TURKISH DELIGHT
The first in a new series of exploring the Turkish coastline in an Azimut 62
e’re on our third summer in the Greek islands and I’m starting to get confused by all these Greek island names. We’ve been to Paxos, Paros and Poros, and even now we can see Patmos to the west of us but the wind is up so, sadly, we won’t be heading there. We’ve also been to Serifos, Samos and Sifnos, whilst Symi is south of here, but more of that later. The other night, as I was trying to get to sleep, I attempted to remember the names of all of the Greek islands we’ve visited so far, and there were more than 40 of them! Since then I’ve dropped this amazing fact into a number of conversations with Greek people and not one of them has visited as many! Whilst it’s sometimes difficult to remember the name of each island, especially as some, like Zakynthos/zante/xanthe, have more than one name and most (Kefalonia, Kephalonia, Cefalonia, Cephalonia) have several different spellings, it’s easy to remember the individual places, as each and every one has a different character and ambiance. We’re due in Kos in a few days; at least, when it comes to the name, they keep things simple there! One thing that all of the Dodecanese isles we’ve visited so far have in common is the wind. It seems to come from just about every direction, and anchorages that look on the charts as though they will afford fabulous shelter turn out to be far more exposed than anticipated. As we arrive in Leros we investigate a deep bay on the northern shore, but although the shelter isn’t bad, the environment is surprisingly bland and, with guests on board, we are confident that we can find somewhere better for them.
EXPLORING LEROS
A few miles on and the main town comes into sight. This is definitely more attractive. There is a fortification crowning the hilltop and then a row of windmills lined up above a pretty, typically Greek town, which sprawls on either side of the isthmus separating the promontory from the rest of the island. Even here it takes a while to find a sheltered anchorage; you’d think that one side or the other would be out of the wind, but no, it’s more katabatic than coastal, and whistles down the hillside. Eventually we find a spot a short distance from the town and what joy! With Frank’s 19-year-old grandson on board, I am spared the swim and simply direct from the cockpit as Ben makes for the beach with our ropes, where he finds suitable rocks for tying them to.
In the evening, we take the dinghy ashore and wander along the waterside. There isn’t much here, so we decide that the action must be on the other side of the hill and off we go, making the steep ascent and then the far easier descent that will take us to the opposite shore. There isn’t much here either, to be honest, but we find a restaurant on the beach and dine with the waves lapping just a couple of feet away from our toes…beautiful. The idea of retracing our steps is daunting, so there is a universal sigh of relief when the waiter offers to call a taxi for us, and any thought of walking off the meal is abandoned!
Ben and Nancy’s holiday finishes in Kos, whilst we have an enforced stay in the island whilst the thrusters, which suddenly stopped working a fortnight ago, are attended to. This is a painfully convoluted process, as the entire system has to be sent back to the manufacturers in Italy, leaving Zaffina immobile until their return. Frank is constantly on the phone, trying to speed up the process, but it takes two whole weeks before the parts are finally returned and refitted to the boat. During that time, we spend a few days in a hotel (beautiful rooms and environment, great staff, rubbish food…no worries about my diet here!) and then explore the island from the land, finding beautiful stretches of natural sandy beach, far from the crowded, noisy resorts we had anticipated.
By the end of the fortnight, we are more than ready to move on, and relieved when our excellent French engineer, Pierre, announces that the thrusters are back in working order. Well, almost. The remote control unit, which enables Frank to manoeuvre Zaffina from the cockpit whilst I swim ashore to tie to a convenient tree or rock, remains out of action. This is a frustrating but manageable problem. I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders when we finally set out to sea, waving a cheery “yassas” to the marineros in the port, and hoping we won’t see them again for a while.
CHANGE OF PLAN
The sea is neither rough nor calm as we head south, but it is exhilarating to be back on the go again, and although we’re still in Greek waters, we are so close to the Turkish coast that we are constantly looking for anchorages that may be useful in the future.
Some years ago, I visited Symi by boat, and I have an abiding memory of the approach, passing through a narrow channel between the island and an islet offshore, and suddenly, here it is, that same channel and towering rock. As we glide into the bay, the sea flattens out to a pristine, icy calm, and Frank pushes the throttles forward, carving a clean white V in the water behind us. We decide to anchor off rather than going into the harbour, but the water is too deep for us to feel secure so we move on to nearby Pedi and prepare to drop the hook in the bay.
I am standing on the bow ready for the anchor to go down, when I look up at the bridge. Frank’s expression is a mixture of fury, resignation and disappointment, and, as I hear the faint beeping of an alarm, I realise why: the thrusters have failed again. Our carefree mood evaporates and my heart sinks. Summer is drifting away far too quickly, and the idea of another enforced stay in Kos whilst the parts are returned to Italy yet again is unbearable, and yet we may have no other choice.
By the time the anchor is set, Frank is back on the phone to Pierre, and our plans for the next two weeks have been amended. Instead of moving from here to Turkey and leaving Zaffina in Bodrum whilst we return home, we will return her to Kos for the work to be carried out. In the meantime, we are determined to enjoy Symi and the island doesn’t disappoint. Pedi is simply beautiful, and although the wind comes up regularly half way through the afternoon, it drops away by dinnertime and the sea is invariably perfectly calm through the night.
On our second morning, we decide to move to a space that has been vacated in the middle of the bay. The pilot book warns of poor holding, and Frank is determined that we will be firmly set, so he takes his time manoeuvring us into the perfect position. Just as he is turning Zaffina into the wind, an Italian yacht comes in at speed and is preparing to cut across us and take the spot. There is a glint in Frank’s eye as the yacht takes aim across our bow, but rather than giving way, he continues to ease Zaffina forward, releases the anchor and starts to drop back, much to the annoyance of the other skipper. We are lucky, our anchor holds firm, and better still, once we are firmly in our new position, we watch the cowboy yachtsman anchoring too fast and too close to another boat and then dragging dramatically and having to re-anchor further out! From Pedi, we take the dinghy around into the main town, which has to be one of the prettiest in the Greek islands. Unlike Mykonos and Santorini, which are known for their white sugar cube houses, here the buildings are painted in an assortment of pastel shades and all beautifully maintained. The Venetian influence is obvious, and with houses clustered on the hillside overlooking a magnificent natural harbour crowded with yachts, gullets and motorboats, the effect is simply stunning. The cafés and stores appear to be thriving, but chatting to an English assistant in a waterfront shop, I am told that the combination of bad publicity about the refugees and fears for the Greek economy has resulted in an appalling season for the island. I feel it is my moral duty to buy yet another pair of Greek sandals.
SACRED STOPOVER
Before returning to Kos, we decide to have one more stop in Symi, at a secluded anchorage we’ve seen on the chart. There are few other boats around as we leave Pedi and potter along the uninhabited and attractive coast, almost circumnavigating the island before we come to our chosen spot. The beauty of the anchorage we have chosen is that it is almost landlocked, and unless there are katabatic winds here, we should have shelter from just about every direction. As we draw into the bay we gasp; although we had expected almost complete solitude here, there is an enormous and impressive building on the shore. It turns out to be the monastery of St
Michael, and after securing Zaffina, we head across to see it close up.
Twice a day, tour boats tie up on the quay here and stay for about an hour. During that time the monastery is overrun with hundreds of trippers who pour onto the shore. But the moment the boats have left, the calm ambience of the building is restored and as we wander around, we are struck by the tranquillity and calm of this place of worship. After the frustrations of recent days, it is a pleasure to absorb the atmosphere and appreciate once again all the benefits of our boating lifestyle.
We will return from here to Kos, and once
Zaffina is restored to full thrust, we intend to leave Greece and head into Turkish waters. Our three years here, first in the Ionian Islands and then in the Peloponnese, the Cyclades, the Sporades and the Dodecanese, have been amazing and given us some of the best cruising ever. Naturally we are sad to be leaving this behind, but the nearby coast of Turkey has already whetted our appetites for adventure and the idea of moving on to a new and unknown country is deliciously exciting. We are ready for the next chapter in our seafaring story.