Category: HIstory

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.

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.

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.

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.)