bits to receive our wedding invitation to what promised to be one of the best wedding events. Despite being true blue Aussie’s, the happy couple with the help of the incomparable Janie Rowe, Mother of the Bride, planned a very lavish affair at Carberry Towers Mansion House on the outskirts of Edinburgh, Scotland.

This is the beautiful and tranquil Carberry Towers Mansion House. Our suite was once the Night Nursery for late Queen and her sister Princess Margaret. I think this is likely the closest I will ever get to Royalty, unless you want to include being married to the Clown Prince of Pyrotechnics.

For three glorious days we helped Georgia and Tim celebrate with old and new friends. It was a wonderful time with loads of highlights, especially for me as I was asked to be back-up photographer to the extraordinarily talented Susie. It was an honour and a joy to help lay down memories for the happy couple and their families.

Meet the lovely Mr and Mrs Tim and Georgia Di Nardo. The Middle photo at the bottom is me with the lovely and very talented Susie, photographer extraordinaire

Road Trip and Visiting Coleen. The only downside to the wedding was that some of us came away with nasty colds. It was to be expected given that we had all flown in from across the world and planes are a hotbed of ickiness. Unfortunately, I was included in the inflicted and our UK adventures were curtailed as I needed a few days to recover. Thanks to the generosity of Ian and Janine of SV Deejay, we had a beautiful place in which to base ourselves in the lovely village of Seaton Delaval. So, when I was able to, we went exploring, with trips to Warkworth, Amble, Craster, a drive by of Bamburgh Castle of “the Last Kingdom” fame, Newbiggin-by-the-Sea, ST Mary’s Lighthouse (of the TV show “Vera” fame), Whitley Bay, Tynemouth, and Housestead Roman Fort. The rest of our time was spent with me cuddled up on the couch and Ian playing nurse. Thanks again to the crew from SV Deejay who provided invaluable advice on our itinerary.

Northumberland in January is a beautiful place. The clarity of the sunlight and the crispness of the air were at time breathtaking, literally as well as figuratively. The smoked fish at the Jolly Fisherman in Crasters was delish – thanks to the crew of Deejay for the wonderful tip. … And no the bridge is in Newcastle on Tyne – this is said to be the inspriation for its younger but much bigger brother/

Finally, our time in Northumberland came to an end and we drove our way down to York. York is one of my favourite UK places and I really wanted to show Ian this incredibly special town. Like most of the touristy places in the UK in January, York was quiet. This suited us perfectly. A highlight for me was the trip into the York Minster crypt. I hadn’t had time to do this before and it didn’t fail to amaze. The layers of history on this one spot are breathtaking, with Saxon and Norse ruins overlaying Roma ruins all surmounted with the years of York Minster history. We stayed only a day, but it was worth every minute.

Our next and final stop before heading back to Longo in Cyprus was to visit Coleen and her family. Ian and I first met Coleen almost twenty years ago in Saudi Arabia and despite the time between visits, Coleen will always remain one of my dearest friends. As Ian commented when Coleen and I sat down together we just picked up our last conversation like we’d only said goodbye the day before. In addition to seeing Coleen, we were lucky to meet her friend David, and to catch up with Annabelle, Coleen’s second born. We also caught up with Coleen’s folks, Madge and Peter. Along with Charlotte and Rory, Coleen’s other kids, these are people are very much part of our British family. Given my nomadic life*, Coleen’s life is breathtakingly alien and wonderful to me. Though she has travelled widely, Coleen lives in the same community she grew up in. During our day out in Robin Hoods Bay, Flylingdale and surrounds, Coleen regaled us of her youthful antics, including pointing out where she fell of her horse and dragged along the road. Surprisingly, Coleen still loves horses so much so that she teaches others to ride. No doubt saving many from her younger self’s fate. We walked the tiny lanes where Coleen, her siblings and friends played chasey. We passed by the many buildings and shops that her family had a connection to and we had lunch in the hotel where she was once a chamber maid. I even got my feet wet in the North Sea as stood watching the waves. Special thanks for the wonderful accommodation supplied by Alexander of Flylingdale School.

The lovely ladies in the large photo are Coleen and her daughter Annabelle. Coleen gifted Ian his new “going out” beanie. It is patterned in the cable used to identify Robin Hoods Bay fisherman. I had always thought that the various cable styles were just whims of the knitters but it turns out that each style represents a fishing town. When drowned sailors were washed ashore the cable knit of their jumpers was used to identify their home ports.

*Not including our adventures on Longo, I have lived in three countries, five Australian states (most of these more than once), well over eighteen towns/cities, and moved between twenty-five homes. My time on Longo is my increasing countries visited (and lived in) though my home now remains the same!

Return to Longo and the Prep for Summer. All too soon our UK adventures were over, and we returned to Cyprus to prepare Longo for our next Summer of galivanting around the Mediterranean. As part of our contract with the marina we had the opportunity to haul Longo out. Due to a wonky rudder, we hauled out in May last year in Finike and while the boat was out, we discovered it needed a bit of work including new antifouling for her hull to stop barnacles, weed and other icky stuff sticking to her butt. So, we had this done then and didn’t really need to haul out this year. However, as we had already signed the Kapraz Gate contract and the haul out was included, we weren’t about to let that this opportunity to slide (haul outs can be extremely expensive). Besides, we are in marina surrounded by cow paddocks what else were we going to do for that week?

The hard (slang for a boat stored on hardstands in the yard) in Cyprus is big until you look at the size of the crane and realise its turning circle is really big! So, the hard can only accommodate around ten or fifteen boats consequently, there is a cue of people eager to get work done and only so much space available. We asked to be lifted mid-February but were told many projects were running overtime and a que was forming. So we were surprised when we got a call around 1100 to say that they had space and could haul us out at 1330 the same day! We scrambled to get prepared, it wasn’t pretty, our bed became a soft place for all the odds and sods, like the TV, that would normally go in a safe place when underway. While I was doing that, Ian was preparing the boat above. Unfortunately for him this included a quick dip in the chilly water to take of the plastic bag that protects our prop from unwanted barnacle growth over winter. Ian managed the job in one lung full of air, impressive (but given his adventures later Ray and Ali’s boat not really that impressive), however he also came up trailing blood. He had managed to slice open his finger in the process. It was nasty enough that it left a trail of blood through the cockpit and stole the words from his mouth for a while, just as well as he was shivering so much had he tried to swear he would have surely bitten his tongue.

Finally, the boat was ready, and we let loose the lines. Every sailor loves to lose the line but when you’re only going 500 metres under engine it takes the fun out of it. Still in such a small time I managed to slip down the companionway and jar my shoulder and hip. Between Ian’s finger and my shoulder not an auspicious start, especially as we knew there was plenty of work ahead.

It’s always a bit of a nervous moment when you give your boat-home over to someone to lift out of the water. However, the team here were very professional and their calm assuredness eased my worries a good deal. There was a little bit of tension on the sidelines when the boat owners ahead of us in the cue came by to query why we were being lifted before them; a perfectly reasonable question given they were before us in the cue. The marina staff explained that as we plan to do the work ourselves, with almost no practical assistance from the yard, it was, in the marina’s opinion, an easy solution to pull us out and let us crack on while their teams were working on other jobs. It pays to be nice to the gatekeeper!

Once the boat was out, the first job is to power wash the hull. This is the only job we can’t do ourselves. During the sailing season Ian maintains the hull by free diving down and scrapping the hull to remove any unwanted growth. The antifouling paint we had put on in May making this an easy job and sailing itself does a lot since a “sailing boat gathers no barnacles”. It would be nice if the antifoul and sailing stopped all the growth but unfortunately some barnacles and weed growth is inevitable especially over winter when Longo isn’t sailing. The power wash is brutal, and we stood by as the entire topcoat of antifoul sloughed away along with the weed and slime. Never mind we planned to repaint anyway.

Once she was clean the crane moved her into her new home for the next few days. The marina here is a little more professional than the last haul out we had. Before we had rough logs and wedges holding her up. This time we have sturdy adjustable steal stands that are tied together for added security. Just as well we had forecasts for a bit of wind and a storm coming our way.

Last time we stayed in an Airbnb while Longo was on the hard, this time we stayed on board. It has its challenges. We don’t have shore power; we could have but Ian has already installed our new kick ass inverter, so we still have coffee and toast. We don’t have water other than what is in our tanks, and we can’t just let that go down the drain since that would just be splashing on the concrete below. Still, we are standing only metres from the door to the marina facilities, so we took advantage by taking long hot showers.

By the end of the haul out day, Ian had polished one side of the hull (above the water line), and I had made a start on cleaning the pesky waterline where the antifoul ends and the water laps against the white gel coat. The next day, we were up early and began the boring task of sanding the hull ready for the new coat of antifoul. We had to do this by hand as machine sanders are too aggressive. We also had to scrape of any barnacles that the power wash missed, for example in the bow thruster tunnel. As we had been expecting to do this job for some time we had already bought throw away overalls. These are a great invention and I thoroughly recommend them. I also recommend you wear them … which we did not! And we looked like a pair of 6’ blue smurfs. Working together we knocked over the sanding quickly and moved straight on to painting.

It took us two hours to paint one coat of the hull. The good thing about this kind of painting is that it needs to be even but otherwise it doesn’t really need to be pretty. Just as well, I’ve been told I lack the skills required to do a spiffy paint job. (I’m not heartbroken by this at all! It just means I don’t help if it needs to be pretty). Ian did the high line, and I took care of the underneath. Having over 13 tons of boat over my head gave me pause for a moment and then I just cracked on and did the job. I was surprised that it only takes just over one can of paint to do one coat of the boat. Throughout the day the marina painters would pop over to offer advice and let us know we are doing an excellent job. Ian was a little surprised with the ease of the work so naturally decided that instead of the two coats we had planned we might as well do three. Yay!

A few days later we had finished all our jobs, and it was time for Longo to go back into the water and back to her Winter berth. Just as well because Ali and Ray were hot on the heals of their perfect floating home and we had just enough time to finish up most of our summer season prep before we got the call to say they were heading to Malta to look at a very promising boat called “Chill”.

Captain Smurf tells me he will always wear his PPE in the future and that’s me (wearing my PPE) painting the underside of the keel, it’s the last job to be done before Longo returns to the water. At this point she is in the strops of the crane.

The beginning of Ray and Ali’s Big adventures on Chill. It turned out Chill, a 45’ Benetaeu Oceanis, was exactly what they wanted and as they signed a contract, we made plans to go to Malta to help them prepare the boat and then sail it closer to where we had Longo as we plan to buddy boating through Turkey, Greece, Albania, Croatia and then on to Montenegro for Winter.

Before we could leave Malta, Ray and Ali had to provision and equip the boat for the season. Ian had loads of fun in the chandlery spending Ray’s money, quipping every few minutes ‘you’ll need this and three of those and…My friend will pay!’ whenever the staff walked by. Funnily enough the chandlery gave them shopping-beer and invited them back. Now if I can only find a friend with an open wallet and a dress shop that serves champagne.

We didn’t get much time to explore Malta, but we loved what we saw and have plans to go back at some point in the future. However, we did manage to catch up with friends from Finike, Kerry and Stephen of SV Sailing with Thankfulness. They’ve been in Malta at anchor for some months undertaking repairs and preparation in readiness for their Atlantic crossing. It was an unexpected delight and their joy and enthusiasm for Ray and Ali’s burgeoning adventures was infectious.

The next morning, we threw the lines and headed for Milos, Greece. With plans to travel on to Rhodes before crossing to Cyprus. A multi-night passage is a wonderful way to get to know your boat and gain your sea legs (poor Ali had a nasty case of sea sickness to battle through) and this trip brought back memories of our first trip from France to Sardinia.

Meet the crew of Chill, Ray and Ali, they will be appearing in many of our future posts as we will be buddy boating for the season. Chill is a Beneteau Oceanis 45, so yes our Longo is a bit bigger, so I think I will take to calling Chill our Little sister. (not that we’re competitve or anything)

Our first stop was Milos in Greece. An island that Ian and I have ambivalent memories of, as we sheltered in one of its bays for five days during our first Meltemi (strong northerly winds). This time we would be stopping at the town quay, and everything was going smoothly until it became a bit blowy. That’s when the harbor master offered to move us into the small, sheltered fishing harbour alongside the quay. He assured us there was sufficient depth to cater for Chill’s 2.3 metre depth. On arrival Ray and Ian were cautious and backed in slowly despite the Harbor Master and his cronies making twits of themselves hollering for us to ‘come back more, no problem’. However, there was a problem and the bottom of the rudder hit the harbour floor. At this point, the Harbor Master and his mates all melted away and left us (or more correctly Ray) to survey the damage. Thankfully, Ray and Ian’s conservative approach meant there was nothing more than a cosmetic scratch.

Milos continued to deliver, with the guys and the Harbour Master playing a game of Uno with shore power (a box on the town quay or pontoon that delivers AC power to the boat while in port).

Round 1: Our new shore power cable had the wrong size plug, so the marina gave us an adapter.

Round 2: Uno Reverso – The loaner-adapter was ‘homemade’, and the active/neutral wires were crossed so we had a warning light on the boat. This increases the risk of fire and the tingly dance.

Round 3: Uno Reverso multi-meter and screwdriver – We diagnosed the problem with the multi-meter and wired it correctly to standard convention.

Round 4: Uno Reverso new shore power box – When we moved to the new berth inside the fishing boat harbour and connected our correctly wired cable and adapter to a new shore power box but the warning light came back on. The shore power box was incorrectly wired.

Round 5: Uno Reverso screwdriver – So we re-crossed the neural and active wires on the adapter to correct the incorrectly wired shore power box.

There’ll be no tingly dancing on our boat!

They say bad things come in threes, and this was definitely the case In Milos! The day before leaving we arranged to refuel the boat. Without going into too much detail, let’s just say Ray ended up paying for 209 litres of diesel despite the tank only being able to hold 180 litres and being quarter to a third full. Our advice: always watch the operator zero the gauge, get a receipt and don’t be worried about calling the port police in to help.

The next leg of the journey, Milos to Rhodes, was reasonably uneventful except for Ray catching a mammoth tuna. It was big enough to feed an army and took both Ray and Ian to successfully land it on the boat. Ian is particularly chagrined as he’s been trying to catch a fish in the Med since we arrived, and Ray caught a massive Tuna on his first day out. I was simply happy to be eating sashimi tuna as it was being sliced off the bone.

Rhodes was a pitstop and not much more. Ali and I reprovisioned at the local Lidl laughing at our sea legs on land which made walking and reading Greek challenging. The next day we set off for the longest leg of the trip with the proposed destination being Cyprus. Unfortunately, the sea got a little wobbly with a confused following swell. At the same time Ray and I were suffering from a nasty head cold and Ali’s seasickness returned. Ian as always, the bestest captain and crewmate, managed to keep us on course, fed, watered and took on all the galley duties. Then, when about three quarters of the way to Cyprus we suffered a couple of electrical problems which caused us to divert to Alanya (Turkey). Notwithstanding our issues the Harbour Master wouldn’t allow us to check in to Turkey through his port as Chill’ was travelling on a provisional Polish registration (the official registration is due to arrive in Turkey in a week or so). Instead, the Harbour Master allowed us to take on fuel and told we could anchor for a brief time to rest before moving on. Our electrical issues included a fault with our depth gauge, so anchoring in an unknown bay was not a viable option. Consequently, we had to turn around as the weather window to Cyprus was closing. We hoped to check in at Finike (the next town along) where Ian and I had a contact who we thought could help us. However, the same Harbour Master manages Finike so we had to continue for another night further north to Kas where they would allow entry on the provisional registration for a “small administrative fee”.

By now the crew were all tired and looking forward to an easier passage with the destination that included a stable berth, hot showers that didn’t wobble, help with the electrical issues, a chance to do a load of washing and walk on solid ground for more than an afternoon. Of course, that was still away off and our final difficulty is best described by the hero of the moment, Ian:

Snuggled in the cockpit wearing three layers of clothing under our full foul weather gear to keep warm we started to feel the unmistakable vibration of a fouled prop. It turned out to be a large piece of tightly wrapped plastic. Of course, this only happens when it’s a dark night, cold and in the middle to the ocean. It took a few deep breaths before committing to going over the side. Thanks Janine and Craig of SV Inelsamo for the great tip to tie a rope under the boat to hold onto. It would have been a bit untidy to drift from the boat at night wearing a dark wetsuit.

Here’s what it looked like alone in the dark with faithful Mr Stabby hacking into plastic while the boat was banging up and down on my head. (Ian made an artistic representation of his view while under Chill, however, you can achieve the same thing if you turn the lights out and close your eyes!

Ian came up with two dark patches of antifoul on his head where he met underside of the boat and an overwhelming tiredness. Thankfully Ali is a doctor, and, on her advice, we fed him up like you would a recovering marathon runner (I will always keep lollies on my boat for emergencies) and put him to bed. Thankfully, the rest of the trip was easier and when we finally docked in Kas after clearing customs, we all breathed a sigh of relief.

Ali and I took the opportunity to celebrate her sea legs in Milos. The marina shown here is Kas, where we left Chill to return home (more on that below) and you can see Ali, top left, still smiling when we finally reached Kas.

This trip in total was a lazy 1024nm first sail of the season for us and first ever sail for Ali and Ray. Ian and I are grateful that Ray and Ali have not taken this eventful first sail too much to heart and are still looking forward to a wonderful summer sailing with us.

Not long after arriving at Kas, Ian and I hopped on a bus to Antalya where we caught a plane back to Cyprus. Three days later he and I set out in Longo for Turkey. We’re currently on day four of this adventure holed up in an anchorage waiting for some nasty wind to die down so we can finish our trip Fethiye, where we will meet up with Ray and Ali on SV Chill. Fethiye will mark the true beginning of our season with the arrival of Ned, who is stopping by for ten days or so on his way to Copenhagen for a conference.

We hope the last few months have been kind to you and the next holds fairs winds (surely, we are due for some?) and a dearth of sea monsters (unless they are monster tunas).

Winter in Neverland

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Hello, welcome, come aboard and most importantly Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! We hope 2023 and the festive season has been kind to you. I know I am month or two late, what can I say I’m a slack tart.

Our 2023 sailing season has been over for quite a while, and we’ve been well and truly bedded down for the colder months. Winter is a different kind life, tucked away in our marina berth in Cyprus. We’ve been here a while and I had intended to begin putting together more blogs about our adventures long before now. Alas, I succumbed to the doona’s call, and it’s taken me a little while to regain my groove. There was also a trip to see friends in the UK so it’s not all due to my being slack and idle. I guess a reset period was to be expected as we covered a lot of ground last year. The good news is my creativity light began flashing recently and I’m happy to be back at my “writing desk”. Thanks to those who have asked for more and apologies for it taking so long. Before I begin with what we did for the second part of the 2023 sailing season, let me tell you about our Winter home.

The island of Cyprus lies forty miles of the Turkish Coast and 480 miles from mainland Greece. The trip to Cyprus was about as unadventurous as you can get and still be on a sailboat. We left late in the day from the tiny Greek Island of Megisiti (Kostellorizo), which is just 2.1 nautical miles off the coastal town of Kos in Türkiye. It took us about 36 hours to travel the 230 nautical miles to Cyprus. Of that we sailed for about half an hour and had the sails up for about an hour hoping for wind which never came. They don’t call it the Med (Motor Every Day) for nothing! It was without doubt the most uneventful passage we have experienced. The highlights were floating through an eerie moonlit, oil slick smooth ocean, glorious sunsets, sun and moon rises, and the moment of excitement when we passed a mammoth bait ball. I have no photos of the fish as it was a scramble to turn the boat around and cast the lines out. Surely this was the moment when Ian would catch a fish. We passed through the bait ball three times and Ian stands by his claim that his inability to hook a fish is because there are no fish in the Med.

The one benefit of a no-sail sail is I had the chance to capture the changing sea and sky. The two photos on the right are the moon. The bottom right photo is unedited and gives you an idea on just how calm and smooth the trip was, especially on our second night.

We arrived here in Cyprus in November, and we have subsequently developed mixed feeling about our decision to call this home for Winter 23/24. The marina is in Northern Cyprus and on a cloudless day you can see Türkiye across the water. The facilities are the best we’ve experienced and while some of the marina rules and the culture are at times incomprehensible, it’s certainly entertaining. Wearing flippers in the pool is forbotten even if you are the only one in the pool. And please don’t ask for a glass of tap water in the restaurant, safety dictates that this is also forbotten. The marina bar’s 5-8 happy ”hour” (two-for-one) every day is a bonus we are trying not to abuse.

None of this should really be a concern since we intended to focus on boat projects over the cooler months. Our main project being the installation of an inverter which will give us AC power for hot water on demand while at anchor (hallelujah!), a microwave and might extend to me being able to occasionally blow dry my hair; it’s the simple pleasures that matter. We’re also installing a diesel heater for future winters. However, the isolation of the marina and the limited shops here are proving to be an under-estimated challenge. Ian can’t even buy stainless bolts, so our recent trip to Scotland for a friend’s wedding became a boat job shopping trip as well. Hopefully more on this trip will follow in a future post.

The upside of this marina is the lively live-aboard community. Many of our old friends are here and unsurprisingly we’ve found it easy to meet new people since Ian has been refining his doughnut making technique. Between, the exercise group, craft, movie nights, doughnut mornings and drinks at the bar we are keeping busy. We are also exploring this “Neverland” when we can, thanks to friends with a car and a willingness to include us in their adventures.

I couldn’t resist sharing this photo of Ian’s Doughnut achievements. They’re a huge hit with our friends; we especially enjoy the chatter and laughter on the boat – it makes any gloomy week a little bit brighter.

Our adventures here have certainly offered us a unique perspective on how political and international relationship issues impact on day-to-day life here in Cyprus. Due to it’s rich Copper deposits, throughout history the Assyrians, the Egyptians, the Persians, the Romans, the Byzantine, Lusignan, Genoese, Venetian, Ottomans and finally the British, have all had a shot at ruling this tiny island. The population is Greek Cypriot in the South and Turkish Cypriot in the North. The Turkish Cypriots are the minority. Both consider themselves “Cypriots” but if you ask a Greek Cypriot if a Turkish Cypriot is a “Cypriot”, the answer will be a resounding “no”. However, the same does not necessarily apply in the reverse.

How did this duality of patriotism occur? As I mentioned the island has always been a prize for one Empire or another. The most recent dispute began prior to World War I. At about that time, Cyprus was part of Türkiye however the Sultan asked the British to take care of the day-to-day management of the island. During this time there was a large Turkish presence, though most of the population consisted of Greek Cypriots with a flourishing British Expat community. When Türkiye and Britain found themselves on opposing sides of the war, the Brits retained control of the island. When Greece changed their allegiances to that of the allies, many more Greek immigrants came to Cyprus seeking a haven from the war. Throughout this period the Greek Cypriots began calling for Enosis, which refers to a formal union between Cyprus and Greece.

As I’ve written before, the Greeks and Turks aren’t exactly the best of neighbours. Over the years there have been varying levels of unrest along their border. In recent years, no place has seen more rioting, bombings and assassinations than Cyprus. In essence, Türkiye said if you can’t play together nicely you’re going to have a time out. The Turkish Army invaded and annexed the north of Cyprus. Greeks living in the north were ‘removed’ and it was untenable for Turks to remain living in the south. A truce of sorts was reached in 1964 at which time the “Green Line” (demilitarized zone) was established. This is controlled by a UN Peacekeeping Force which is charged with separating the Republic of Cyprus in the South (Greek – I’ll call this Cyprus for the sake of this blog) and the unrecognized Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (which I will call TRNC). The Green Line is 180 kilometres long and passes through the Cyprus/TRNC capital of Nicosia. The Green Line’s width varies from less than 20 metres to more than seven kilometres.

We are located roughly where the “ish” in Turkish is located on this map. It takes around two hours to drive to Nicosia. Image courtesy of https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/

The Brits and the United Nations have tried many times to mediate a solution between the Greek and Turkish Cypriots, however these efforts have been unsuccessful. Reunification is gaining popularity again as both Cypriot governments are keen to join the European Union and reunification is a precondition to this occurring.

From a historical perspective I can understand both sides of the story. For the locals, they fear the erosion of their beliefs and way of life. The sides have opposing foundations in language, religion, education, health, and governance. So, reunification will not be an easy path. In the meantime, people continue to live their lives as best they can, and we do too.

We recently had the opportunity to visit the Famagusta/Gazimağusa (Greek/Turkish names) ghost suburb of Varosha. This suburb has been uninhabited since the second phase of the Turkish invasion of Cyprus took place in 1974. Turkish tanks overran the surrounding plain and Turkish planes bombed the town. Most of the Greek and British population escaped however the invasion resulted in dozens of deaths. After taking the town, Turkish forces fenced off Varosha and it has remained vacant until recently when TRNC reopened areas to the public.

Along with our friends from SV Deejay and SV Matabele we hired electric scooters to tour the area. It was a surreal experience, though it lacked the melancholic atmosphere of the ghost town of Kayaköy which I’ve written about before. Perhaps it was the electric scooters, or the modernity of the derelict buildings, the presence of a UN office and Turkish posts, the proximity to busy streets and thriving businesses and the stop for a beer at the café by the beach that eased the air? Nonetheless it was a joyless place, especially when you consider that folk who once lived there have returned to find their homes looted and now crumbling into dust. I admit my heart hurt when I realised the pock marks in one or two of the buildings were signs of the battle and represented the loss of life that must have occurred not that long ago.

On a lighter note, some of your ears may have pricked up when I mentioned hiring electric scooters. Yes, Ian rode a scooter. He tested its speed and manoeuvrability without losing teeth or too much of his dignity.

Varosha was “described as the “hub of art and intellectual activity” and “the French Riveria of Cyprus”. Celebrities including Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor, and Brigitte Bardot are said to have visited the area in its heyday. (https://www.businessinsider.com)
For the readers: There are numerous books written about the troubles in Cyprus. I am currently reading “Bitter Lemons” by Lawrence Durrell, which is exceptionally good. There is also “The Sunrise” by Vicotria Hislop which is based in Varosha.
Thank you Lorna of SV Matabele for the first picture.

Given the embargo most countries and the UN have placed on TRNC, this side of the Green Line is something of a Neverland. It is however a haven for folk from countries that are not currently part of the “in-crowd”. Vodka is easy to find if you catch my drift. Having said that there is also an active British Expat community taking advantage of the weather and favourable exchange rate. The influx of international residents and a more liberal approach to religious doctrine means that we are enjoying a plenitude of one of my favourite things in the world – bacon!

Modern TRNC is a place of contrast. Flashy new apartments and houses are going up alongside partly finished and crumbling buildings; there is a very new and impressive restaurant at the entrance to Varosha. This is not that disimilar to Türkiye and many of the Greek islands we have visited. Aside from Gazimağusa and the Capital of Nicosia there is only one other significant town on this side of the Green Line. HOwever, there are many private universities, and flashy international medical facilities – dentists and IVF clinics are popular. Despite the global unwillingness to acknowledge this side of the border, tourism is a large part of the economy with dozens of hotels and resorts dotted along the coast and in the towns. Many include casinos and, going by the high-end cars we see driving around, there is money to support them.

Yet … and yet … it’s nothing unusual to see a goat herder tending his flock on a roundabout or a farmer on his ancient tractor trundling through the village. Mounds of rubble and rubbish abound everywhere as do the ubiquitous stray but well cared for cats and dogs. The people are patriotic. Northern Cypriot and Turkish flags are flown everywhere. Atatürk statues and portraits are plentiful. The road signs and maps sport both Turkish and Greek names. In fact, people are comfortable with using these names interchangeably without any disgruntlement. Religion is lowkey. Mosques are favoured this side of the Green Line; however, we’ve seen well-kept churches and at least one monastery/church with a healthy patronage.

There are some oddities here which are due to the international embargo placed on this side of the Green Line. iPhone maps won’t provide directions yet, for some reason, Google Maps works just fine. Local bureaucracy and cost make it exceedingly difficult to receive anything shipped from overseas with import duties as much as 150%. To get around this, there’s an active “safe hands” protocol for getting goods and mail in and out of the country.

Travel between North/South Cyprus is complicated. Going South doesn’t present any problems, TRNC are happy to “stamp you in and out” of the country. At the airport recently, customs asked if wanted a stamp in our passport. We answered “no, thank you” as it can cause issues when travelling through other countries, particularly Greece. No Surprise there! Conversely, as the Greek Cypriots do not recognize North Cyprus, they won’t stamp you out of Cyprus, if you are passing into TRNC territory. This results in the records showing you never left and consequently have overstayed on your visa. And don’t even think about sailing from TRNC to Cyprus! Stories abound of the Greek Cypriot Coast Guard turning boats away or confiscating boats that persist. This is not a problem if you never intend to return to Cyprus, but we’d rather not burn any bridges. So, we will check out and head straight back to Turkey and leave Cyprus (the Greek side) for another time.

Despite the politics of living in ‘contested, or occupied, territory’ the locals have been very friendly. They face the same issues we do regarding travelling and obtaining goods etc. Most people speak English and are happy to help us work on our Turkish. Just like the Turkish mainland, crime is almost non-existent. We will have to adapt our ways when we return to a western community and to return to locking up our belongings. In the meantime, we are attempting to make the most of our time here while trying hard to look past the inconvenience of living in Neverland. Unfortunately, this hasn’t extended to Ian embracing a Peter Pan wardrobe of green tights and a jaunty hat. Something I’m sure we would all like to see!

Until next time fair winds, and a dearth of sea monster for the days ahead.

Pilots and Masons, the wisemen of Constantinople – Part III of Istanbul.

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. Today’s blog rounds out our adventures in Istanbul. It truly was a once in a lifetime adventure and somewhere I never envisaged myself visiting. We are now just beginning our adventures in Greece, which includes a visit from Ron, Marissa and our little Charlie Love. In the meantime, here is Part III of our adventures in Istanbul. I will also write about our adventures in the Marmara Sea including our visit to Gallipoli soon but first meet Taksim Square and Fener-Balat.

Taksim Square and Galata Tower: Ian had some very important boat job that required him to head down to a suburb that wouldn’t rank on the top 100 places to visit in Istanbul. Thankfully Janine and Craig of SV Inelsamo invited me to tag along on their visit to Taksim Square. So I ditched Ian’s adventure to nowhere and went off to explore with our friends. Janine and Craig had visited Taksim Square before and were the very best tour guides. We ferried across the Bosphorus, then hopped on the Füniküler* that takes you to the top of the hill. *Fun-nik-ul-er; now there’s a word, it clatters over your tongue like a mouth full of lego.

Taksim Square is on the European side of Istanbul and I wasreliably told that it was less touristy than where all the big icons are in old Town. It was still touristy, just less so. A little like comparing the Sunshine Coast with the Gold Coast. For non-Australians apologies for the local reference, please transpose two of your own holiday locations where one is sheer bloody madness and the other is just madness.

Taksim means “division” in Arabic. In times gone by all the water sources for the European side of Istanbul converged here before being funneled of to other parts of the city. Nowadays this impressive square is the heart of the local Istanbul life. The square is lovely but I think Janine and I really started to enjoy ourselves as we walked along İstiklal Caddesi (Independence Avenue), a long pedestrian shopping street, that begins at the Square and leads down the hill towards the Galata Tower and on to delightful laneways that end at the Golden Horn.

Independence Avenue is much like any big city mall. We recognised many shops, name brands and takeaway joints. The significent difference, from the malls in Australia, were the stately vintage buildings. It was still a public holiday so there was a chilled vibe to the pedestrians, local and tourists alike. Janine and I shopped while Craig patiently wandered ahead. It was such a lovely “normal” day. Shopping with friends, trying on clothes, stopping for a bite to eat. Normal from our old life, one of those normal things that you miss only when you return to it after a while.

Along the way we stopped to view the Galata Tower. The original tower was built during Byzantine period (527-565 CE). This poor building has had a somewhat traumatic existence! It was destroyed by fire and folk alike, rebuilt, repurposed, and forgotten by just about every occupier of Byzantium-Constantinople-Istanbul. It’s been a fortified watchtower, fire watch tower, prison, religious sanctuary and more recently a museum. In doing my research into the Tower’s history I came across this quirky little tid-bit, which is just too good not to share.

Hezârfen Ahmed Çelebi, (1609 – 1640) was an Ottoman scientist, inventor, chemist, astronomer, physician, Andalusi musician, and poet from Constantinople. According to one source* Hezârfen means “a thousand sciences” and the title was bestowed upon Ahmed as an acknowledgement of his wisdom. All this at the ripe old age of twenty-three. (Don’t you hate under-achievers!) Ahmed is credited, by at least one contemporary source, as having achieved sustained unpowered flight. He achieved this by strapping on a pair of wings and jumping off the Galata Tower. Remarkably he is said to have landed about 4 kilometres away, on the Asian side of the city. Making this the world’s first intercontinental flight, and the fourth sustained unpowered flight ever recorded. It’s said his inspiration came from the birds and Leonardo Da Vinci’s of course. *hezarfen-ahmet-celebi-the-first-man-to-fly

However being known for your wisdom in 1600 Constantinople was not… well… very wise. It seems that Sultan IV Murat decided our erstwhile genius was “somebody to be afraid of. Someone, who could get whatever he wants and therefore was somebody illicit”. Not wanting such greatest to overshadow him the Sultan gave Ahmed a bag of gold before sending into exile in Algeria where Ahmed died at the age of thirty-one.

Not to be outdone, Ahmed’s brother, Lagari Hasan Çelebi may have survived a flight on a seven winged rocket powered by gunpowder from Sarayburnu, the point below Topkapı Palace in Istanbul (1633). Lagari was obviously wiser than his brother as before launching his craft he joked with the Sultan Ahmet IV “Oh my Sultan! Be blessed, I am going to talk to Jesus!”. When Lagari landed in the sea he swam ashore and quipped “Oh my Sultan! Jesus sends his regards to you!”. For his efforts the Sultan gave him a bag of silver and the rank of Sipahi in the Ottoman army.

Courtesy of Wikipedia

I love a good conspiracy, and wonder if little brother, Lagari had a hand in his brother’s exile. There is after all no competition greater than that between siblings.

Unsurpringly Wikipedia suggests the authenticity of Evliya Çelebi, the Ottoman traveller who documented these events, may not have been reliable. To further erode the validity of an otherwise crackin’ good story in November 2009 Myth Busters tried to recreate Lagara’s flight. However, Evilyas account did not contain sufficient technical detail or the experiment to confirm or debunk claims. Myth Busters concluded that it would have been “extremely difficult” for a 17th-century figure, unequipped with modern steel alloys and welding, to land safely or even achieve thrust at all.

Eyüp and Fener-Balat Suburbs were our last grand adventure in Istanbul and it was one of my favorites for two reasons: it was somewhat unplanned and it was all about the ‘burbs. I’m being a tad cheeky saying this adventure was unplanned. Craig and Janine had a Plan A, Plan B and I think Plan C. These were based on the ferry timetables and our group desire for trekking. Plan B was taking the ferry up the Golden Horn (insert giggle here). There were some interesting sites along the Golden Horn, some beautiful and some downright curious. We left our ferry at the last stop in the municipality known as Eyüpsultanmet or Eyüp.

The crane is fully submerged up to its lifting arm. We aren’t sure if that’s intentional or whether someone had an oopsie.

Like the rest of the Istanbul habitation in the area dates back to the Byzantine era. There was a monastery (founded circa 480 CE), saints performing miracles (circa 518-565 CE and more in the 1200s ), some equally important civil wars, some seiges, a coup, attacks by crusaders, state meetings and visits by quite a few historical notables. So like the rest of Istanbul a place with a past and a character all of its own. The municipality has numerous churches and many more Mosques. The Eyüp Muslim cemetery is one of the oldest cemetries in Istanbul and which was very popular with sultans and other important dignitaries as the tomb of Ebu Eyyûb el-Ensarî (or in modern Turkish Eyüp Sultan). Ebu was close companion (sahaba) of Prophet Muhammad, he died during a raid against Constantinople and wanted to be buried as close as possible to the city walls.

The Eyüp we saw was a mix of old and new. More old than new with a definite working class feel to it. There was a lovely green park along the Golden Horn but it was overshadowed by major roads and shady backstreets. Not “drug lords, pimps and muggers” kind of shady. Though perhaps overnight? Who knows? Still the neighborhood had its charms at least in the daylight.

The white and grey pillars are grave markers.

We continued on our way and found ourselves in Fener-Balat. These were once the Jewish and the Greek quarters of Istanbul. In the mid 1500s Sultan Bayezid II offered citizenship to Jews and European Muslims fleeing the Inquisition in Spain and Africa, and the 1492 Alhambra Decree (forced expulsion of the Jewish population from Spain). Many of these refugees settled in Fener-Balat. However, Fener-Balat today is overwhelmingly Muslim, with most minority populations having left the district or were forced to leave as a result of the Armenian genocide and the Greek-Turkish “population exchange”.

These suburbs are an odd mix. The joyful sherbert hued buildings and the river create a pretty facade behind which lurks a dusty rabbit warren of mid-1800 and 1900 apartment buildings in varying states of disrepair. We came across the weekly pazari (fresh food market) in one back street. Going by the chatter that followed us through the market the locals were not accustomed to having tourist wander so far back in the suburb. They were friendly and curious though reserved. Other parts of the suburb are geared up for tourists with funky cafes, groovy shops and crazy curiosities.

Two notes:
1. The impressive red building is the Church of the Virgin Mary of the Mongols
2. I may have threatened Ian with the purchase of the sunflower ‘kini top and/or adoption the kitten. Ian was more concerned about the kitten than the top!

Throughout these suburbs there are remnants of the ancient Walls of Constantinople . These walls are some of the most substantial and long lasting defensive additions to Constantinople. The first walls were built by the Emperor Constantine. They are said to be “the last great fortification system of antiquity and one of the most complex and elaborate system ever built.” (wiki). Countless improvements, repairs and additions have been undertaken throughout history. While many of the ruins that remain date back to the Ottoman period, it is the double line of the Theodosian Walls built in the 1400s that are considered the penultimate defensive structures. At the height of their use these walls were impregnable. They withstood sieges by the Avar-Sassanian coalition, Arabs, Rus’, and Bulgars, among others. The introduction of gunpowder siege cannons being the only credible threat to the fortifications. The siege cannon used was 8m long and fired a 700kg projectile 2.5km, but it could achieve a maximum rate of fire of 3 rounds per day. Even this level of cannon technology was insufficient to capture the city on its own. Through a combined effort the walls were finally breached and Constantinople fell under the sheer weight of numbers of the Ottoman forces on 29 May 1453. (This willingness to accept incalculable deaths in order to achieve a goal is a recurring theme in Ottoman and Turkish history.)

The walls were largely maintained until the 1800s when the city outgrew its medieval boundaries, and sections were dismantled and repurposed. Despite lack of maintenance and wanton “recycling”, many parts of the walls are still standing today. In the 80’s a large-scale restoration program begun and the remnants are now mostly protected.

The segments of wall that we came across during our walk were well tended. They were “repaired” not “restored” using wooden frames to support crumbling parts of the structure. In other parts of Istanbul the walls are incorporated into more modern buildings. We saw numerous examples of modern houses being built on top of the ancient walls or have repurposed these walls as retaining walls.

It’s a little hard to see, but behind the scaffolding in the large picture remains of the Theodosian Wall have been removed so that the modern house behind can have a view of the Bosphorus.

It was a great day of adventuring, with lots of stops to eat, drink and be merry on the way. It ended with Ian attempting to drag us back to see his fireworks dealer. However, the heat and crowds of the Bazaar bested us and we headed back to our floating homes.

Not long after this we moved on to the satellite town of Yalova where we encountered the dreaded pterodactyl but that’s a story for our next post.

Fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters on your travels through life.

The Many Gods of Istanbul (Part II of Istanbul)

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. Part II of our adventures in Istanbul. Unlike most of our adventures, where we just charge in like a bull at the gate, we decided to begin our stay in Istanbul by doing a guided tour. We knew there is was much to see and many friends had given us advice. However, we thought that supplementing this with a walking tour with a local, designed to orientate new visitors, would enhance our exploration of this rich exotic city. We were guided through the old town precinct, viewing all the important sites: The Hagia Sofia, Sultan Ahmet Camii (also known as the Blue Mosque), the Basilica Cistern etc without stopping to enter them or to really take in their outwardly beauty. Instead, we made notes about the best times to visit those that interested us, which ones to miss and other tips that would make our explorations easier. We will do this again and thoroughly recommend it to anyone travelling to “big” locations.

In the afternoon we boarded a ferry for a tour of the Bosphorus Straits and Golden Horn. It’s possible sail along the Bospherous (motoring only) all the way into the Black Sea. The likelihood of a “next time” in Istanbul with Longo is very slim, and doing this trip would add another sea to our list, but we decided that the trip through one of the worlds busiest waterways was something we would put on the “maybe next time” list. We’re learning that while we have all the time in the world, there will always be choices to be made between this or that adventure.

Having found the lay of land, we planned our assault on Istanbul, we took time to first explore Kadiköy (see Part I). Then the following day we set off early to hit to the big attractions. The history of most of these is well known and well documented so I won’t bore you with the usual historical data, instead here are some quirky and lesser known facts and our personal observations.

To add a little spice to our experience we found ourselves in a city of pilgrimage during Eid al-Adha. A time when many Muslims, Turkish and tourists alike, travel to Istanbul to worship at the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque. Erdogan, the recently re-elected Turkish President, extended the holiday period so many locals had extra time on their hands and it seemed they all decided Istanbul was the place to be. At times this increase in population was daunting, intrusive and downright over powering but our guide had set us up well for success.

In the background beneath the trees is the line to entered Hagia Sophia! Thankfully, our guide advised us to arrive in early and missed most of the crowds.

Hagia Sophia: A church turned into a mosque turned into a museum returned to a mosque. The name means “Holy Wisdom” and it was completed in 537 AD. Amazingly, the architect knew the area was prone to earthquakes and designed this mammoth stone domed building to withstand them. It has survived many earthquakes the largest coming in at over 7 on the Richter scale. Having survived these earthquakes undamaged, in the 9 CE vikings left their mark on the building in the form of carved graffiti on columns in the southern gallery. Unfortunately this no longer open to visitors but I love the impropriety of these bored men. The graffiti reads “Halfdan was here” and “Ari made these runes.” These men were likely members of the Varangian Guard in Constantinople.

Courtesy of Viking Archaeology

I had great hopes for the beauty and spiritual vibe of the Hagia Sophia. After all it has Islamic and Christian history. Thousands have payed within these hallowed walls. “God’s” presence should be strong here. It is certainly beautiful, especially the enormous low hanging candelabras. The lights have a golden glow that lends the cavernous space an intimate air. I imagine the building could be peaceful and in quiet times imbue a feeling of spiritual calmness. There were many visitors (Muslim and Christian) who obviously felt this way. I envy their faith, which must lay the foundation for their experience because I never felt any of this. This lack of emotion had little to do with the Hagia Sophia being a mosque rather than a church. I am an agnostic. I don’t care what flavour the Devine comes in and how folk choose to worship (so long as it’s not an excuse for base emotions such as hate, envy and superiority). Many religious buildings fill me with awe and wonder. They are expressions of devotion which I feel in my own way. I just didn’t get any profound sense of well being from the Hagia Sophia, it was “just” a pretty but busy building.

Hagia Sophia.

Sultanahmet Camii: (The Blue Mosque) (1609-1616) Sultanahmet’s Mosque is popularly known as the Blue Mosque due to its stunning tile mosaics. The blue mosaics are beautiful however I was taken by the striking red boarder designs. I found this mosque held all the soothing hush that I have come to love from religious buildings, perhaps because we entered just after Dhuhr (midday prayers) and the crowds were smaller.

The architect Sedefkar Mehmet Ağa, an Albanian was brought to Constantinople as part of the “child levy” or “blood tax”. Thıs was a form conscription practised by the Ottomans. In addition to the beautiful tiles, the Mosque was the 2nd Mosque to have six minarets. Ka’aba in Mecca being the first, and the holiest, in Islam. The story goes that Sedefkar misheard the Sultan’s request for “altin minareler” (gold minarets) as “alti minare” (six minarets). Folks were not fooled by this and were a tad miffed by the Sultan’s presumption that he could have a mosque that rivalled Ka’aba. To prevent a coup or revolution the Sultan had another minaret built at Ka’aba. There are now a number of other mosques with six minarets in the world. One of the most recent is being built by the current president of Türkiye on the Eastern shore of Istanbul. This new mosque was mentioned by a number of locals we spoke to; all of whom seemed to be embarrassed and apologetic for the avarice of ther current leader or as Ian’s fireworks dealer called him “our new Sultan”.

The Blue Mosque is a glorious expression of devotion or for the cynics out there a magnificent example of avarice (the people paid through taxes to ensure the Sultan’s devotion to Allah was displayed for all the world to see). Whichever way you look at it’s creation the Mosque certainly provokes awe and wonder. Even the sound of a few merry kidlets cavorting around those still at prayer was joyous. I left content and happy with the world.

The internal photos courtesy of Ian.
A local explained to us that the chain across the door to the mosque precinct is there to remind us that we must all bow down to the Will of Allah.

Theodosius Cistern: This might be controversial but we didn’t go to the Basicillia Cistern. We’ve heard it is a magnificent architectural construction and worthy of a visit. However the lines were long and the temperature scorching. Besides, we had local intel that we could view the equally magnificent, smaller and older, Theodosius Cistern without standing in huge, round the block, cues and spend more time in an more intimate environment. We were also promised an impressive light show in the cistern.

Emperor Theodosius ordered the cistern be built in 428 CE and it was completed in 443 CE. The Biscillica Cistern had to be reconstructed in 476 CE after it was damaged by fire. The Theodosius cistern is much smaller, with only 32 marble columns compared to the 336 of its more famous younger brother, Basilica. There were number of cisterns built as the city of Constantinople had to have sufficient water to withstand a lengthy siege. The cisterns also had fish in them to indicate if the city’s water supply had been poisoned. We loved the cistern and were terribly impressed by the architecture.

The light show was a tad over the top but very impressive nonetheless. We were free to wander through the cistern while the show was on and we lingered in the cool for as long as we could.

I have a touch of Fomo (fear of missing out) regarding the Basilica Cistern but it is impossible to see everything all the time. I have also added Topkapi and Dolmbaçhe (the Sultan’s Palaces) to the list of ‘next time’ we are in Istanbul.

The Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar: We have been lucky enough to visit many “old town” bazaars during our travels in Türkiye. They are mostly touristy and gimmicky. The touters have their patter down and will offer prices based on how much they think they can squeeze out of you. They take your nationality, dress and apparent interest into account when making these calculations. The pazaris (fresh food markets) that we frequent regularly to provision are more authentic and a joy to visit. We weren’t too fussed about mingling with the public holiday hordes in the heat to look at trinkets and fake handbags. So when we were warned that the Istanbul Bazaars were exemplars of the tourist ideal, we decided to give it a miss.

Instead we decide to search out a fireworks merchant that Ian had located on Google. Fireworks are Ian’s catnip. There is no distance, inconvenience nor danger that will keep him from that big bang. When we lived in the States, Ian, who of course likes his explosions to be grand, decided it was necessary to find an 80mm mortar tube to ensure we had the full 4ᵗʰ July experience. So ventured into the underbelly of a Californian town used for reality TV series “Bad Cops”.* It’s OK he had one of his ‘vato’ Mexican mates to act as a local guide; so he’s not completely crazy! The transaction ran smoothly despite initially initial suspicions of being undercover Po Po. A 6’1” guy tall guy with an Australian accent doing an excited dance is unlikely to be Po Po. *California has “safe and sane” or as Ian calls it “safe and lame” laws that downgrade their sparklers to a dull fizz and prohibit anything with more bang than a cap gun.

Following Google or Iphone Maps in some of the older towns or city can be hit and miss. The magic air-ways (GPS signal) doesn’t always penetrate the bowels of the backstreets and laneways. Shops and even buildings appear to come and go, much like the fabled Brigadoon. Then there is the tricky business of translation. We’ve had plenty of experiences when modern technology has been a boon, but just as many when we’ve been left wondering if we’ve entered a pocket of faerie land. So imagine our surprise when despite Ian’s protestations that the shop was not in the old town, Maps led us on an unwavering course into the heart of the Grand Bazaar! It looked like we were going to have the full Istanbul experience!

We’d been given pointers for haggling in the Bazaar. Much as you would expect not showing too much interest is high on that list. Ian is usually very good at this. The exception is when he walks into a shop chock full of fireworks; then he turns into a kid in a candy store and the salesmen rub their hands together with gleeful anticipation.

The quest for fireworks did allow us to stumble upon a great haggling tactic, which we used on our second trip to the store. It goes a little like this: Ian enters the store with wonder in his eyes doing his childlike happy dance. Then asks for ALL the fireworks. When the salesman tells him the price I scold him and walk off in a huff to stand outside the store arms crossed, foot tapping. He then says ‘look my wife is very upset ! Now what about 50% off’. Inevitability the guy says no but Ian persists ‘No? Can’t you see how much trouble I’m in? What about 40% off? I might be allowed to sleep inside tonight if I don’t spend all my money.’ I wouldn’t say it works every time, but 50% of the time it works every time!

Ian and his fireworks dealer. His name, according to Ian, is Lefty! You can see the less lethal fireworks along the wall behind them. We do not have many of these. Most of Ian’s stash came from the locked cabinet under the counter.

Since we were already there. We took the time to explore the bazaar. It was hot and dusty. The kind of heat that makes spicy smells sizzle and burst, when even the dust kicked up from the path is peppery. Colours shimmer in the haze and the air is moistened with the sweat of the people. Surprisingly the noise is not overbearing but it is constant. The hawkers are polite. The crowds of tourists less so, pushing and jostling for position and service. There are fleet footed cats dodging mopeds and sleepy dogs taking up their patch of earth between stalls. I loved it!

That first day was a big day so we didn’t dawdle. Time didn’t matter so much on our next trip across the Bosphorus, we wandered the streets and Ian conscious or subconsciously lead us back to his fireworks supplier because well, you can never have too may fireworks. There will be more stories of Ian’s obsession with fireworks in blogs to come.

Archeological Museum: To escape the heat we spent a few hours (probably too many if you ask Ian) in the Istanbul Archaeological Museum. Fascinating stuff, with a great exhibit on Troy and there were many beautiful shiny things. Of note was the subtle reference to the quantity of Turkish archeological history that has been “relocated” to Western European countries. Many exhibit have pictures of this or that artefact with a note beneath identifying were this precious item can be found (the UK and Germany being the most prolific). The Turks have a right to their history however time and time again we have seen historically significant ruins in this country left to crumble or reused in as recycled materials materials in newer buildings. Our observation is that the best preserved sites are those that have been discovered and protected by foreigners. It’s childish but “finders keepers” comes to mind. However many of the “finders” have decieved, trespassed and misrepresented themselves in order to liberate these treasures. Perhaps I’m reading too much into these little signs but I’m not a big fan of blaming current generations for their ancestors misdeeds. Admittedly its probably time to return these treasures to their rightful owners.

1. I love how Artemis looks like she’s sidled up to the bar in search of two Ouzos, a Tsipouro, and maybe a plate of ambrosia for the table!
2. And as for the toes … you’ll notice that the second toe is bigger than the big toe. This is a “Greek Foot” or a “Fire Foot”. The ancient Greeks supposedly love this look because it meets the golden ratio aesthetic. More recently it’s been proven that a large number of Greeks – 62% of men and 32% of women – share this trait with Ian.

I had originally thought I’d manage to tell you about Istanbul in two parts but alas lan’s fireworks shenanigans took up too many words. Hence there will be one more instalment to our Istanbul adventures and then I’ll move on to a new topic. Promise!

Fair winds and a dearth of Sea Monsters until we next meet.

Kadiköy – You’d have to be blind not to love it (Istanbul Part I)

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Hello, welcome come aboard. You may recall our last post covered how we ran the Çanakkale Straits and zig-zagged through the Sea of Marmara finishing at the Kalamış & Fenerbahçe Marina, on the Asian side of Istanbul, which would be our home for two weeks.

During our first few days we met co-owners of the lovely boat next door. Owner No 1 was an excitable but polite lad. When Ian accepted his offer of a beer and tour of his boat, he discovered that Owner No 1 had no sailing experience and had hired himself a professional captain to teach him the ropes. Ian returned to tell me he was reasonably certain Owner No 1’s excitement was chemically induced but after a couple of beers both their interpretative dance skills improved and they got along just fine.

The next day we met Owner No 2 who was less excitable but also a newbie. He was there to have his first “solo sailing and docking” lesson. Owner No 2 earned the moniker “Captain Crashy”, as he made the action in “Speed 2” look sedate. Ian’s opinion of Captain Crashy was probably made a little too obvious when he issued the command, “all fenders to port!” Having gone through this stage just 12 months ago, I was somewhat surprised when over dinner that night Ian rather cheekily commented, that “for a nation of seafarers, it was outrageous that someone who hadn’t grown up sailing dinghies would be allowed to purchase a full size sailing yacht and that there should be a law against it!” Since I know how much Ian loves a bad dad jokes I laughed politely and didn’t remind him that we also fit in this category!

1 & 2 – Eastern Istanbul in the morning light
3 – Kalamış & Fenerbahçe Marina

Confident that both owners had eventually embraced the “slow and steady” method we felt it was safe enough to leave Longo and go exploring Kadiköy with Janine and Craig of SV Inelsamo.

Kadiköy in all its glory!

The history of Kadiköy is quite impressive. Whether myth or fact the story goes like this: Back in 7th BCE King Nissos, ruler of Megara Greece, had an avaricious son called Byzas. The king, not liking the regicide twinkling in his son’s eye, went off to seek divine parental guidance from the Oracle of Delphi. (Sidebar: The Oracle of Delphi was the preternatural adviser to all the cool rulers. She was originally “belonged” to Galea (Mother Earth). That is until she was stolen away by Apollo.)

The Oracle told the old King to send the Prince on a quest to find the “the city of the blind” because this is where Byzas would earn his fame and fortune. Byzas decided that a bit of questing might be invigorating and if nothing came of it he could always return to pop off his old Dad later.

After a good long while adventuring with the obligatory fighting, pillaging and general mischief included, the Prince tired of the quest and decided to make camp on the Western shore of the Bosphorus Strait before heading back to see about his father. As the prince and his cronies looked across to the Eastern shore they saw, to their surprise, the Megara colony called Chalcedon. One of the Prince’s Generals laughingly said of the Chalcedonians “they must be blind! This shore is far superior, with its fertile farmlands and naturally defensible estuary. What were they thinking!” (the estuary is known as the Golden Horn).And so the Oracles prediction was fulfilled, Byzas, not blind to the virtues of the Western shore, made it his home; naming it Byzantium” after himself.

Shortly after, Byzas’s little settlement took off and other began to covet his is land. In 330 CE Emperor Constantine, the Emperor divided the Roman Empire into East and West. He took Byzantium for himself and being another shy and retiring type, renamed it Constantinople and called it his own and ruled the Eastern Roman Empire (or the Byzantine Empire) happily for quite a while.

During Mustafa Atatürk’s restructuring of modern Turkey in 1923, Constantinople was formally renamed Istanbul, which is what the locals had called it from time immemorial. Istanbul means “to the city”.

What became of the little settlement on the Eastern Shore of the Bosphorus Straits known as Chalcedon? It was an early centre for Christianity. The Council of Chalcedon was asked to deliberate on some pretty heavy Christological questions aiding in the foundations for many Christian ideologies that are still maintained today.

However it would have been a tad uncomfortable to be a Christian in Chalcedon at times since it was occupied by the Persians, Romans, Byzantines, Arabs, and the Ottomans. The crusaders had a good go too. Chalcedon remained “independently governed” until the mid-1400s when the Ottomans brought it officially within the boundaries of the great city-state of Constantinople and renamed the town “Kadiköy”. This means “the Village of the Judge” and honours its role in the birth of the great city that is now known as Istanbul.

The Kadiköy that greeted us was a leafy bayside suburb teaming with beautiful people lounging in trendy cafes or walking through verdant parks on their way to and from high rise apartments and vintage summer style mansions. At its heart is a transportation hub connecting East and West Istanbul by ferry, bus, taksi, dolmuş and the underground metro. Quayside hosts many market style stalls selling everything from flowers to doner kebabs and buskers in the afternoons. This area is a thriving mix of locals and tourists all politely mingling. The local commuters are remarkably tolerant of the visitors to their shores. I’ve noticed that even the most harried office worker struggles to wallow in their misery when they commute by ferry. I think it’s the dolphins playing around the ferries that does it.

Just behind the ferry terminal lies a traditional bazaar. The cobblestone lanes are crowded, mostly with locals shopping for Tursu (Turkish pickles), dried vegetables, lokum (Turkish delight) and other staples. The chatter of the pedestrians and hawkers compete with the inescapable buzz of mopeds being ridden by all and sundry through the crowds. We have become attuned to the practised daredevilry of these moped riders as they weave amongst traffic and pedestrians. Ian doesn’t miss a step as he pulls me (usually with camera in hand) out of the way.

Ian loves the markets and always tries to use his Turkish skills when talking to the owners. For the most part the shopkeepers and other customers are pleased that he is willing to have a go.

It was here that we found Yanyali Fehmi Lokantasi, a cafeteria style restaurant. These kinds of restaurants are common in Türkiye. They serve the hardy home-style meals and çay (tea) favoured by the locals. They’re almost always owned by families, serving their own take on traditional recipes. Thankfully, Yanyali had an English menu with their family history printed in the front. Without this we would never have known that Husyin from Bolu, the founding chef of the Yanyali restaurant, was once the Head Chef at the Topkapi Palace during the reign of the last Ottoman Sultan, Mehmed VI Vahideddin. Lofty ancestry indeed! Especially since the Sultan’s kitchen fed up to 4,000 royals and other officials daily. To achieve this, Husyin would have been in charge of 800 people and the kitchen sported no less than 20 chimneys.When the Sultan was expelled by the Grand National Assembly of Türkiye, Huysin was imprisoned by the British. (The British occupied Istanbul for a time toward the end of WW1.) on his release, he was hired by the founder of the restaurant, Fehmi Sönmnezler from Yanya. When we decided to take a seat outside this unassuming restaurant it was being run by Fehmi’s Great-Grandsons: Tansel Can and Ergin Sönmnezler.

Ian, overwhelmed by all the tasty choices (over 100 different dishes are made each day), decided he would enlist the assistance of a friendly waiter called Ergin. Using his go to question: “what’s your favourite?”. Having snaffled the best selection for himself, Ian bought the waiter back to our table to help the rest of us decide. In the end, we tried a variety of mains; lamb with onion, slowed cooked lamb, Begendi Kesap and zuchinni fritters.

When Ergin pried himself away from our table to serve someone else we realised our “waiter” was in fact the owner Ergin, the Great-Grandson of Fehmi, the original owner. Ergin returned as we chatted with him about his family history and the great food on offer. With much pride he told us that his Great-Grandfather had worked in the restaurant until he was 98 years old. (While it wasn’t spoken of directly, we came away with the impression that Ergin was also related to the chef, Huysin. Perhaps Huysin’s daughter married one of Fehmi’s sons?)

I guess our rapt attention to his stories impressed Ergin because he disappeared momentarily only to return with a number of delicious mezzes. Initially we all refused the dessert options, however Ergin, with an especially mischievous smile, insisted we try the house specialty. The origins of this desert is something of a mystery. Some suggest it dates back to the Byzantium era. Others argue it comes Arabian lands. According to Ergin it was speciality at the Topkapi Palace and something Huysin regularly made for the Sultan.

Yanyali Fehmi Lokantasi

When he presented the dessert, he told us it contained a very special ingredient and challenged us to figure out what it was. It looked like white slime with a sprinkling of brown dust or dirt. It wasn’t a bad, smelly, get out the rubber gloves and disinfectant kind of slime. When I poked it wobbled just like the slime I made as a kid (cornflour and water); it was all shiny and blobby. It had the texture of blancmange and the flavour was surprisingly sweet. The kind of thing you’d feed to someone who’d just had their tonsils out. After our first taste, we all had a go at trying to figure out the secret ingredient. Even when Ergin told us it was called Tavuk Gögösü Pudingi, Ian, our linguistic gastronomer, wasn’t able to guess the secret ingredient.

Right! So guess, right about now you’re saying “Yeah, yeah, telling us what it is.” Well, it’s all in the name.

“Tavuk Gögösü Pudingi” translates to “Chicken Breast Pudding”.

You make the dessert by cooking chicken breasts for 6 hours, you shred and beat that smooth, mix it with sugar, rice-starch and milk (Ergin told us they use buffalo milk). Once it’s set, it’s sprinkled with cinnamon or nutmeg. Ergin was immensely pleased that we’d scoffed lot even after the big reveal. It was so delicious. I would have licked the plate but Ian wouldn’t let me!

At first we thought we’d only need a couple of days to see all that Kadiköy and Istanbul had to offer. It turned out that two weeks in Istanbul isn’t nearly enough! It’s a start but I’m not sure a lifetime would be “enough”.

Shortly, I will post Part II of our adventures until then fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters for your journey ahead.

Dardanelles Dash

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. We’ve been at this grand tour for a year now. It’s been a whirlwind of adventures, fun, family milestones and new friendships. If, as they say “life is what happens when you’re not looking” then I’d love see what we’re missing. I have three other blogs half done but I am putting them aside to tell you of our most recent sailing adventures through the Dardanelles Strait on our way to Istanbul . (Sorry folks, I’ve written an essay: I’d call it a leisurely Sunday morning read over a long coffee and maybe a croissant.)

This place is the heart of history: ancient and modern. All of it incredibly interesting and relevant. When we were planning our life on a boat and talking about the places we would go, the Dardanelles held a dual fascination. Especially for Ian as it’s the heart of the ANZAC tradition and a sailing challenge in terms of prevailing winds and currents.

Here too, near the Aegean entrance to the Dardanelles, lays the ancient city of Troy, as immortalised in history, myth and legend. I’ll try to get to some historical aspects in future blogs, but we’re finding the depth and breadth of Turkish history a little overwhelming. As an example, recently archaeologists discovered a temple and ancient city at Gobekli dated at 10000 years BCE, that’s 6000 years before Stonehenge! This discovery is challenging our understanding of human development in terms of societal structure and technology.

This blog, however, is all about the sailing. Honestly, we mostly motored for this passage as sailing is prohibited within the Dardanelles and the winds were against us but let’s not quibble over the semantics.

Those on FB will know that on 19 June 23, we tackled the Dardanelles Strait. The Dardanelles are a narrow, natural strait once known as Hellespont and now officially called the Çanakkale Boğazı in Türkiye. The Dardanelles together with the Bosphorus Straits, are called the Turkish Straits. This is where “East meets West” in the city of Istanbul and the waterways are gateway to the countries of the Black Sea.

The Dardanelles is a naturally zig zag 61km waterway. The narrowest section is just 1.2 km wide is just 55metres deep though in other stretches the depth plunges to 338 metres. The Straits have two opposing currents: a surface current flowing in from the Black Sea (via the Sea of Marmara) towards the Aegean Sea (against us) and a heavier saline undercurrent flowing from the Aegean Sea into the Sea of Marmara. The current speed can reach up to 3.5 knots. Making it a significant maritime challenge especially for smaller sailing vessels with cruising speeds around the 7 knots (like us). We now have some inkling of how Sisyphus* felt. This, combined with an all or nothing prevailing head wind makes weather planning crucial to ensure you have the right conditions for your run up the Dardanelles. (*the poor sod charged with pushing a boulder up hill everyday for eternity. Every night the boulder would roll back down)

To further the complicate the already tricky cruising conditions, the Dardanelles (together with Bosphorus Straits) are the only sea route between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. They are critical for the transportation of goods to and from Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, Ukraine, Russia and Georgia. Consequently these waterways are among the busiest in the world.

Not the best shot I know, but that grey blobs are individual ship markers (triangles) on our chart plotter. These blips do not include the local fisherman or the coastguard boats, who don’t electronically transmit their location. The black blob almost centre with the yellow arrow is Longo Maï! The red crosses are our planned course.

As our friends and sailing companions for this trip, Janine and Craig on SV Inelsamo told us the Dardanelles are “considered one of the most hazardous, crowded, difficult and potentially dangerous waterways in the world.” So not your average Sunday cruise around the bay!

A quick pitstop to introduce Janine & Craig and their lovely yacht, Inelsamo. As sailing buddies go we couldn’t have asked for better than these Aussies. They have loads of sailing experience, stories galore and Janine makes a mean Spaghetti Bolognaise. They have generous hearts and are willing to share their advice, time and adventures with us. Just as well since we often have very little idea of what we’re doing.

1. The very lovely SV Inelsamo.
2. The crews of Inelsamo and Longo Maï

We began our day well before sunrise at the Bozcaada Island municipal dock. It’s that lovely time of the day when the sun’s blush races ahead to soften the pre-dawn darkness. In the distance we could see the cargo ships lining up to take their position in the conga line that would wind through the Straits shipping lane throughout the day.

The trip from Bozcaada to the mouth of the Dardanelles is about two hours. There was only the tiniest ripple of imperfection on the water and barely a breath of air, so the sailing was easy. This gave us time for a much needed coffee, so I left Ian and Brittany (our autopilot, because Brittany Steers) on watch and headed down to the galley. Thankfully I was back on deck as the sun rose over the Eastern shore. I have 40 or so photos of this sunrise but will only inflict the very best one on you. Poor Ian, he had to listen to me prattle on about this sunrise while trying to enjoy his coffee and man the helm.

Sunrise over the Dardenelles

The historical significance of this region hit home, shortly after as the first and largest monument in the region appeared on our horizon. The Çanakkale Martyr’s Monument memoralises the service of the 253,000 Turkish soldiers who participated in the battle for Gallipoli. Being reminded of the noble husbands, loyal fathers and frightened sons (no doubt there were some daring daughters as well) that lost their lives on the Gallipoli battlefields was an arresting pause in our otherwise exuberant excitement for the day’s adventure.

Çanakkale Martyr’s Monument

Shortly after passing the monument we entered the Straits and began to experience, for the first time, the current that we would compete against for most of the day. Our speed slowed as our boat’s engine pushed against the water escaping the Marmara Sea through the funnel that is the Dardanelles. In the photo of our chart plotter you can see our SOG (speed over ground) is 6.2 knots, as I mentioned we average 7 knots when motoring. Through the narrowest section we could only manage 3.5 knots thankfully this lasted only a few minutes.

There are two options for tackling this challenging current. The first is to stick to the 10 metre depth line where the current is weaker. This option means following the natural contours of the straits. The second option is to set a straight line path which includes some deep water stretches. The first option means a longer distance is travelled but the current’s effect on SOG is less. The second option means at times there is more drag from the current but overall distance is less. The different routes affect diesel consumption, time taken and… this is the point where my eyes glaze over because… well… math! To test the theory Inelsamo took the shallow water option, Longo took the straight line approach. Not that anyone was competing or anything but we’ll never know who was more efficient, as our boats have unique characteristics. However, from my perspective, the important distinction was that we were much closer to the action of the shipping lanes. While Craig and Janine were treated to a closer view of the beautiful landscape. Both worthy and made for great conversation over dinner.

The ships and boats operating within the straits are highly regulated with designated shipping lanes defined electronically. While smaller vessels, such as Longo, are confined to the edges, supposedly well clear of the monster ships. Imagine a big blue wet wobbly highway but there are no visible lane markers except those on your map. We heard constant radio chatter between ships (with varying accents) and, the Turkish pilot boats and the coastguard. Much of this was about the activities of the dozens of pilot boats zooming around the ships delivering and retrieving pilots. Watching the transfer of a pilot from a small boat to a ladder hung over the side of a huge ship makes those scenes in action movies where the hero jumps between moving cars quite humdrum in comparison.

The only time small boats are permitted in the central shipping lanes is when crossing “the road”. This maneavure takes precision timing to find a gap in the traffic big enough to accommodate our slower speed and the affect of current on the boat. We crossed over towards the end of our passage to reach our anchorage. So I now know how a slightly arthritic and near sighted echidna feels as it tries to cross the Bruce Highway on the first Saturday of Easter holidays!

Along the way we saw a dolphin pod playing, plenty of local fishing boats that make our Longo look massive, whirlpools big enough that we felt their affect on the boat’s performance, and ferries making the dash across the strait between traffic. Thankfully, we didn’t sight the illusive Porphyrios.

Another brief interlude to introduce Porphyrios. Porphyrios was a large whale that harassed and sank ships in the waters near Constantinople (as Istanbul was then known) in the sixth century. Active for well over 50 years, this mega-ton murder fish was more than a bit of a bother for Byzantine seafarers. He was such a nuisance that Emperor Justinian I (r. 527– 565) declared Porphyrios’s demise a State Matter, but it seems no one could catch or kill this elusive beast. Eventually, Porphyrios beached himself near the mouth of the Black Sea chasing a dolphin snack and the locals took the opportunity to have a mammoth cookout on the beach! True story! (So orca’s chomping on boats rudders is definitely not a new thing)

Found on Pinterest

We did see a hooligan ship captain overtake another ship on a narrow curving section of the strait. Overtaking is prohibited and the captain being overtaken made his displeasure quite “vocally” over the radio. It was the gutsiest, and stupidest, move we’ve ever seen. The slightest misjudgment would have risked a collision in a narrow waterway with no room for evasive manoeuvres. The overtaking boat was going so fast it created quite an impressive bow wave, which one brave dare-devil dolphin used to perform impressive leaps into the air. Unfortunately this all happened close enough to us that we changed our course to avoid being the “bug on the windscreen” and so I was too busy to take photos or video!

We were also challenged when the wake of another ship passing over shallower water resulted in steep white capped waves. As we were travelling parallel to the ship these waves were coming at us from the aft portside (back left hand side). Initially we were just going to ride this out without altering course as we had for other ship wakes. However, Ian looked back to see Inelsamo (a 52’ boat) turn into the waves. After watching Inelsamo launch its bow skyward before burying its nose into the next wave, we thought discretion is definitely the better part of valour and turned to meet the waves head on as well instead of risking swamping our cockpit.

Another treat this journey had in store for us was our first bridge underpass. The “1915 Çanakkale Bridge” is named in honour of the Turkish naval victory against the British, French and allied navies during WWI. It is the longest suspension bridge in the world with a total length of 4.61 kms and a main span of 2.02 kms. Though, for us, it wasn’t its length and engineering magnificence that mattered but its height! After all, our boat is 18 metres high (from the water line to mast pinnacle) and the consequence of touching the mast on a bridge would be catastrophic. We needn’t have worried so much since the bridge is 334 metres above the waterline! So it was never a real issue, but still, I felt a tingle of nervous anticipation as we glided into its shadow.

Under we go!
1. Knowing we were a bit thrilled by all this nonsense, Inelsamo followed behind to get photos of our first bridge “crossing”.
2. Looking up the mast at the road above.

After completing our run through the Dardanelles we were expecting a pleasant few hours of easy cruising along the coast of the Sea of Marmara before anchoring for the night. However, the weather gods are pranksters and darkened our horizon with a fast moving storm. Sailors mostly love the wind, we adore the sun, don’t mind rain but we are not terribly keen on lightening. This is understandable given the rather large conductive pole sticking out of our boats while sitting in a big puddle of water! The danger is real but the odds are reasonably low especially if you act appropriately. So after a quick assessment of the radar and a brief discussion between boats about the storm’s likely path, we decided to act “appropriately” and employ the usual tactical defensive action: avoidance. They don’t say “any port in a storm” for nothin’. So we headed into the nearest anchorage for a spell to give the storm time to pass ahead. As I performed my crew duties which invoke working the windlass*, counting chain length and generally keeping watch, while sitting on the deck as far away from all the shiny metal as I could possibly get, I was treated to a front row seat to the weather. Thankfully, the storm was more wet bluster than fireworks (I didn’t see any lightening) and after a short while we upped anchor and continued to our night anchorage. (*anchor lowering do-dah)

After such a long day (12 hours or so underway) we popped over to Inelsamo for a dinner of Janine’s delicious spaghetti and a few wines before dinghying home for a good long sleep. The next day was just as long as we motored along the Sea of Marmara, with even more dolphin, ship and storm watching. We also had some adventures in Grand Petit Bateau, our dinghy, but as there was no damage, no injuries and importantly no video, that story will become a myth that you might be able to persuade Ian to tell you over a G+T sometime.

The last leg of this amazing trip saw us cruising past some of the largest and busiest dockyards in the world including weaving our way through hundreds of anchored cargo ships waiting their turn to dock. At one time we saw 284 targets being tracked on our navigation system. Some ships appeared very tired and used, and at times it felt like a ships’ graveyard. Finally, we crossed the Bosphorus Strait shipping lanes and tied up at the marina that is our home while we explore beautiful and exotic Istanbul. I’II write reams about Istanbul in the days to come.

The view on the way into Istanbul
1. Initially we thought this floating junk was abandoned. As we were just heading down to radio the officials to alert them of the potential dangers a weathered hand appeared above the deck to straighten the tarp. A ship-shape boat is after all next to godliness.
2. If you look close enough you’ll see a sailboat much the same size as Longo “hiding” in plain sight in front of the behemoth docks and ship.
3. Our first glimpse of old Istanbul (not Constantinople).

We’ll be returning to the Sea of Marmara and the Dardanelles in a week or so. This time however the current and winds (hopefully) will be with us, so we will take the opportunity to stop along the way and explore the history more. Those posts will be all about the history.

Until next time fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters on your journey ahead. (Odd how appropriate this blessing has become.)

Gulets – the modern day (touristy) pirates

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. It’s lovely to be back out on the deep blue wobbly! While we are waiting for Summer temperatures to hit we are enjoying the cool breezes and cooler evenings. In the last week or so we’ve visited some amazing ancient ruins and lovely anchorages, some of which will feature in up coming blogs. For a change of pace, I thought I’d tell you a bit about the gulets that are a feature in the coastal waters of Türkiye. Gulets are wooden sailboats, or pretend sailboats, which are used for tour and charters (often with a full crew). For sailors and cruisers, such as ourselves, gulets are the bane of our existence and rivalled only by the pretend square rigged party boats. They overrun the best anchorages, often with an astonishing lack of good manners, play loud doof-doof music until all hours and generally run rampant over everyone else.

Gulet captains are very territorial of their preferred anchorages. It’s difficult to pick what might be a gulet anchorage, except to say if the bay is particularly beautiful or has an interesting feature (ruins etc) you can bet your last dollar there’ll be gulets. In short anything and everything we are keen on seeing, too!

We once had a gulet captain yell at us to move our lines so he could squeeze in alongside us. It was a very tight anchorage, with realistically only room for one gulet or maybe two smaller boats. Ian and the gulet captain “politely” discussed the options. Ian informed the other captain that as we were there first the gulet would need to find another spot. The gulet captain would not be put off eventually ignoring us he overlapped our shore line with little regard for how close his gulet was to our boat. The gulet which had good 10ft on our 50ft, was close enough that I can tell you the passengers on board had a lovely grilled fish and salad for their dinner followed by strawberry sponge. I believe the white wine was Italian, which is unusual in Türkiye as imported wine is hideously expensive. Thankfully, the passengers were older so we didn’t have the doof-doof music until all hours, which is an added bonus when you are anchored in a beautiful secluded natural bay.

I get it, it’s their livelihoods and reputations at stake. Their clientele have every right to the same touristic experience us and for the most part we all share nicely. However incidents such as the one I mentioned are not uncommon. I recently read about some poor sod whose anchor became snared on a gulet chain, easy done as the gulets often lay a hundred metres on chain. Anyway the poor sod had their anchor cut off with an angle grinder. The gulet crew was kind enough to return the now detached anchor to its owner, who I can only imagine was drifting away to shores unknown!

To be fair, they are not all like this. We had one gulet, gamely try several times to berth his boat in a town port with very tight quarters without a peep or sign of frustration. In the end we moved to give him room and he was very grateful.

Notwithstanding the joys of sharing the seas with these cut throat captains, the gulets themselves can be very beautiful. They’re two or three masted wooden vessels which are rarely rigged for sailing and they are synonymous with this region.

They really are quite pretty when they’re in the distance! We’ve seen just about every colour gulet you can imagine. I like the “au naturale” look best. You’ll notice of these three only the white boat is rigged for sailing.

Of course, there are others that have garishly fitted out to look like pirate vessels. “Pirates of the Caribbean” has a lot to answer for! Many of the Turkish gulets are built in or around Marmaris and Bodrum. Ian and I had the pleasure of visiting the Maritime museum in Bodrum which helped to shed some light on the history of these boats.

There are a few where you walk between the legs of Captain Jack or through Davy Jones’s mouth! A couple that we’ve seen have bubble baths on deck and there’s always loud musics, which is just a likely to be ABBA, Queen or Turkish pop music. Thankfully these boats don’t normally hang around after dark.

Bodrum is located where the Mediterranean meets Aegean Seas. It’s a busy harbour with ferries, gulets, yachts, motorboats, fishermen and even rowers sharing the water and all this is overlooked by a stunning castle (more on this in another blog). There are numerous shipwrecks in the area dating back as far as 14 BCE, attesting to the region’s rich maritime past, including a pirate or too. As stated at the Maritime Museum:

According to the ancient historians, the Leleges, who are currently accepted as the first inhabitants of the area, were engaged in piracy. Since there cannot be a pirate without a boat, one needs to accept that the marine culture of the area goes back at least three thousand years.

So with the risk of stating the obvious, boats have been a bit of a thing here since forever.

Here’s an interesting tidbit, there is written evidence of two female admirals: Queen Artemisia I of Halicarnassos (5th century BC), who commanded five ships at the Salamis sea battle between the Greeks and the Persians. The family tradition continued Artemisia II (4th century BC), a distant decedent, who defeated the Rhodians in the harbor of Halicarnassos and went onto conquer Rhodes. The King said of the victory

… my women have become men and my men have become women.

This region also has a rich Byzantium history which I’ll also write more about later but there would almost certainly have been some ships and boats floating about, though not much is known about their importance at that time. In fact, boat building in Bodrum didn’t appear in historical records until the Ottoman period (18ᵗʰ Century) when Sultan Selim III (1789-1807) led the reformation of the Ottoman Navy and provincial imperial boatyards, such as Bodrum, came into their own. These Ottoman galleons were 50 metre long wooden vessels propelled by oars and sails. Working at these boatyards would have been back breaking, sweat inducing and potentially lethal. Not the least because boat building in those days was dangerous. Records show that Captain Pasha during a Mediterranean voyage discovered numerous faults with his new Bodrum built ships. On returning to port he had the Bodrum harbor master and the mast builder hanged “in accordance with the new boatyard arrangements.” Now that’s a work clause many of us might like to include in contracts with various marine, car and home tradies.

When Ottoman Empire’s internal troubles steered the Sultans’ focus away from the sea. Even though there was a large sponge diving and fishing industry in the region, there is little evidence that the boat building at Bodrum extended beyond these naval ships to include fishing or merchant vessels. Instead the Bodrum region returned to agriculture and animal husbandry as its main source of income.

It wasn’t until a century later with the introduction of Muslim refugees from Crete in the early 1900’s that boat building returned to Bodrum. These refugees brought their seafaring, transportation and fishing heritage with them and they pioneered the development of boat building particularly boats used for sponge diving. This eventually lead to the transformation of Bodrum into the gulet building central it is today.

Some of the local fisherman throughout the ages. I especially like the guy with the direct line to Poseidon – must be a gripping conversation!

The design origin of the gulets, themselves, is controversial. Some say they are the offspring of the sponge and trawler fishing boats of the region. Others argue their forefathers were the French, Italian or Spanish fishing vessels called guletta (french), perhaps the design was brought by the Crete refugees. Others suggest that its origins hark back to the American gullet used in the Greenland banks, or the clippers carrying goods from India or Australia to England during the colonial era. Notably, all these boats are designed using techniques and materials that find their origins in medieval boat building such as that undertaken in Bodrum centuries ago.

The transition of the fishing and sponge diving gulets to the beautiful yet bothersome tourist attractions that annoy us with their loud music and pushy captains began in 70s when the local sponge populations in took a dive and some entrepreneurial type added cabins and other luxuries in order to lure tourists dollars.

Gulets always look special with their fairy lights light up!

Fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters and pesky gulets for your week to come.

Lithium Be Light

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Hello, welcome, come aboard! This instalment of Sailing Longo Maï comes from the pen of the El Capitan and Wizard of All Things Technical: Ian. (Italicised notes are from Malia because she can’t help herself):

We’ve had a bit of a geek out on our electrical system. Please don’t read any further unless you’re into boat electrical and /or geek stuff. (I think it’s a good read for anyone. Unfortunately, I now know so much geek stuff that I am questioning the evolutionary pathway from luddite to geek and whether it’s possible to voluntarily regress.)

We had a 580ah house battery system which should have been ample for our needs. However, we were finding that if we sailed through the night (no solar or engine charging) in rough weather and the autopilot was working hard we were excessively draining the system. At times we had to turn the fridges off to conserve power. So, the situation needed to be fixed. (Ian has called the autopilot – Brittany Steers. And no one likes warm G&Ts hence the original necessity to remedy the situation.)

Based on observations of our current system 600ah of lithium batteries should be an OK solution. The advantage of lithium is you can discharge them to 10-20% whereas you should only use about 50% from a conventional battery. Then we had a few beers and decided 800ah would be better. No one ever complains about having too much power. (I didn’t have beers? When were beers had? Were these beers with your salty sailor buddies? Why wasn’t I invited? – mind you I don’t even like beer but it would have been nice to be asked to the lithium party.) (It was man business!)

After 10 minutes on the interweb it became apparent that the change to lithium is a bit more complicated than just dropping in new batteries. So, before I got started, I figured it was worthwhile taking a good look at the current system. It should be in pretty good shape since we had a ‘full’ survey by a licensed surveyor prior to purchase. After about another 30min on the interweb I felt a suitable level of expertise to audit our system.

Well. The more I looked the more I found wrong or at least suboptimal with our system:

The battery bank contained different size batteries (nope) which were parallel wired through one battery (nope). This means the first battery takes most of the load and ages prematurely. This then drags the whole system down. It is probably the main reason why we had under floor heating and such poor overall system performance. (As is always the way one poor sod does all the work and when they are worn down by the load the whole system fails! Sounds like every workplace I know.)

There were also no covers on battery terminals (nope) and no fuses (whole lot of nope). There’s a lot of energy in this system and this represents a serious safety issue.  (If you accidentally stepped on the suckers, we’re talking not just an unintentional perm but the smell of roasting meat)

The batteries weren’t secured (nope). The boat tends to move around a bit and having the batteries secured is the industry standard.

The cabling couldn’t have been any worse (again a whole lot of nope here). Open ended cable lugs were used instead of closed ones which prevent moisture ingress. The lugs were hammer crimped instead of hex crimped. Insulation tape was used to seal some of the lugs and where proper heat shrink was in place it wasn’t heat shrunken. The cables were mismatched and inadequate for the amperage and length. Also, automotive cables were used instead of tinned marine cable which is not the end of the world but they’re not going to last very well. Put all this together and it explains why there was evidence of corrosion inside the cabling.

I’m taking this as bit of a lesson on paying ‘experts’ to do work on your boat, or at any time really. The previous owner would have paid full retail prices at Port Corbières, France, for a self-proclaimed expert to install a battery system. What he received was something the work experience kid could have done a better job after five minutes on google. It’s almost like every opportunity to cut corners and do the wrong thing has been leapt upon with wanton glee. Good thing we paid a professional surveyor look at the boat before we bought it!

The lithium system batteries are individually fused and connected to a busbar using equal length cables. The busbar is then protected by a class “T” fuse. It’s charged by 2 Victron Smart Solar Controllers and a Victron DC-DC Converter which enables charging from the main engine without overloading the alternator. We also installed a Victron Shunt, which measures the capacity of the system and how much power we’re using. (Two things – Firstly the class “T” fuse is thus called because if ever it blows, we will be saying “Thank God (and Ian) for that Thing. Lastly – All the nifty Victron devices are blue toothed so Ian doesn’t have to guess or open up the bilge to see what is happening, so that’s nifty!)

Now that we have the new system installed, we can tell how much power we have and how much we’re using. I think we’ve overachieved a little and now need to find more appliances to justify the cost of the installation. (Happily, this means we can use our fan at night. Ian wants sensible things like a microwave, but Janie R has taught me they are the devil’s appliance and I no longer see the need. I’m getting me a hairdryer and a hair straightener and air-conditioning and if I can find the space maybe I can convince Ian to buy a coffee machine?)

Here’s some before and after shots our batteries:

Finally, because I like to have the last word and because I need to say out loud just how wonderful Ian is and how hard he has worked on this and the many other projects he has completed over the last few months. Ian knew almost nothing about batteries and wiring until a little while ago. Between the interweb and many conversations with fellow salty sailors (special shout out to Phil E and Steve N), he has gone from novice to expert in a very short time. In doing so he has saved us money, improved our quality of life, and most importantly saved our lives (the last system was a disaster waiting to happen). He is now paying forward the learning by helping others looking at doing the same thing. While undertaking this project he has also project managed and/or completed the other work that needed to be done on Longo. Much of the time battling the language barrier; he has become the master of interpretive dance and technical drawing. On top of all this he has made sure I have been gainfully employed in projects big and small; increasing my knowledge and usefulness as crew. He’s also put up with my occasional whine about not being “out there”. So, I cannot express just how much I love this man and how grateful I am for his commitment, patience and willingness to learn. He is an example to me and all that meet him. However, he is a god to the tortoises, only.

The birth of an ancient sport: Yağli Güreş

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Hello, welcome come aboard. We’ve been busy this week, preparing to head up to Bodrum to pick up our friends, Charlie and Megan. Bodrum is 167 nm away, Longo Mai has a conservative average speed of 5 or 6 knots thats between 27-33 hours of sailing. Unfortunately it’s not as simple as planning a car trip. The weather and safe anchorages play a large part in planning. We can’t leave Finike until after Thursday (06 Apr) and we need to be Bodrum Friday of the following week. Unfortunately the weather is finicky this time of year and while we have a day and a half of promised tailwind, it isn’t enough to get us all the way to Bodrum.

Especially as the following day’s forecast is predicting a head wind with gusts up to 30 knots. Over the last week the forecast has changed daily, and our plans have changed accordingly. Ian’s career was reliant on these environmental forces and his as relaxed as a Turkish dog resting in the middle of the road. (Trust me these dogs own the world and even the biggest trucks will swerve or stop and let them move in their good time.) He tells me if you plan early you’ll plan often. But he now takes it to the next level and is quite happy to wing it on the day. I’m not so lucky, its never been in my nature to be relaxed when there’s a deadline looming and I think it’s fair to say I’ve been a bit of a pork chop about it all. Thankfully Ian also weathers my moods well. Our friends are incredibly understanding and are now meeting us in the lovely town of Göcek. This is easily achievable for us and shouldn’t put too much of a dampener on our plans for their visit.

In the meantime we’ve also been taking advantage of the sunny day to mend the gel coat. This is a delicate grubby job with the sticky gel coat goop setting (going off) very quickly. The less excess goop the less sanding. Being new to this, Ian and I have a bit of sanding to do over the coming week.

We plan to leave Saturday and one of the last tasks will be to visit the Finike market in the morning before we leave. Just as it was in Brisbane, going to the market is a highlight of our week. There’s a restaurant on the way that makes a pretty good Menemen, which is like Shatsuka or Spanish eggs except the eggs are mixed in. Turkiye is predominantly Muslim country (officially non-secular) and as Finike is a conservative agricultural town, there’s no bacon or chorizo but the Menemen is always spicy and the ingredients are farm fresh making the flavours rich and flavoursome. The coffee is passable and my caffeine snobbery has been softened by necessity and now I’m just grateful its hot and passably drinkable.

After breakfast, we head down to the markets. Changing the route of our walk often; feeling like locals as we navigate the back streets. Next to the markets there’s a primary school and sports arena. Even on Saturday mornings there is the merry laughter and rambunctious shenanigans of kids at play during recess. Last Saturday we were lucky enough to see Yağli Güreş being practised at the sports arena.

Yağli Güreş is a popular sport in Turkiye. As a spectator’s sport its quite appealing. The wrestlers wear short leather trousers called “Kispet”, made of leather. The Kispet of adult wrestlers weigh a whooping 13 kilos. The only accessory the wrestlers, or pehlivan, team with their Kispet is a liberal dousing of olive oil. I guess there’s no surprise in me now telling you Yağli Güreş is known as oil wrestling.

The objective of oil wrestling, is not break your opponent but to to disable him. Therefore, unlike other wrestling sports the pehlivan can win by putting his hands down the other wrestler’s kispet and grasping the lower end of the pant’s leg and thereby prevent him from attacking. Yağli Güreş is serious business here in Turkiye with the National Champion winning 100,000USD, sponsorship and a very impressive gold belt.

The history of Yağli Güreş is as rich as you would expect given it dates back to 1000 BCE in Persia. The current rules date back to the Parthian Empire (238 BCE – 224 CE) and there is a strong tie to religion with the sport being conducted during Spring festivals. However, it didn’t become a sport in its own right until the reign of second Ottoman Sultan Orhan Gazi (1281-1362). Originally the matches could go on for days until someone won or died of exhaustion. It wasn’t until 1975 when someone with a little bit of common sense introduced a time limit.

This all very fascinating and impressive however I can’t help thinking how this wonderful sport really started. Maybe something like this.…

A troop of seasoned soldiers sit around a camp fire during a Spring Festival in some ancient city or other. They’re laughing and drinking as they boast about this battle or that fight. There’s a little more drinking and the crusty old veterans tease the junior soldiers about their lack of experience with their manly weapon. They all drink some more.

The camaraderie is high and spirits are flowing and everyone is happy until a procession of virginal maidens glide by, their hands in prayer and eyes cast down demurely. Their white shifts fluttering in the evening breeze, occasionally giving tantalising hints of the shapes beneath.

As the soldiers all quietened to watch the procession pass, Darius and Bahar, two of the younger fighters try to impress the ladies. Their mates egg them on as they all keep drinking. Their taunts and catcalls are sufficiently loud enough that the last virgin pauses and looks up with innocent doe eyes and blushes.

Darius and Bahar decide a wrestling match will prove their masculinity and prowess to this willowy maiden; ensuring her heart and more importantly her body is given freely and wantonly to the victor. So turning to their buddies, the two soldiers say “here hold our drinks” before throwing themselves at each other.

Their inebriation loosens their skills while heightening their emotions and soon the wrestlers forget the triviality of their purpose and begin to battle in earnest. Laughs become growling sneers. Curses become threats as a crowd grows around them. Their comrades and other spectators begin to wager on the outcome as more spirits flow lubricating the cheers and jeers.

Anoush, their wisened and grizzled sergeant, sitting at the next camp fire see ing the potential for a disastrous outcome, grabs a nearby jug and strides over to dump it’s contents over the two wrestling men. Except, alas, the jug isn’t full of water but olive oil. Slipping and sliding and unable to get a purchase on each other Darius and Bahar stop, gasping and spitting oil. Their surprise turns to humour and they begin laughing again.

Just as it looks like they’re about to clasp forearms and put aside their differences, someone in the crowd shouts out that Darius was the winner and he wants his bet paid out. Across the way there is a retort that Bahar was the winner “as any blind man can see”. Anoush, Darius and Bahar watch the mood of the crowd turn ugly. Anoush realising this could turn even nastier with the outcome worse than just the wrestlers getting mean and hurting each other, thinks quick and turns to Darius and Bahar and with a shrug, nods for them to continue.

The men struggle for a while as they figure out just how they’re going to win if they can’t get a good grasp. The crowd mood lightens as the fighters fumble along. Eventually, Bahar puts his hand down Darius’s pants grabbing the leg end and lifts him off the ground to dump him unceremoniously into a nearby pond. Anoush declares Darius the winner to the raucous laughter of the crowd. All threats and curses are forgotten as bets are paid out. Finally everyone toasts the wrestlers and plies them with more drink. There you have it Yağli Güreş is born!

Sometime later, Darius remembers the lovely maiden who had unwittingly incited the spectacle. He looks around thinking he’s in with a good chance. However she and her sisters have moved on (becoming bored long before Anoush intervened with the olive oil). Later Darius learns the maidens went on to the chieftain’s tent; which of course, is where all the money and power lies.

Fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters for your week ahead.

(Thanks to: Wikipedia, All about Türkiye, and A Sports with Religious Rituals from Hıdırellez Cult: “ Kırkpınar Oil Wrestling)

PS: I asked Ian what to call this weeks’s post and he suggested: “Lubed Up and Ready for Fun” or “it’s not romantic unless your eyes meet” (and that second one I’ve had to wave the politically correctness wand over) That’ll teach me for trying to include him in the creative process!

Jobs Done: Time for Feasts and Skydiving Spelunkers!

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It’s that time of the season when everyone is working on their plans for Summer season. Boat jobs and projects are being finalised with a feverish anticipation of fair winds and warm waters. Ian, with a little help from me, has achieved so much this Winter that our boat now feels even more like home. A big part of this is the new canvas work which converts our cockpit into a cosy sunroom in Winter and a welcome shady respite from the sun in Summer.

Ian’s job list
The new canvas work and arch

Another major upgrade is our new tender (or dinghy). This is an essential bit of kit that impacts everything from mundane tasks, like provisioning to exploring adventures. Our old tender, which I affectionally named Baby Boat, was a little under-powered with only a 5hp engine. It was just too slow and not suitable for more than short trips to shore. It was also a bit too small, having just enough room for us and few shopping bags. Now that we haven’t yet sunk our boat and have somewhat proven our sailing skills we have plenty of friends and family planning visits. And, Baby Boat definitely isn’t up to the job.

Ian was able to source a new tender in Istanbul and could have it delivered but we had to wait 3 months. We couldn’t find the engine we wanted anywhere in Turkey. We talked to Customs about importing it but their advice was ‘get in your boat take it to Greece, bring it back and don’t say anything’. Which is exactly what we did. We had one delivered from Athens to the tiny Greek Island of Kostellorizo where we picked it up.

Ian having dinner with the best view in the house
That’s our Longo Maï on the left!
Its easy to see why Kostellorizo is considered one of the most beautiful of the Greek Islands

Our new tender is bigger (Highfields 310) and has a whopping 20hp outboard. We thought 10hp would be OK but 15hp would be better and only a few more kg. But then, the 20hp weighed the same as the 15hp and no one has ever complained about having too much power. From my perspective the best thing about the outboard is the electric start. I had an annoying habit of letting go of the string thingy on Baby Boat’s outboard which would result in bruises in lady places. Anyway, we’ve been running the new engine in at ½ throttle. Even then it’s still quite quick and I got little bit of a fright thinking about how fast our new toy will be able to go at full speed. For ‘safety’ Ian added foot holds to the floor for those “just in case” moments when the wind in our hair becomes a battering ram trying to push us out of the boat! They’ve since been tested and Ian has confirmed it’s possible to get air in the dinghy (he hasn’t had the prop out of the water, yet!).

Given the engine size and how far we can now travel from Longo Maï we decided to register our dinghy. This is just in case the pesky Coast Guard pulls us up as the dinghy is, in all fairness, well beyond the limits of the  definition of a ‘tender’. When registering or naming tenders, it’s not uncommon for them to be called something simple like “tender to Longo Maï” however Ian left naming ours up to me. Consequently our new tender is Internationally registered as “Grand Petit Bateau” (or Big Baby Boat). Photos to follow in upcoming posts.

Now that all these jobs have been done the only job remaining is the last minute ‘minor’ task of upgrading to lithium batteries. So Ian is now looking towards next Winter’s project list while we’re also preparing for our first visitors, Megs and Charlie, who arrive on 15 April. We’ll be sailing up to Bodrum to collect them and then spending a couple of weeks cruising along the coast to Göcek. We can’t wait to share this wonderful adventure with them.  

Since we can’t start our journey up to Bodrum until we visit our dentist next week we are filling in our days as best we can.  Ian has taken to improving his cooking skills with a monstrous roast lamb feast for twelve. He then doubled down on this with a smoked brisket extravaganza. Both were cooked using ‘old school’ charcoal inside a 44gal drum heater. Some said it couldn’t be done; well, Ian learned from the masters. For years good friends of ours, Charlie and Rowie, slaved for hours making delicious smoked meals all the while thinking Ian was just drinking all their booze. Turns out he could multi-task.

The roast lamb baked for seven hours and then seared over hot coals
The brisket was a mamoth six hour smoke using apple wood over coals and then six hours slow bake. The BBQ sauce is Ian’s own special recipeThe brisket was a mamoth six hour smoke using apple wood over coals and then six hours slow bake. The BBQ sauce is Ian’s own special recipe

To loose the calories our most recent walking adventure was to find the elusive Finike Suluin Mağarasi (which translates to Finike Water Cave). The cave is a 25 minute walk from the marina and as with many noteworthy places in Tϋrkiye, there is no infrastructure protecting the site. The only protection is an one understated sign in Turkish on the side of the road, and an imposing overgrown hill with a non-existent path through the rocks, brambles and swarms of bees leading to the site.

I sent Ian in to reconnoitre the site and he came back to collect me once he confirmed the cave existed and that a bungersome* like me would be able to survive the journey.

The cave is impressive, with a large turquoise pool at the bottom and sunshine reflecting off the walls. It’s possible to venture all the way down to the pool. There are bats nesting in the walls above and their chittering is reminiscent of cicadas in Summer. Between this noise and the twittering of the little birds in the area I found the cave quite calming.

the view from above
the view from below
The light filtered through the trees above made the cave glow
“bat poop pool”
Thus tree is clinging to its existence.
The locals

A BBC report from 2010 and many of the tourist blogs list the Suluin Mağarasi as the deepest diving cave in Asia. However, it doesn’t appear on any English lists of caves I could find.

The cave is more than 122 metres deep and while the surface is fresh water, divers encounter saltwater at 15 metres. This is unsurprising given the ocean is just across the road. The water is very acidic and often there is a smell of hydrogen sulphide (rotten eggs smell). It’s probably not advisable to drink or swim here  especially given the cauldron of bats residing above for thousands of years. Despite the threat of bat guano, in 1995 an American diving excursion formally recorded the depth of the cave. Unfortunately, two German divers died during this expedition. Dripstones were also identified underwater which indicates the cave was once dry for some depth. Bones and ceramic shards were another find during the dive.

An archaeological survey of the cave site was undertaken by a local university in 2010. It discovered the remains of stone buildings near the entrance of the cave which date back to the Holocene period (circa 9701 BCE). They also found late Neolithic-early Chalcolithic Age ceramic shards (7000 – 5000 BCE), and flint and obsidian arrowheads. Carbon dating of bone needles showed it was occupied in 6000BCE (Neolithic).

Images from Taşkiran, H, Suluin Cave – A Cave Settlement in the Western Taurus, 01 Jun 2020

When researching the cave, I had to use Google Translate and of all the mistranslation I saw my favourite references how the American dive team did not skydive into the cave. Ian says it probably meant they did not use air for the dive but instead used Nitrox (a mixture of Nitrogen and Oxygen used for deeper dives).

Fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters for the week ahead.

* I just love old fashioned words, often you can tell their meaning without thought or reference to a dictionary. I could have called myself clumsy, a stumblebum or a clodhopper but bungersome says it all really.

Thanks to: BBC (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8650104.stm), Wikipedia (Vikipedi), Hurriyet Turkey (https://www.hurriyet.com.tr/yerel-haberler/antalya/suluin-magarasi-concorde-sigacak-kadar-ucsuz-b-40518502) and Taşkiran, H, Suluin Cave – A Cave Settlement in the Western Taurus, 01 Jun 2020 (https://aktuelarkeoloji.com.tr/kategori/guncel-kazilar/suluin-magarasi)

Yanartaş and Olympos – Mythological Beasts and Pirates

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One of the touristy things that has been on our “to do” list since coming to Finike was to visit Yanartaş and the ruins of Olympos. So when the topic came up with our friends Mike and Mandy of SY Kirrikie, we decided that the time was right, especially as our days in Finike are dwindling fast and its always lovely to share experiences with other folk. Note to readers – this is a long post, you might want to make a cuppa and a snack.

Mike and Mandy of SY Kirrikie

The hour drive North to Yanartaş was a thrill with Mike at the wheel and Ian navigating. Mandy and I tried not squeal as our rental car tore down the winding road, dodging trucks and cars hither and tither! Much to Mandy and my surprise we arrived safely at the base of Yanartaş. (We had to hurry. The flames had been burning for thousands of years so they must be due to run out of gas soon. You’d hate to be the person who dawdled and arrived just after they ran out.)

The entrance to Yanartaş National Park

Yanartaş would be just like any other national park if it wasn’t for the natural fires that have been burning upon the mountain

Dancing fire
(these are just a sampling of the flames with many more individual flames present on the mountain)

These fires are the largest venting of abiogenic methane on the Earth’s terrestrial surface. They have been burning for over 2500 years, with historical records of the eternal flames stretching back several millennia. The flames breach the surface of the Earth through cracks in the volcanic rock. The original fire was much more powerful however as earthquakes changed the landscape the fire diffused into the smaller flames that can be seen today. the original flame was said to be used a navigation beacon by sailors. (Wikipedia)

I’m no scientist but google tells me this is mostly carbon, nitrogen and oxygen. the g13 CH4 is a reference to methane.
And am I the only one curious about the Foundation?

As you can imagine the site of a mighty flame spewing forth from the ground would have been awe inspiring. Unsurprisingly a temple was built at the site to honour the Greek God of Blacksmiths, Hephaestus. The legend goes that Hera cast Hephaestus, her own son, from Mount Olympos because he was an ugly cripple. Seems that ‘ his Mum didn’t think he was handsome’. Our hero took up blacksmithing to pass away his time on Earth, becoming the go to guy for the other Gods when they needed weapons or jewellery. Hephaestus apparently held something of a grudge against his mother and so made her a throne. This seems like a funny way to get back at someone until you discover the throne is actually a trap that catches Hera in its dastardly clutches. Eventually Zeus scolds his son for being a naughty boy and makes him release his Mother, and then rewards Hephaestus by honouring him with the position of God of Blacksmiths.

Unfortunately most of remaining ruins at the site date back to the Byzantine Period when a basilica was built over the temple. However there are still some Greek inscriptions and remains of the altar lurking among the ruins.

Hephaestus story is pretty cool however the local legends area is even more thrilling and steeped in controversy. The story goes that Prince Hippones of Ephyra killed his brother, Belleros, then changed his name to Bellerophontes (eater of Belleros) but for this post we’ll just call him Harry. When their father, the King, discovers Harry crime he exiles him. Harry takes refuge with the King of Argos, who is none too pleased to have the brother murdering lad in his realm. However, custom prevents him from killing someone who has taken refuge in his kingdom. Instead, the King of Argos decides to pass the young buck along to the King of Lycia. The King of Lycia, must have muttered some choice words about the other rulers inability to deal with their own problems. However he has his own issues to deal with so he hatched a cunning plan to punish Harry and solve one of his own nagging problems. You see there was a rather irritating monster, called the Chimera, who has been terrorising folk on mount Olympos. The King of Lycia decided that Harry is just the man to kill the Chimera. I guess the King thinks he’s on to a good thing here since at least one of his problems will be gone at the end of the day.

This depiction of the Chimera greets you at the entrance to Yanartaş. I’ve read a number of different descriptions and seen quite a few paintings and this is hands down my favourite Chimera.

Harry flies to Mount Olympos on his horse, Pegassos, and a mighty battle between him and the Chimera ensues. Finally our anti-hero, Harry spears the monster and inters it within the mountain where it remains to this day bellowing flames through the cracks of its prison. It seems that Harry feat of heroism is sufficient for everyone to forgive (or forget) his act of fratricide and honour him by arranging a race from the mountain to the city of Olympos. The athletes carry flaming torches set alight using Chimera’s breath and this, according to Anatolian legend, is the first Olympic Games and the Olympic Torch is the symbol of the Chimera flame.

There are plenty more pictures of this amazing place in the Gallery (which I will be releasing shortly). However Ian was keen for me to point out that Tϋrkiye takes care of its workers. He interpreted this sign as “after a day of toil blacksmithing or cutting stone the workers sit down and “suck on VB.” Personally, I think that if Tϋrkiye was really taking care of its workers it wouldn’t be giving them VB.

After our climb up to see the Chimera burping flames, we travelled down to the holiday town of Çirali for lunch. This little village is one of those places that lives for Summer and then dies away to become a peaceful ghost town the rest of the year. (The Ç in Çirali is pronounced Ch)

We were visited by a rather spirited tortoise who came by to pay homage to the O’ Mighty Tortoise God’. Unfortunately he was so excited that he moved too fast for me to get a photo. After lunch we headed on down to the end of the beach to see the ancient City of Olympus.

The walk along the pebbly beach, ruins on our right and the turquoise sea on our left. We’re keen to anchor here but the conditions have to be just right as the winds and swell can make it an uncomfortable night.

Unlike many of the ruins that we have visited the City of Olympos is managed and during our visit ongoing works were being done to take care of the site.

Habitation of the site dates back to about 800 BCE when a Doric colony (an ancient Greek ethnic group) made it their home, though it didn’t become a “city of import” until 200 BCE when it was recorded as having three votes in the Lycian League, as noted by the Greek geographer and historian Strabo (64 or 63 BCE – c. 24 CE). Coins from the Lycian League were also found at the site.

These tombs belong to Marcus Aurelius Zosimos and his family, and Captain Eudemos, which includes the rather naughty carving of a semi-naked woman. The following is inscribed on the side of the Captain’s tomb:
“The ship is anchored at its last harbour, never more to depart, for no aid is now forthcoming from either wind or sunlight
Captain Eudemos, taking leave on the light bearing dawn, was buried there and his ship with its lifespan short as a day, like a broken wave”

The mosaic is at the entrance to the two tombs, literally beneath our feet.

It seems the city was a thriving community with ties to the settlement on Yanartaş. And, around circa 100 BCE a Cicilian pirate called Zeniketes took over the city.

The Cicilian pirates are named after the region and were tolerated by the Romans for a long while as they supplied cheap slaves. When researching Zeniketes I came upon this interesting little side story. In 75 BCE another Cicilian pirate captured and held Julius Ceasar hostage on Farmakonisi (a Greek Island in the Agean Sea) for 38 days. According to Plutarch, Julius Caesar was incensed by the amount of his ransom insisting it be increased and then he negotiated on behalf of the pirates to have it paid. Once he was released, Caesar raised his own naval force (he didn’t hold a military office at the time) and returned to the island to apprehend the pirates. When it looked like the State wasn’t going to punish the pirates appropriately, Caesar had his men crucify the pirates. (Courtesy of http://www.britannica.com)

The historian Plutarch in his work, The Life of Pompey, explained the challenges faced by the Roman General, Pompey the Great when he decided to finally put an end to Cicilian pirates:

Their flutes and stringed instruments and drinking bouts along every coast, their seizures of persons in high command, and their ransoming of captured cities, were a disgrace to the Roman supremacy. For, you see, the ships of the pirates numbered more than a thousand, and the cities captured by them four hundred. (75 CE) (Courtesy of National Geographic UK)

Back to the City of Olympos and Zeniketes, the Cicilian pirate. He ruled over Olympos and the area that stretched from the Bay of Gelidonya to the western coast of Antalya (approx. 100 km of coast). There is evidence that Zeniketes was a worshipper of Hephaestus and would probably have made the journey up to see the eternal flames. His rule ended in 77 BCE when he set himself, his family and his crew alight rather than succumb to Roman rule. According to archaeologists the site thrived after his reign.

The ruins blend in with the landscape
We’re always astonished by how colossal these buildings were even in remote regions such as Olympos
Marcus Aurelius Archepolis tomb. Yep we were confused by finding Marcus’ tomb here. It appears that Marcus Aurelius was a pretty common name. Tomb of ‘the’ Marcus Aurelius is in Rome.
The remains of a bridge built across the estuary that splits the city
The fine details that you can still find on walls and in the dirt are astonishing.
Ian insisted I look at the Roman bath and one way into the site doesn’t have any warnings. Ian loves this game and it’s funny… right up to when I’m making friends with the local constabulary

Christianity came to town around 300 CE when Methodius was named the first bishop of the Lycian region. Methodius was martyred in 312 CE for defending Christianity during one of the many persecutions. The only definitive text remaining that is attributed to Methodius is a treatise on the virtues of Christian virginity. So I’m guessing Olympos was not a fun place to be during his time. (Wikipedia)

The city of Olympos remained in one form or another throughout ancient history and into the middle ages with the Venetians, Genoese and Rhodians all having fortresses and settlements along this coastline. It was abandoned sometime before the arrival of the Ottomans in 1500 CE. The cities demise being attributed to war, earthquakes and plague. (https://www.allaboutturkey.com/olympos.html)

We capped off our day with a coffee at a beach side restaurant, before making the trip back up the hillside and then safely home. Thank you to Mandy and Mike for making this such a wonderful day and for sharing your photos.

Fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters for your week ahead.

Three Streets Back – Finike

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Hello, welcome, come aboard. Weather in Finike has been a bit hit and miss the last few days. Reminds me of Melbourne, pouring rain on minute, sunny the next. Wednesday, however, was a slice of perfections. The skies were blue and the sun shone out long enough for Ian to drag me out for a walk “three streets back”. We often find ourselves in the industrial backstreets hunting for a Widget or Whose-it for some boat project or other. However, sometimes our adventures don’t include looking for unicorn-widgets or Fix-It Wizards.

Wednesday was one of these “just because” adventures as we decided to walk up into the hilly suburbs behind the main streets of town. It wasn’t until we walked climbed the hillside (and I did a bit of research) that we began to appreciate the size of our “little town”.

The town has a population of around 12,000 people and the region boast almost 50,000, give or take the most recent births and deaths. I think this probably a conservative number at the moment given with the influx of those displaced by the earthquake and the war in Ucrania.

The agricultural foundation of the area dates back to at least 5 BCE when the region was known as  Phoenious. We were both surprised by the view looking back down toward the town and the acres and acres of greenhouses lay beyond the suburban spread. Agriculture and tourism are the main sources of income in the region, with oranges and other citrus fruit making up the largest crops. However, tomatoes, lettuce and all the good green, red and gold stuff are grown in enormous green houses. Of course the prime real estate along the coast is dotted with hotels and resorts, however even these compete with the farms.

At one time the area was ruled by the Byzantines, the Anatolian Seljuk State, the Tekeoğulları Principality and the Ottomans. You do not see much in the way of ancient history in Finike but it is on the Lycian Way so if you travel a short way in any direction, you’ll eventually trip over some ruin or archaeological wonder.

The ‘Battle of the Masts’, one of the major battles of antiquity, took place just off the coast of Finike in 655 ADE. This was the first decisive victory of the Arab fleet (200 ships) againstthe Byzantine fleet (500 ships). The Arab leader went on to Constantinople which, surprisingly enough, was named after his opponent Constantius’ Dad (or Grandfather, I can’t quite work it out which) Constantine the Great.

In more recent times, last Wednesday, we saw endless amounts development work going on. On some streets a new house or apartment block was being built. On other streets we saw road works, and sewage and other utilities being installed or upgraded. Occasionally all this work competed for space.

As you can see safety comes third

Yet, there is also decay and abandonment at every turn. There are half built buildings where folk a living on the lower floors while the upper floors are still bare steel and concrete. The Ministry of the Interior has a program called “Let My Home Be Your Home” that supports those who have lost their homes in the recent earthquakes. This would explain why so many of the partially completed residence are being occupied.

Ian also wisely suggested that the economy, the cost of money, politics will be having an impact on the construction and abandonment we see. I’m sure what he was saying is terribly clever, and the result of hours of inter-web research but I confess I was distracted by the lovely flowers.

For those that don’t know us well please don’t take my wanton sexist imagery as anything other than fact. Ian is dead keen on world economics, politics and such. I am not and count myself lucky that he worries about such things on my behalf.

There’s always a gaggle of kids’ about, playing games or riding bikes (the teenagers all ride mopeds). The younglings are watched by a distracted Mother or attentive Grandmother. The braver kids often say hello in English, pleased to be trying out their language skills. There’s always a wizened gentlemen or two sitting in the sun, a cigarette in hand and a çay beside them. No doubt they’re solving the world’s problems, if only we’d all listen! We always greet them with a sturdy Turkish “Merhaba” (hello). (çay – pronounced chai, a strong black tea made from Camellia)

To date I’ve been reluctant to intrude on folks time to ask for a photo but these two were happy to pose for a portrait.

We didn’t see many cats and dogs on this walk, however there were plenty of hens and more than a few confused roosters still calling out the sun despite it being lunchtime. We also heard the distinctive bleats and tinkling bells of a goat herd on a nearby hill. Beehives are also a distinctive feature of the landscape.

On one particular street we came by a rather special little creature. The street had a long deep ditch running the length of the road. I presume they are putting in cables or sewage pipes. The ditch was about 10 feet deep, at least 50 metres long and a few feet across. At one end was the ditch digging machine, and along the sides were large mound of dirt. Our side had enough room for us to walk pass, but the other side was quite tight for space. It was here that we came upon a tortoise. His shell no more than a hand span and in the way that all of these particular reptiles he looked ancient and wise. Unfortunately the little fellow wasn’t out for a stroll but was valiantly trying to cross over to the relative safety of our side of the road

No doubt he had designs on the shady garden behind us but tortoises can’t jump. (I know this because I checked on the inter-web: see http://www.tortoiseowner.com), so he was having some difficulties. As dirt skittered from beneath his feet into the ditch, I swear I saw him look plaintively at us as if to say “A hand here might be good. If you wouldn’t mind.” At which point, I may have squealed and danced about in useless panic. Thankfully, Ian, who is always better in a crisis, leapt to the rescue. Putting himself at grave risk of falling into the hole, he used the ditch digger as a bridge collected the beleaguered tortoise. He then returned to our side, and gently deposited the little reptile beneath a geranium bush.

I didn’t see if the tortoise gave Ian a nod of thanks so I made sure to give him a sloppy kiss as reward for his bravery.

As we went on our way, I pondered upon what the tortoise thought about his rescue. Ian, whose quick wit is faster than his leap into action, proclaimed it would have been something like, “Whilst upon my journies I came upon the Pit of Despair. And, whence I thought all was lost, the hand of the great All Mighty God came down upon thine shell and raised me up, as if upon golden wings, and carried me over the Pit to my salvation! For thine is the power O’ Great One.“

So from the Mighty God and his adoring fan we say goodbye and… fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters for your coming week.

Sailing Longo Maï

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Hello! Welcome! Come aboard! Since we began our adventures on Longo Maï we’ve had such warm and wonderful feedback about our FB posts, thank you! We’ve also had quite a number of requests for more stories. Some folk are especially keen to learning a little about our daily life onboard in addition to hearing about the places we’ve been.

The questions we hear the most relate to life in foreign lands or should I say being a foreigner in someone else’s country, the difficulties that language and customs can sometimes create, and the laughs that go along with these issues. We’ve had lots of interest about cooking, housekeeping and the struggles and successes with maintaining the boat. The tale of Ian’s woes with the washing machine is the hands down favourite story from last year but there are many other stories of both our failures and successes as newbie sailors.

To be honest, though it’s not that different from life on land. That is until it is and then it’s so startingly different it can be quite discombobulating. “Discombobulating’; ‘now that’s a good word! You can feel it bob around on your tongue; much like a boat at sea. I digress.

We decided that FB was no longer the best platform to answer all your questions and indulge this fantasy I have of being a writer. And so, we have created “Sailing Longo Mai” the WordPress blog. This being the very first post. In the time to come both Ian and I will contribute to the blog, I know Ian’s posts are always a big hit so we’ll let you know if its Ian writing otherwise, you can assume I’m at the keyboard.

There are two ways you can read this blog and one simple way to ignore it. You may see the link on FB, or you can subscribe and receive an email. The great thing about subscribing is you can save blog for when you have a spare five minutes while you wait to see the dentist or that night when you need something boring to push you over into the land of nod. Just like my FB posts in the past, I don’t mind if you scroll on by without stopping. I don’t audit my likes and such, I know we have at least half a dozen devoted fans (you know who you are) and that’s enough for us.

We all have places to go and dentists to see so I promise no post will be longer than a ten minute read, and I’ll try to keep them to 5 mins and under. On occasion when there is an extra-long post we’ll warn you up front. We will also read all comments and respond, even it is just a thank you, you’ll know we’ve heard you.

“Fair winds and a dearth of sea monster as you travel through life.”

    One Month in Greece

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    Hello, welcome, come aboard. It’s been a slow month for us, but we’ve had a visitor and a change of scenery, having left Greece, and entered Montenegro. We are now back home in Australia, more to come on this and Montenegro later. Of course, because I’ve been slack and our blog is still floundering somewhere over in the Aegean. While trying and catch up it dawned on me that perhaps we were all a little over the history of islands. It’s all bit cookie cutter: Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Ottomans, Knights etc etc etc. Don’t get me wrong I love the history but my cup over-flowth. So what I thought I would do is challenge myself to cover the Greek ports we visited with accompanying photos in just two posts. There is still a bit of history but I won’t linger anywhere for too long unless it’s really really interesting.

    At the end of my last post, we were leaving Syme and heading out to the Greek island of Kos to collect one of my best friends, Lesley.

    Kos

    Years ago, Lesley and I bonded of a love of cheese and champagne. At the time we met, Lesley was pregnant with her second son, so her intake of champagne was somewhat inhibited, but it’s okay because I made up for her restraint. Her little baby has now finished high school.

    Wanting to make a good impression we decided to meet Leslie at Kos. We’ve been there before and it’s hard not to let your mind wander to knights on ye-olde sailing ships as you enter the fortified harbour and tie back onto the castle wall. It also makes a great backdrop for our morning coffee. The castle fortifications were initially built by the Knights of St John around 1315. It’s a very impressive castle to wander through, but this time we were thwarted as it was closed for renos. There are however loads to see in Kos so we made do. Ian set about finding a shop that would sell him some fireworks and Leslie and I engaged in a less frivolous exploration.

    Kos is known for its most famous inhabitant, Hippocrates, as in “the Father of Medicine”. From the little I read he was a firm believer in letting the “patient heal thyself”. Hippocrates, however, is not the only famous person from Kos’s history. Philotas was a poet and scholar known particularly for his “Disorderly Words” which was a kind of dictionary on rare words. Sesquipedalian is a more modern example which springs to mind. It means using unnecessarily long winded and complex language. I always chuckle at that. He also wrote two books which are contained in the Collection of Paradoxical Stories. The story goes that he was so bound up in his academic studies of paradoxes that he forgot to eat and sleep and popped off his perch. It seems that every island we visit has a famous inhabitant. Pythagoras lived on an island just to the north. Amazing to walk through their hometowns and wonder how they fostered such brilliant minds.

    We were having so much fun catching up that I didn’t take my usual 100s of photos. I’m not sure much thinking was going on under Hippocrates thinking tree but we tried to a tleast look the part By the way this isn’t “the” tree, it’s more like the tribute to the tribute to the tribute that was Hippocrates tree.

    Kalymnos

    Lesley and I had a wonderful time exploring Kos, but it was soon time to move on to Kalymnos. As an island Kalymnos ranks as the “wealthiest” member of the Dodecanese and one of the wealthiest in the Greek islands. Surprisingly the island is historically unremarkable.

    Earthquakes are a frequent occurrence, and while we didn’t feel one this time, on an earlier visit a quake hit while Ian was in the supermarket. I was wandering in the alleys outside and had no idea it had happened until Ian told me about it and I saw mess in the market. The isles were in chaos with products fallen from the shelves. It is best known as an international rock climbing hotspot. I guess that tells you something of the landscape.

    When we arrived with Leslie, we managed to snag a lovely spot in a secluded anchorage with room for just one, maybe two boats. To do this we had to reverse between two cliffs while lowering the anchor then run stern lines to convenient rocks. We then had the secluded (25m) beach between these cliffs to ourselves except for the odd taxi boat bringing in climbers looking for adventure in the surrounding cliffs. We tootled around in the dinghy to Vathy the nearby village and had a lovely dinner with the best baked cheese I’ve ever had.

    We had a ball here, swimming, kayaking and just gadding about. Ian managed to spear a fish, which is always a bonus. Lesley’s keen eyes found a number of fossils on the beach.

    It was a great place to visit but there wasn’t any real option to explore inland. So we took Longo around the corner to spend a bit of time moored to the Kalymnos old town wall. This busy little town had plenty of cafes, bars and, more importantly, a hire car so we could adventure inland. We took Lesley to see the remote mountain church of Panagia Kyra Psili which houses another Acheiropoietia (means an icon “made without hands”). The church was built by a Calymmian (person from Kalymnos) on his return both to the island and his faith. It’s built into the side of a mountain. To get to there you need to drive up to the summit of the mountain via a winding steep one lane road. It has been fabled since antiquity that this journey can only be undertaken in a hire car. The road was more suited to a 4WD than our overloaded Fiat. On reaching the top we left the car to recover from overheating and clear the smell of boiling coolant. From there we walked about a kilometre or so to the church. Lesley was a champ and did this walk in thongs, of the flip flop variety, not her nickers. However for all I know Lesley may have been wearing the other kind; we’re good friends but not that kind of friends. The hot walk was made worthwhile once we made it to the shrine to the Virgin Mary. It was high in the mountains at the base of a rugged cliff overlooking Vathy. The view was spectacular!

    We also found another out of the way shrine located up a small path only accessible by boat. This shrine was dedicated to St George. It was such an odd place for a shrine but apparently the saint appeared to the members of a family as they were coming home from a fishing trip.

    As we zipped around to Vathy in the dinghy we spied a swing hanging over the water. We all had a go, while some local lads looked on laughing at the old folks. Of course we had to introduce Lesley to Greek Giros; I think she approved.

    Far too quickly it was time for Lesley to leave us. This proved a little tricky as her flight was leaving from Kos which was 3 hours motoring to the south. We then had to get moving in the other direction to catch the next favourable winds. We planned to drop Leslie at a small town on the north of Kos island but there was no spare space in the port for Longo. So, we stopped offshore, launched the dinghy and Ian zoomed Leslie off to find a taxi. I stayed onboard cutting laps and generally keeping Longo safe. This was first time I had been left onboard alone with the boat underway. Call me a solo sailor! I can report that despite the two ferries and several other boats coming and going I managed not to sink Longo or hit anyone. A win for me! And Lesley made her flight despite the lackadaisical* taxi service. (*Another great word, which I’ve either been saying wrong for years or doesn’t look like it should be spoken. There’s just too many a’s and i’s in there”.)

    Leros

    After an uneventful sail northward we anchored outside the town of Lakki on the island of Leros. This is a great little anchorage provided you pay pretty close attention to the notes in the charts. There’s a ferry of the “fook that’s a big one” variety that visits in the middle of the night. The captain is known to offer little regard to any boat foolish enough to park within his anchor zone. There are stories of people being woken by a massive ship’s anchor being dropped right alongside as the ship towers above.

    It was here that we linked up with our buddy boat, SV Chill and also our good friends, Ian, Janine and Lucy (the golden retriever) on SV Deejay. The island is beautiful with lots to see and since we’d been here before, I took on the role of tour guide. Perhaps they should have asked the last group I took adventuring on this island before agreeing to my guidance. Here’s what I’ve learned over the two tours of Leros: duck when entering ye’ olde churches (or risk splitting your head – wow that hurt!), Google is very flexible with what it calls a road and just because it says a car can go up a hill, doesn’t mean the car will go up the hill, online opening times are advisory, and not all ruins are worthy of a visit. Most noteworthy however is the Aussie butcher in Lakki for the win. Oh my god, this man’s meat is so good, Ian even proposed to him!

    This beautiful little chapel at the end of the runway is built on the ruins of a Roman or Greek Temple. Every once in a while these gods seek a tribute from some unsuspecting tourist. On our first visit, I had obviously said something rude about said gods and paid the price. On leaving the chapel, I didn’t duck quite enough or the gods shrunk the door, and I gave myself a good old whack on the noggin’. There was quite a bit of blood and probably just as many tears as Ian and our friends tended to my owie!

    Historically once you get past the usual leapfrogging of ancient invaders things become more tangible in the early twentieth century. During the Libyan War (1912) the Italians occupied the island. In the 1930’s the Italian Fascists built the town of Portlago (now known as Lakki). It is one of the best examples of Italian Rationalist architecture. They chose the western side of the island as the bay (in which we were anchored) is big and deep, with a narrow entrance and well protected by the surrounding hills. It made a perfect Navy port and seaplane base. Mussolini also had a mansion in the town.

    when Italy picked the wrong side at the beginning of WWII, the Allies bombed Leros remorselessly. As a result of the excellent anchorage provided to warships by the many natural coves, the island was the second most bombed during World War Two (after Crete). In 1934, the Italians turned coat and the British arrived. That’s when the German’s began their continuous aerial bombardment. The Germans finally taking the island during Operation Taifun. The forces involved were paratroopers and the elite Brandenburg division. The island remained under German occupation until the end of the war. The Battle of Leros inspired the book and movie “The Guns of Navarone”. I can’t help wonder how the local Greeks felt about all this? On our first visit to the island we happened upon the annual celebration of one or another of the battles, which appeared to be well supported. There is a wonderful museum located in the tunnels near Lakki, so I guess they’re not too bitter.

    The man is the photo helped British sailors, soldiers and airmen escape from or evade capture from the enemy.

    Patmos

    Saying hooroo to our buddies we headed to our next destination, Patmos. This was a new island for us and one I definitely didn’t want to miss. Ian and I hired a moped. I’m not allowed my own moped and I’m just fine with that. Scooting around the small roads on a ridiculously small bike is one of my favourite things to do. I get to sit on the back and sight-see without having to worrying about what’s coming the other way.

    Patmos represents one of the best examples of living history, that we’ve seen. I’m sure there are other sites that rival this but right now I can’t think of a single one where the buildings and surrounds are still being used by the same organisations. The most sacred and historically important site is the Cave of the Apocalypse. Sounds impressive but, to my mind, it was visually underwhelming. This is where St. John of Patmos was exiled and received visions that he recorded in the Book of Revelation. Like many I assumed this St John was John the Apostle, who hung out with the big man himself. However, this is by no means certain as the author names himself as simply “John” in the text, so his precise identity remains a point of academic debate. Nonetheless, the cave and its surrounding building was worth a visit. To stand on the spot where such a formative event of our modern lives occurred is incredibly special.

    Further along the same road you come to the town of Patmos. Hands down one of my favourite historical sites is the Monastery of Saint John the Theologian. This is the same Saint John, just by a different name. (they call him John, big bad John) This Greek Orthodox monastery was founded in 1088 when the island was given to the monks by a Byzantine Emperor. The same religious ceremonies that date back to the early Christian period are still practiced by the same monastic order to this day. This is living history!!! The lovely man at the gate was so proud of this fact that his smiling face beamed with joy at the telling, despite it being something he must say over and over again.

    There is a wonderful museum housed within the monastery. Among other things on display are some of the 330 manuscripts from the monastery’s library, paintings (including the one of St Nicholas I used in my blog about Gemlier Adasi), and the most amazing textiles with examples of early embroidery and weaving. It becomes apparent in this wonderful museum that these monks had some serious political clout. With many of documents on display being trade treaties and proof of protection from the Ottomans, Russian Tsars , Knights Hospitaller  and many many more. The monastery also houses a number of religious relics including the Skull of Saint Thomas. We saw several other skulls adorned with gold. Unfortunately, photography within the museum is forbotten, though I managed a few of the monastery surroundings.

     We finished off our tour of the island with a lovely lunch that Ian’s keen nose for BBQ found at a groovy little seaside restaurant. It had the added bonus of deckchairs suitable for a sneaky little nap on the beach opposite. A day or so later our buddy boat SV Chill arrived and we spent a lovely couple of days just mooching while we waited for a good weather window to move on.

    Farewell to the Aegean

    The winds soon turned and the forecast was for a Meltemi. I’ve mentioned these northly winds before. They’re strong, dry, and gusty north winds that blow in through the Aegean Sea, especially in summer. A good Meltemi will last a couple of days, a bad Meltemi will last for over a week. It looked like we were in for bad Meltemi to come in a few days. Where we were offered good protection, but we were keen to start our journey across the Aegean Sea towards mainland Greece so it was time to let loose the mooring ball and see how far we could get.

    We were originally aiming for the island of Tinos which has a good solid port wall and anchorages on its Southern side. Town walls and marinas are good options during strong winds however as a general rule we prefer to be at anchor even in strong or gnarly weather. This allows Longo to swing with the wind, so it is always coming over the bow of the boat. It is after all how the boat was designed to work. The biggest risks are that our anchor could drag or another boat’s anchor drags and they drift onto us. I will risk the jinx by saying that we have never dragged due to strong windows with our current anchor. It’s oversized for our boat; call us Billy not silly! We take care with where we set the anchor and watch the boats around us closely to minimise the risk of being hit should someone else drag. We also look at the surrounding hills to see if they will provide shelter or serve to accelerate and channel the wind. Lastly, we have a great app on my phone that allows us to monitor our location per the anchor.

    We have had our anchor (old one) drag and then had to reset it in strong winds. We’ve done this a few times so we know the drill and that we can manage. When I say “we” I mean “me” as its my job to go forward and run the windlass (anchor dropping and picking up device). I’ll admit it is at these times that I really feel I earn my keep on the boat; especially if there’s storms. It’s something we’ve had to do when an unexpected squall hit our anchorage and running is what saved our boat (again, old anchor). Would we have had to do that if we’d been in a marina on the same coastline? Who knows? we just know that it was safer for us and the eight other boats to up anchor and run with the wind that it was to remain close to land.

    Ian and I decided to try out an anchorage on the island of Syros. Friends had told us this was a great bolt hole bay with a large hill on the Northern side.

    Syros

    We stayed on Syros for about a week. The first couple of days were light winds, so we used the time to improve our position in the bay before the wind started getting serious. Once the anchor had dug in, we caught a bus over to Ermoupoli, the capital of the island, the Cyclades, and the South Aegean.

    Having moved further East, into the Cyclades, I thought perhaps the usual list of invaders and occupiers might change a little. It didn’t, except that there is mention of the Phoenicians having held the island for a while. Notably island was under Venetian rule from 1204 to 1522 when the corsair Barbarossa took possession of the island. However, the Ottomans gave the Cyclades substantial privileges, such as the reduction of taxes and religious freedom. The religious freedom was based on an agreement between France and the Holy See, and the Ottomans.

    Quick sidebar, Barbarossa the Ottoman corsair and naval officer was born on Lesbos. Among his claims to fame Suleiman the Great appointed him a grand admiral; he led an embassy to France, conquered Tunis, achieved a decisive victory over the Holy League at Preveza, and conducted joint campaigns with the French. As befitting a pirate of such renown he had a kickass name: Captain Redbeard. He was successful enough that he retired to Constantinople and like all men of action promptly died, I suspect of boredom!

    Today there is an equal number of Catholic and Greek Othordox Churches on the island and some entirely Catholic villages. Making it one of the most significant Catholic places in Greece. Interestingly Syros is one of a few places where Greek Orthodox and Catholics share a common date for Easter.

    During our week or so on the island we spent most of it mooching around Foinkas the little village near our anchorage. Among other things it has one of the best bakeries we’ve come across and it had great coffee. It was so good even Ian was willing to line up for a delicious morsel of pastry and a cappuccino. We also became regulars at a bar along the waterfront. We figured we were locals once we were being offered coffee liqueur shots on the house and being told by our lovely waitress, Diana, that we couldn’t handle a burger each. Diana was right about the burger we ended up sharing the one we were permitted to order and regretted asking for additional chips. When not feeding our bellies we watched the locals learn to windsurf and the little duckling boats (dingy sailboats) go about their thing. I guess that gives you an idea about how protected this anchorage was. Outside the bay was howling at 40 to 50 knots and inside it was protected enough for eight-year old’s to practice their stuff in boats not much more than a bath tub.

    That’s 34 years of wax on the bar and that’s a pole-dancing pole in the photo of Ian and Diana. The little white dots in the big blue wobbly are the “duckling” sail boats doing their thing while we hid out from the wind.

    On our last day on the island we had a front of house seat for the final of the Cyclades annual yacht race. This was incredibly impressive and left us not a little bit chagrined about hiding from the weather as we watched boats half the size as ours running full sails, heeled well over with the crew riding on the rails as they came screaming into the bay. Oh well we call ourselves cruisers not sailors, for a reason.

    Farewell Cyclades

    The next day we upped anchor and headed out. We expected a causal cruise but the weatherman had left the work experience kid in charge. To our surprise we found ourselves no longer acting as scallywags but as full blown racing sailors. Longo loved every minute. She has new pants (racing sails) made in Turkey. Once they powered up, she put her head into the wind, heeled over and was off! As one of Ian’s American friends would say ‘Oooowee, we was whippen them ponies and haulen the mail!’  Well Ian and Longo were, I was holding on. Thankfully it was a clear day and while the oncoming swell was uncomfortable it was manageable. Our only change of plans was to run under the next islands to our East rather than cutting between two of them, as we thought that the narrow strait between the island might have a funnelling affect on the winds. It was a wild ride.

    SV Chill followed a few days later and discovered that the weatherman hadn’t returned and the work experience kid had gone back to school. They faced even stronger winds and swell but managed it superbly arriving at our next anchorage safe and sound if a little weary.

    Herein we end our adventures in the Aegean (almost) as we entered the Saronic Gulf with Athens on our right and Poros on our left. I think that I’ve probably outlasted my welcome in your day and I will return again soon with the last instalment of our Greek adventures. In the meantime, fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters for your daily travels.

    A very busy Saint & his Guardians of the Big Blue Wobbly

    mkwilson5 Comments

    Hello, welcome, come aboard. You recall from our last post that we had loaded up Longo with enough food to last another day or two, and we had motored on down to one of my favourite places in world. From a sailing point of view, the weather hasn’t been particularly kind to us, but what we’ve lacked in wind we’ve picked up in mild days filled with sun. Those that have sailed the Turkish Coast will know of Gemiler Adasi or Camel Island and its rich history and unique anchorage opportunities. Warning: There are secrets herein that are not for kidlets.

    Gemiler Adasi is a small bat shaped island (at least on the map) just a few short hours from Fethiye. Ian and I have now been here three times, once on our own and then twice to show off the island to family and friends. This time we were showing Ned this wonderful place and we were met by SV Soultrain and of course SV Chill came along.

    1. Hard not to love a place with sunsets like this!
    2. Me and Ian on our first visit almost 18 months ago.
    3. Ian with Charlie and Megan on our second trip last year
    4. Ian and Ned this trip. They each speared a fish. We didn’t eat the lion fish (the red one which has nasty spines) but we did fry Ned’s catch and it was a delicious morsel.
    5. Ray and Ali still look like they are loving their new floating life
    6. Amanda and Trevor from SV Soultrain and Karon from SV Sea Dreamer.

    Anchoring at Gemiler Adasi is very special. All boats Med moor (also known as lines ashore) to the island or the main land, which is just 200 metres across the channel. Med mooring means in addition to dropping the anchor you tie back two lines to rocks or bollards on the shore. The benefits of this configuration is that it offers stability from the swell and wind, and it keeps the boats neatly out of channels and thoroughfares. More importantly you have your very own little Med pool between your lines, where you can swim, snorkel and float about. Of course many folk will happily swim, kayak, SUP and dinghy right through your little haven, lifting your lines as they go. It’s a great way to meet people. Many sailors hate Med mooring, as it’s a bit of a nuisance to set up. Someone has to go to shore with extra-long lines and tie them to something solid enough to take on the job of holding your boat steady in a strong wind. On Longo this job is mine. Some brave souls dive off the back of their boats with lines over their shoulder and swim ashore. Others use SUPs. After watching many professional gulets, we have opted for me taking the dinghy to shore, complete with all the lines. I then secure the lines using chains to a rock, bollard of on rare occasions a tree stump (never a living tree) and then driving the dinghy back to Longo trailing the lines in the water. This often requires me to scramble over slippery and ragged rocks. I feel quite the adventure girl, with my handy multi-tool, flinging chains and ropes around. Meanwhile Ian drops the anchor on Longo and reverses back to meet me. This works for us as it gives me plenty of time to find a good solid spot to tie to without Longo hanging on the chain at the mercy of the wind. This is especially important as you are often in close proximity to other boats also tied back. This process also keeps the floating lines under control and away from Longo’s prop and as Grand Petit Bateau (GPB, Our tender) has a depth sounder so I can give Ian depth details via our walkie talkies, reducing the risks of Longo’s keel getting a good polish. It’s taken me a long time to get my technique down but the last couple of times have gone well. Let’s hope I’ve not now jinxed myself. During our most recent trip to Gemiler Adasi it was even easier as Ned came along with me. Having our Monkey Boy’s hands were very welcome especially when it means I don’t have to get wet getting in and out of GPB.

    Back to why Med mooring at Gemiler Adasi is so special, other than having Ned along helping, of course! Gemiler Adasi has substantial ruins right down to the water’s edge and is the only place we’ve been where it is acceptable to tie back to those ruins. The same ruins where square riggers docked on their way to the crusades. Where we were positioned there were underwater ruins less than ten feet from the transom (back of the boat) with fish swimming among them and Ned spent an afternoon trying to spear a squid just off the side of the boat.

    Our visit was very peaceful compared to the height of the season (June, July, August) where boats fill both sides of the channel and obnoxious pirate Gulets thread their noisy way between playing very bad 80’s or Turkish music (which is also probably 80’s music). To top this there is a jet boat that weaves among the anchoring boats pulling donuts of inebriated thrill seekers behind. There’s also the Pappa and Mumma in their little traditional boat offering to help with your lines for a small fee; they also sell homemade bread. The tourists are vomited out of these boats to swim and explore the island for an hour or two, then they are summoned back onboard by an almighty horn, and thus they leave us in solitude until the next boat arrives. Many hate this aspect of the island. I did the first time we were there. Now I see it as part of the atmosphere of the region. Of course, I’d still hate it if it wasn’t for the fact that the Gulets and other day boats all leave by mid-afternoon, and we are left we the solitude of an amazing location with stunning sunsets and sunrises.

    All of this is marvellous and worth the visit but for me it’s the ruins on the island and their rich history that makes this place so special. I suppose given my previous posts that won’t surprise most of you. If nothing else gives away why these ruins are so special its English nickname will. You see this island is known as St Nick’s island. And yes, it’s that “Saint Nicholas”!

    The island has ruins dating back to 4th – 6th CE and include five Greek churches and a 350 metre covered processional walkway. The walkway was built because the monks weren’t keen on getting cold and wet on their way to and from church. There are also over forty ecclesiastical buildings and fifty odd tombs, littered throughout the island.

    1. See below for why this beautiful chursh hewn from the stony island is so important!
    2. An example of the pirate boats that bring their slaves (I mean tourists) to the island
    3. Ian and Ned can’t resist a chance to get up close and personal with history
    4. The ruins and historical aretfacts are so plentiful that many are left to the elements.
    5. A section of the covered walkway. The walkway is decorated with a simple fish pattern or perhaps it is the ubiquitous Evil Eye you see everywhere in Türkiye and Greece (however that might be a bit pagan for the ol’ monks)
    6. Another of the churches. This one has an painted icon still visible on the wall. It has been defaced but otherwise it is quite clear

    There are records indicating that the island was used as a stopover for pilgrims on their way to the Holy Lands. I’ve just finished reading an excellent book, called the Order about the Knights of St John of Rhodes (Hospitallers). The Knights were pushed back to Malta where they successfully defended the island from the Ottoman hordes in 1565. This book suggests that the siege of Malta began as retaliation for the knights capturing the Suleiman the Magnificient*, the Ottoman ruler’s flag ship called the Sultana. This great sea battle was said to have occurred just of the coast of this little island and the reason the knights were successful was because they hid their fleet in the very same channel that our little boat was moored. The knights waited for the Ottoman fleet to pass by and attacked the smaller weaker boats at the back of the fleet leaving the Sultana’s flank unprotected and given her size she was unable to manoeuvre to protect herself with the enormous canons that she carried. Consequently, the Knight’s were able to take the Sulatan and her booty for their own.

    If tales of knights, sea battles and such is not enough, I can take you back even further into history, to explain the origins of the English nickname for the island.

    If I had been asked before coming to Tϋrkiye where St Nick came from I would have said one of the Nordic countries. The image in my head of old St Nick, is the one with the long beard and robes decked out with furs and a long wooden walking stick. Kind of like, Gandalf on a winter’s day. I didn’t realise how wrong I could be. St Nicholas and was of Greek decent, likely of dark or olive complexion but he probably had an impressive white beard when he died. He was born in the maritime city of Patara in Anatolia (part of the modern day Antalya Province, not far from the lovely town of Kas, Tϋrkiye). He is believed to have lived between 270CE and 343CE. Making him 73 years of age when he died which is very old for the time period. St Nick is also known as St Nick Of Myra (in Tϋrkiye) and St Nick of Bari of Italy (where most of his bones are located**) and more delightfully as Nicholas the Wonderworker!

    Ol’ St Nick was a busy man. He is the patron saint of merchants, archers, repentant thieves, children, brewers, pawnbrokers, toymakers, unmarried people, students and, in one academic source, prostitutes. Second most importantly (after children not the prostitutes) he is also the patron saint of sailors. So if you are an unmarried cabin boy, with a profitable brewery on the side, who likes to whittle toys of other kidlets when not learning more about the economic benefits of expanding into money lending and pimping, then St Nick is your go to Saint for all your spiritual needs. Am I going on the naughty list for this?

    Of course, you don’t become a Saint without delivering on the miracles and St Nick is said to have done his bit, though some of his “miracles” are less miraculous and more virtuous deeds. My favourite two stories are:

    1. There is painted and written evidence to suggest that St Nick saved three young girls from prostitution. Their father was so poor that he was unable to provide dowries and no alternative than to “sell” his daughters to pay his debts. St Nick felt that this was unacceptable. However, the proud father would not accept charity openly, so the crafty Saint crept up to the families house in the dead of night and threw through a window in a bag of coins sufficient to pay a dowry for the first daughter.  Once she was married off, he did this twice more for her little sisters. The father of the girls caught St Nick in the act of providing the third bag of coins. And there you have it! The basis for the tradition of some crazy old mystical dude coming into your home in the dead of the night and giving your children presents.
    2. While the story of the three girls is delightful and it answers a question, I didn’t know I wanted to ask. The next story is just outright bizarrely cool. There is a tradition of painting St Nick standing over three small children who are standing in a cauldron over a hearty fire. The kidlets are looking up at St Nick with love and adoration. That’s because St Nick saved these kidlet’s from a fate worse than a fate worse than death! The story goes that St Nick happened upon a butcher who had few wares to sell due to a famine. He “obtained” three kidlets that he decided to pickle and cook, and then sell as bacon. St Nick was not impressed and apparently brought the kidlets back to life despite them having already been pickled and spirited them away before the butcher was aware of what was happening. Lover of kidlets and good quality ethically sourced bacon. My kind of Saint!

    St Nick is one of the most revered and renowned Saints in Christendom. There is a great deal of evidence to show that St Nick’s relics (I.e. his bones) are the most well documented and are scattered across Europe. According to carbon dating those in Bari and the UK (I think) are most likely to be the actual bones of the Saint himself. More often than not Saintly relics have been shown to be medieval fakes.

    I guess you’re wondering what all this talk of St Nick has to do with Gemiler Adasi. Or maybe you’ve already figured out and I don’t need to say he was said to have lived on the island. In addition, according to writings at the time, this was where he was also originally burried. There is a church hewn from solid stone on the highest point of the island (the big one in the first picutre above). To protect St NIck’s bones from desecration by the invaders, they were moved to Myra (now known as Demre), on the mainland south of Gemiler Island. In 1087 they were moved again to Bari in Italy where many of them still remian in the Basilica of San Nicola (this move was without the permission of the appropriate ecclesiastical bureaucrat responsible for them); subsequent to this some of the relics were taken to Venice during the first crusades.

    1. This painting is closer to what St Nicholas actually looked like, given his heritage than how we are used to seeing him.
    2. This beautiful painting is Russian.
    3. St Nick saving the pickled kidlets (I wonder if when they say “pickled” they mean in brine or that the toddlers were stonkered? If it was the second then St Nick may actually have evented the only hangover cure that may have actually worked!)
    4. These three lovelies must have been very grateful to Saint Nik that their father was able to pay a dowry to their husband rather than the ladies being paid to service men.

    There are paths all across the island you can follow that take you to most of the interesting places and there isn’t much you aren’t allowed to see or touch (except some fine mosaic floors in St Nick’s church at the top of the island and few places deemed unsafe).  Gemiler Adasi in Spring is stunning, there are poppies and other wildflowers blooming everywhere throughout the ruins. There’s even a stray cat that lives on the island and plenty of bird song that livens the morning air. I’d like to think that at some point in my three visits I’ve touch a stone wall or walked a path that St Nick might have once touched or walked.

    In future I would advocate leaving out Ol’ St Nick a nice strong Turkish coffee or maybe the ubiquitous chai and a slice of Turkish Delight or perhaps Baclava. 

    To put the cherry on top of our time at Gemiler Adasi, during our trip back to Fethiye, we were treated to the longest and most spectactular visit from St Nick, Patron Saint of Sailors, Guardians of the Big Blue Wobbly, aka dolphins, that we have ever seen. Two of these beautiful creatures joined our boat shortly after we hit the open sea and they stayed with us for a staggering half hour or so. During that time they cruised along our bow, darting off ahead to do back flips and skip along the swell. They were clearly playing and showing off. After every feat they would return to the boat and roll on their sides to look up at; you could all but hear the “did ya see that!” Finally they darted off. probably to hunt out a nearby school of fish.. Even their departure was impressive in its synchronicity and speed (probably twice as fast as our boat speed).

    It’s a rare ocassion when we have time to take photos of dolphins. We’ve leared to run to the bow as fast as we can without grabbing phones or camera because you just never know how long they will stay (making sure the boat is safe and Britney Steers is on, first of course). I revert into a gibbering squeally mess. I talk to dolphins like they are cute babies, kittens or puppies. These are incredibly smart creatues* who likely look up at me and laugh at the blubbering idiot. I don’t care!
    *If you doubt the smarts of dolphins I recommend you read “Hitchiker’s Guide to Galaxy” by Douglas Adams.

    I normally leave you with fair winds and a dearth of sea monsters but today I think I will add the blessing of Saint Nicholas, the Patron Saint of sailors and children (for I like to think that we should all be young at heart).

    *Suleiman’s full title: Suleiman the Magnificent, Sultan of the Ottomans, Commander of the Faithful, Shadow of God on Earth, Protector of the Holy Cities of Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem, Lord of Lords of the World East and West. I suspect his mother called him Sully when he was good and just Suleiman the Wicked when he was a naughty boy.

    ** the location of St Nick’s bones this has been confirmed through historical records.