Greetings from sizzling Turkey and officially the final leg of our
trip for the European summer 2013! Here in Turkey's far west, it still feels
like deep summer with thirty degree days, breathless nights and clear, endless
blue skies. One could not even fathom being here with the boat during the
scorching mid-season. Hosting our dear Canadian friends onboard – Mike’s best
friend from high school Jay and his girlfriend Deanne (the most beautiful soul
you’d ever hope to meet) has easily been the highlight of our journey this year.
We simply cherish their company and already have them penciled in to visit
again this time next year. So many laughs and memories to treasure! I will
blame their welcome distraction (and the VERY lousy Turkish internet) for the
delayed time between posts.
The last blog post left us in the flawless Little Cyclades island
group soaking up some rare Greek high-pressure system calming goodness. Next
was a much anticipated return to the infamous party island of Ios – where Mike
and I had wasted away a boozy summer back in 2002 as impressionable twenty-one
year olds only in our first year as a couple. We were slightly disappointed to
find, that despite it still being (late) August, the party season was quickly winding
down with several bars already closed and a mere fraction of the party-crowd
capacity swaggering around the late-night village stroll. Though we happily
relished in the cheap 2-4-1 cocktails and slammer tequila shooters where you
pay a premium to don a helmet, skull a shot and be bonked over the head by a
bar stool, skateboard, milk crate, fire extinguisher – you name it. Dad was the
first one to front the bar and after everyone in our group had been bonked,
there was soon a line up of other eager patrons paying for a whack over the head
with their shooter!
The quieter-than-expected village didn’t stop a nostalgic walk down
the familiar laneways (including Mike’s old work The Bulldog Bar) or a mandatory
afternoon poolside under the sun at Farout Camping on Mylopotas Beach. Entertainment being the weekly wet
t-shirt competition where you can always count on the Aussie, Kiwi and UK sheilas,
full of free slurpee cocktails, to get their kit off for a chance at prize
money that would keep them partying or travelling for another week. This was
the biggest concentration of Aussies we’d seen since arriving in Europe over
six months ago. I think it's safe to say the Ios Greek Island summer tradition continues to live on
amongst our audacious country folk and (likely much to the despair of the quiet
resident Greek community) will continue to do so for decades to come.
A short two-hour downwind Parasail took us south from Ios to the
unmistakable topography that is Santorini (Thira). Once a large roundish
island, around 1600 BC it was torn apart by one of history’s biggest known
volcanic explosions and following 35 metre high tsunami, that also decimated the Minoan civilization in the entire region.
Several earthquakes and eruptions since, including as recently as 1956, have
continued to evolve the incredible landscape – which comprises a flooded caldera
(crater), harden molten lava core-come island at its centre, towering 300 meter high cliffs
and black sand beaches on the outer extremities. The fertile volcanic ash soil has allowed farming of cherry
tomatoes and grapes to flourish in the contrasting plains and valleys away from
the tourist zones. When you’ve last seen a travel promotion for Greece, bought
a Greek picture calendar or simply conjured up images in your mind – it’s highly
likely those will be scenes of Santorini – the tourism poster child for all of
Greece.
With unpredictable gusts and wind shadows upon entering the flooded caldera,
we snuffed the Parasailor and motored around the base of the towering cliffs,
dwarfed by their sheer grandeur. Whitewash buildings of Oia and Santorini’s
main Chora clung high above. Over 100 metres deep even at the edges, whilst mooring buoys
were available for tour boats, this was no place to spend the night. We motored
and then sailed to the far southern end and safest mooring on the island at Vlikadha Marina. Rafting alongside Dominos (in the very last spot for visiting yachts),
this was more of a fishing port than a marina, but a sheltered location to
leave the boat for a day of sightseeing. The port was also home base for 10+
day-tripper catamarans that were also jostling for space at the same time we
arrived – during their mid-afternoon changeover of guests. And made for quite
the spectacle when they all sailed home again against the sinking orange-red disc of
the setting sun.
With little public transport available from our southern port of Vlyhada,
the Dominos crew and we packed into a
weathered transit rental van to tour the island. Santorini's Chora is crammed,
touristy and slightly rundown from what I remember of our previous 2002 visit.
Yet the vistas down the terraced homes, hotels, restaurants and across the caldera
are sufficient enough to wow even a seasoned traveller. Though the consensus being
the highlight of our Santorini stay was a not-to-be-missed sunset at the most
northern perch of Oia (pronounced ee-a).
It is a must to arrive at least an hour before the sunset if you hope to find a
wall to balance on amongst the hundreds of other tourists who flock here every
evening for this nightly ritual. Grab some takeaway beers from the jolly market
shop owner, your friends and loved ones, and wait with a few hundred other new
buddies to savour this everyday spectacle of Mother Nature that we rarely stop
our busy lives to appreciate. Wolf whistles and clapping as the last tip of the
sun disappears below the hazy sea horizon is surprisingly uplifting and
refreshing. Sure it’s the touristy thing to do, but a visit to Santorini would
not be complete without it.
A Santorini marina berth is expensive so we didn’t linger long –
next taking our guests on their first rough, windy sailing passage, six hours and
50nm ENE to Nisos Astipalaia. Days like this are inevitable, with 20 gusting to
25-knot winds and uncomfortable confused seas, but an essential introduction if
they are to be exposed to the realities of our new sailor lifestyle. It
certainly ain’t all azure bays and sunset cocktails! The last of the Cyclades
islands on our itinerary offered the final chance to captures images of the
unforgettable white cubism style that makes this region so endearing. After a morning
meander around Skala town
on Astipalaia, with the Meltemi
again blowing we sailed a solid beam reach another few hours across to the western
tip of Kos. Anchored off Ormos Kamares –
the sweetest looking restaurant on the waterfront strip was called Sydney –
so that's where we took our dear mummy darling to dinner for her birthday. Happy Birthday Pammy!
Arriving in Kos placed us in the Dodecanese family of islands where dry barren landscapes and whitewash buildings of the Cyclades gave way to greenery and Roman, Italian, Turkish and Byzantine influences. Kos town is a hectic, commercial port with an abundance of sunburnt English tourists and their accents crammed into massive package hotels and onto day-tripper boats. Popular also with visiting yachts, both the Kos’ marina and old harbour had no space for us and given the winds and swell made anchoring unfeasible, we fortunately squeezed into the last available mooring spot off the busy ferry wharf. Being only ten kilometers away from Turkey, we were sandwiched between two gorgeous wooden Turkish gulets, allowing us to peer into their fore and aft-decks and admire the incredible wood and stainless steel workmanship. Kos’ old Castle of Knights built in the 1300s stands majestically along the harbour and it is here that you can also find the tree and sanctuary of Hippocrates – the famous ancient Greek founder of modern medicine who was born and raised on the island.
After restocking with groceries, duty free booze (alcohol is much more expensive in Islamic Turkey) and ordering one
last gyro, we ran the disjointed gauntlet of harbour master, port police and
customs to clear out of Greece and bid adieu to another magic country that has
made a glowing impression on our sailing adventure. Apart from the stunning
scenery, characterful villages, clear blue oceans and some of the most spectacular beaches we've ever visited – it will be the warm
hospitality of the Greek people and their cheeky humour that will leave the greatest
impact.
Crossing the short ten-kilometer stretch of ocean and sailing into a
brand new country was best described through the eyes of our visitors. Forgo
the stress of an airport arrival into a new country – bright artificial light
after a long weary flight, customs line ups and critical questions, hustling
crowds, foreign language and signs, lost baggage, accommodation and transport
touts as you exit the arrivals gate. Not to mention next trying to find your way
out of the airport to your hotel or the city centre. Instead we could all gaze
from any of the 360 degree vantage points around the boat as we inched across
the seaborne border, taking in the surroundings, pointing out interesting
sights including the imposing Bodrum castle, maneouvering between the dozens of
Turkish flagged gulets at anchor before dropping our own pick and taking a
breather to soak up the fresh breeze and Turkish sun. As the first haunting
Islamic call to prayer pierced the afternoon air, we knew we’d received our
official welcome. That said, the next steps for a yacht can be more complicated
(and expensive) than an airport arrival. We were each billed the newly
increased 45 euro for a 3-month tourist visa, plus 40 euro yacht cruising
permit and 100 euro agent fee. The mandatory use of an agent in Turkey is required
to guide you between customs, police and harbour master. An easy 100-euro for
what was no more than 30 minutes work for the agent, but none the less a
seamless process and we were on our way.
We didn’t stay long in Bodrum as it is hardly a representative
introduction to ethnic Turkey, with tacky tourist markets, thriving kebabs
houses and a lengthy string of waterfront bars that cram the narrow beaches. Cumulating
at the granddaddy nightclub Halikarnas and its Hollywood-style searchlights crisscrossing the night sky. I
clearly remember this particular club from our visit here over a decade ago,
though since then the number of additional bars and discos appear to have grown
exponentially. Including the insane floating nightclubs that encircled the bay
into the wee hours, lit up like Christmas trees and thumping Top 40 remixes with
the MC blasting for his late-night party people to ‘make some noise’;
his voice reverberated across the entire bay. Fortunately earplugs and the
constant buzz of our bedroom fan afforded a reasonable night sleep despite the
dance parties that surrounded us! I know, I know... some of you are probably
asking why we weren’t there getting amongst it.
The dominant feature of Bodrum is the Castle of St Peter – standing
supreme above the sprawling markets and modern bars, and flanked by masts of
shoulder-to-shoulder wooden gulets that line the town harbour. Resident power
party at the time, the Knights Hospitaller, built the original structure in the
1400s. The castle fell into disrepair when their power was overturned and then further
destroyed from shelling during WWII. St Peter’s has since been painstakingly
rebuilt over the last fifty years and contains the Museum of Underwater
Archeology, home to one of the world’s best collection of amphorae (tall clay jars for transiting goods in
ancient times), all recovered from Turkish waters.
Interestingly there are almost as many US flagged Wilmington, Delaware registered yachts and motorboats here in Turkey as there are Turkish registered boats. After seeing at least one hundred Delaware boats in our first week, I finally cornered a skipper as he stepped off his yacht to ask of the Turkey-Delaware connection. As expected he was Turkish and has never been to Delaware. He explained it was expensive to register a boat in Turkey, yet Delaware (specifically the landlocked city of Wilmington) offered a cheap tax-exempt boat registration – obviously even to non-residents who have no intention of ever stepping foot in the US. But no doubt these Turkish owned boats in a faraway land have contributed to the building of many Delaware roads, schools and public services. That said, you’d feel slightly ripped off to be a United States national who has legitimately sailed all the way across the Atlantic (or further the other way round) only to be surrounded by phoney US flagged vessels diluting a yachtie's pride and patriotism.
NOTE: now three weeks into our Turkey trip there have been literally HUNDREDS of Delaware registered boats. All shapes and sizes from small monohulls, even up to mega motor yachts.
With less than a week left with our dear guests Jay and D, and after
a number of hectic, windy days travelling, it was time to put the brakes on,
slow down and relax back to sleepy vacation mode. The ideal touring grounds
being the Gokova Korfezi gulf that lie between Bodrum and equally frantic
Marmaris. Water so calm it often could be mistaken for a giant lake, majestic mountains enveloped in greenery and lazy, steamy days. This is the stuff that
cruiser daydreams are made of!
We have since said farewell to Jay and D and are now cruising south
along Turkey’s western coast with an old dear friend of dad’s from his
Clearance Diving Navy days – John and his lovely wife Tess. Still so much to
share of our first two weeks or so in Turkey, but this entry is already too long
and far too much time between posts. Will write more soon!
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