TURKISH DELIGHT
The third leg of Fiona and Frank’s Turkish odyssey sees them venture deeper into the Gulf of G š kova’s beguiling waters
PART 3 Frank and Fiona Walker delve deeper into the beguiling waters of Turkey
Gökova is the gulf that keeps on giving! The further we delve into its depths, the more delightful anchorages we pass, and Frank is kept busy on the plotter, marking them all with anchor symbols as sites worth returning to later in the season. My son Adam is now with us, along with his girlfriend Louise, and the August sun blazes from a cloudless sky as we graze leisurely along the coast. We stop for lunch and I swim ashore with ropes, but our meal is delayed as everyone wants to join me to cool down in the clear turquoise waters before we eat.
When the food is eventually on the table, we are joined by a host of unwelcome guests: wasps. They become such a nuisance that as soon as we have eaten, we up-ropes and move on to another anchorage far from these annoying pests.
A little further along the coast is Akbük, and here we re-anchor, although not too close to shore as the water is so shallow. I have my eye on a convenient tree as I swim towards land, but my attention is suddenly caught by splodges of brown beneath me. What I thought was sand is actually light coloured flat rock, and it is studded with dozens of sea urchins.
My legs, previously paddling lazily through the water, are immediately brought up straight behind me; I have been caught by those cruel needles once too often, and I don’t fancy another few days of sore feet as I wait for the spines to work their way out – nor the jokes and offers to urinate over the wound, a well publicised but ineffective means of neutralising the poison!
The natural beauty of our surroundings astounds Louise. She was in Turkey a couple of years ago and gained a completely different impression of the country. When Adam initially suggested this holiday she had been reticent, but now she is rapidly falling in love with the other side of the tourist offering, far from the crowds, commercialism and noise of the large, brash modern resorts.
We go ashore for a while, and although the beach is busy, the predominant language is Turkish and the only foreign tourists are a few yachties and ourselves. The cafes and shops here are basic in the extreme, and I feel as if we have tumbled back into the 1950s and imagine that this is what the Costa Brava was like, long before it opened to mass tourism and package holidays. When I try to buy some provisions, my choice is very limited; it’s going to be difficult to conjure up appetising meals on board, but fortunately eating out in this area is an inexpensive option, so
I’m happy to give up on my quest and let the locals cater for us.
And so we head out for dinner. Louise isn’t used to boating, and at the end of the evening she is a little apprehensive as we tread cautiously along the flimsy boardwalk back to where our tender is tied up. Frank reassures her by leading the way, trying to instil confidence with his easy, surefooted poise. His plan backfires as he trips over a loose board, pirouettes inelegantly into Baby Zaff and lands on his backside, flat in the bottom of the dinghy! The rest of us almost fall off the boardwalk with laughter as he gazes up and tries – indignantly and unconvincingly – to claim that the recently consumed wine had nothing to do with his acrobatics!
Sögüt, on the opposite side of the Gulf of Gökova, becomes a favourite with the many guests who join us before the end of the season. Our first arrival is tricky, as the thrusters are again playing up, and getting into a narrow space between two
massive gullets, with the wind trying hard to push us out of position, is no mean feat, but to my relief Frank eventually manages to bring Zaffina into line, much to the surprise of our neighbours waiting on their side decks, well armed with fenders.
There is a rare and welcome gem in Sögüt: a well-stocked supermarket! I rush around, happily filling my trolley with the bounty on offer. Here the fruit and veg are fresh and plentiful, and I am able to start considering meal plans again.
There is also a particularly good restaurant in the grounds of a sailing school at the far end of the marina, where we are soon known by name and always made very welcome. We are back on board after another excellent dinner when Frank wakes in the small hours and realises the power has gone down.
This is not an unusual occurrence here, but he decides to check things out and realises the generator is blocked. The filter, he discovers, is entirely choked with the shredded remains of a jellyfish! In the morning, we understand why; bobbing around in the clear azure waters are thousands upon thousands of amorphous, tentacle-bedecked blobs. Jellyfish are everywhere, and any thought of heading to a beach for a swim are immediately dispelled; in fact, I am relieved that we are in a marina, rather than an anchorage where I need to swim to retrieve our ropes.
EGYPTIAN LEGACY
Almost as quickly as they materialised, the jellyfish suddenly disappear, and we are back to just seeing the occasional one or two gliding past as we head towards Cleopatra Island a day or two later. When we visited this tourist magnet a few weeks ago, the anchorage was chock-a-block with tripper boats and the talcum-powder beach was crowded with sun worshippers. According to legend, the sand was imported by the Egyptian Queen herself, so she could enjoy amorous trysts on the beach with Marc Anthony, but sadly science has disproved this romantic theory. Now the season is easing onwards and the lagoon is almost deserted, so when we go ashore the atmosphere is calm and peaceful, with just a handful of late summer visitors enjoying the historic site. Most of the tiny island is covered with roman ruins, including an agora, a surprisingly well-preserved amphitheatre, several temples and a harbour. With so few visitors, it is much easier to appreciate the historical significance of the place and imagine those who walked these paths many centuries ago. Around the shores of Cleopatra and the neighbouring Snake Island are numerous sarcophagi, many half submerged, another – slightly gruesome - reminder of the ancient history and strategic relevance of the site.
Our meanderings around the island have taken longer than anticipated and the first thing we notice when we get back to Zaffina is that the wind is up; it’s time to find shelter! The pilot book has enthused about English Harbour, a deep inlet with a series of anchorages, and we’re confident that at least one of them will offer the shelter we require for the night. But the short journey from Cleopatra is not the smooth ride we had hoped for. Each wave seems steeper than the last, and as Frank tries to
I feel as if we have tumbled back into the 1950s and imagine this is what the Costa Brava was like before mass tourism
We enjoy a lazy evening watching daylight fade until a million pinpricks of starlight illuminate the sky
plot the easiest course to our destination I spend the entire time in the galley, fearful that the contents now crashing around inside the cupboards will explode out onto the floor. The best that can be said about the trip is that it is over quickly, and as soon as we turn into English Harbour, we realise that we have chosen well.
Our anchorage has a narrow entrance and faces no open water; it is encircled on three sides by pine-clad hillsides, with not a building in sight. There’s barely a breath of wind here and it’s hard to believe that just a few minutes ago we were battling the elements! We go to moor between two gullets, not realising until guests on each of the boats simultaneously start a yoga class on deck that they are travelling in tandem! They are somewhat surprised to find a small (in comparison) Azimut moored between them, but seem to enjoy the entertainment of watching me swim to shore with our ropes, and then wade through glutinous mud to the nearest suitable trees! The price of such perfect shelter is that we lose the sun early in the evening, but the temperature is still pleasant, and in this ideal setting we enjoy a lazy evening in the cockpit, sharing wine and anecdotes with our guests, and watching the daylight gently fade, until a million pinpricks of starlight gradually illuminate the night sky.
We return to English Harbour a few times during the last weeks of this season; the natural beauty of the site is compelling and there is always shelter to be found, regardless of the wind direction. The sheer size of the creek ensures that it never feels crowded, and at the basic little café at the head of the bay, where most of the clientele are Dutch or German, I am happy to be able to replenish my stocks of local honey.
Our penultimate guests of the year are Frank’s son and his partner, who just fancy a week in the sun.
Frank is due to return home for meetings so, after a few cruising days together, we head to our favourite berth in Pal Marina.
Over our years on Zaffina,a pattern has emerged: whenever Frank has to leave me on board, there is always a massive thunderstorm. Sure enough, as he packs his bag, threatening clouds obscure the sun, pewter grey and heavy laden, and as he takes a taxi to the airport, the heavens open. This isn’t a downpour; it’s a deluge, the likes of which haven’t been seen in this part of Turkey for years. The three of us remaining on board sit in the cockpit, gazing at the rods of rain that obscure any view of the port. I am relieved that our berth is situated deep inside the marina, and not one of the outer positions that we have used in the past; here at least we get a modicum of shelter, and the marina facilities are just a stone’s throw, rather than a long pontoon walk, away. But even with their proximity, there is no chance we are moving from the cockpit, because just ten seconds under this downpour would see us soaked to the skin!
The rain is continuous, punctuated now by thunder and lightning and later we learn that in Bodrum, just a few miles away, rivers of rain are running through the streets taking cars with them and depositing them in the harbour. This region is unprepared for such extreme conditions, and roads, houses and stores are flooded; the rain eventually abates and we head for a nearby restaurant, but even there we find water washing around our ankles as we sit at our table!
AFTER THE DELUGE
When the clouds have cleared and the sun has resumed its rightful place in a blue sky, local fire engines are still kept busy pumping water and attempting to make roads that resemble streams passable again. For several days, the water in Pal Marina is muddy, caused by the run off from this unprecedented storm. Frank returns, our guests depart, and we cruise around to Bodrum to tie up on the customs quay whilst our agent, Charlie, completes the formalities for our departure.
We’ve had more than our fair share of problems with the thrusters this year, and enforced sojourns in harbour delayed our arrival in Turkey, but the brief few weeks we’ve spent in this beautiful country has whetted our appetites. We’ll return Zaffina to Kos for the winter where she will be well looked after by Pierre, a French engineer, and hopefully next year, we’ll have the chance to explore further. Well, that’s the plan, but even the best laid plans sometimes go astray.