In the end, our group numbered fourteen--six men and eight women. The level of sailing experi ence ranged from rank novice to veteran ocean rac er. Among us we had enough skill and know-how to sail a bareboat charter--with no professional crew--provided by The Moorings, based in Clear water, Florida.
On the eve of the cruise, we assembled in Marmaris, a bustling beach resort and sailing center on Turkey's southwestern coast. The next morning we went to The Moorings' local base, a modern marina on the edge of town, and found our flotilla: a thirty eight-foot Beneteau, a forty-threefoot Beneteau and a forty-four-foot Jeanneau, all French-built yachts designe'd and outfitted for cruising. I joined five others aboard the Beneteau 43.
The boat was relatively new, scrubbed to its bilges, completely equipped with dishes, sheets ancd blankets, and handsomely appointed. But there was no denying that it would be tight quarters for six of us. (The Moorings' brochure lists the boat as holding ten adults. Very good friends, I can only assume.)
Our final stop before departure was the marina lounge. Frederic Bonin, the Frenchman who, with his wife Claire, directs The Moorings' operation in Turkey, briefed us on what to expect: "You can re ceive the weather report in English on the radio at 9 A.M., noon and 3 P.M.," he said cheerfully. "Or I can give you the forecast for the next two weeks right now: sunshine, hlue slcies, quiet mornings, bree~y afternoons with the wincl out of the south west." (With the exception of one rainy morning and a few wind shifts, he was right.)
Frederic suggested good harbors, must-see archeological sites, the best shopping and areas to avoid, either because the sailing was tricky or the sites tacky. He also told us what we needed to get started: an anchorage just a short sail from Marmaris with a good heach and a better restaurant. With dusk approaching, we raised sail and set off.
Below Moullt~ills encircle Oludeniz's hc~cll front of the Gulf of Fethiye. Opposite p~uc l~stellorizoll Bay, Greece's southcoastal n mosl Acucan SpOl (top); p~lltillu ~ t~ throuuB l~ly~n River reeds near the ancient port city of C~lunus.
DAY ONE: 1845 hours. Wind N.W. 9 knots. See calm.
In thirtyfive years of sailing, I don't recall a sight more beautiful than Marmaris Bay this evening. Steep, forested mountains plunging down to deep blue water, Venus rising in the evening sky, a gentle breeze at our backs. I carry a round of vodka tonics up on deck as the boat glides past the huge rock that guards the narrow, fjordlike mouth of the bay. The lights of Marmaris twinkle behind us, then disap pear. Another charter sailboat passes us, heacling back into port, his cruise evidently over. Poor fellow.
Kumlu Buku, our first stop, lives up to Frederic's billing. A gorgeous, protected harbor with a huge rock sentinel at its mouth, it lies at the foot of a rocky headland topped by the ruins of Amos, an an cient settlement that dates to about 1000 13.C. The area recalls a milestone in the advancement of military technology: The Dorians swept down from northern Greece with their slashing iron swords, overcoming local tribes equipped with softer bronze weapons. So much for the Bronze Age.
We tie up at the quay in the southwest corner and dine at the Kumlu Buku Yacht Club, a delight ful outdoor bar and restaurant on thc gravelly beach. Its owner, Ahmet Ozkal, a Turk, also operates the restaurant Sharps in Amsterdam, where he and his wife spend most of the year. About a decade ago, they built a vacation home here to get away from it all, and that's when the trouble started.
"Once we had the house, friends started to visit," Ozkal says, laughing. "To entertain them, I opened a bar. Then, to feed them, a restaurant. Now, soon er or later, they all come."
And why shouldn't they? The yacht club has a sophisticated, laid-back ambiance and attracts an international crowd, mostly off boats. Pavarotti's greatest hits play on the stereo in the thatched-roof bar. Dinner, served beneath umbrellas on an open patio fronting the beach, begins with the traditional meze, an assortment of vegetable salads and wonderful appetizers that is the staple of every Turkish meal. It is rollowed on this evening by fresh swordfish broiled to moist perfection on a skewer, then a baked caramel cus tard. With lots of wine, the tab comes to about $22 per person. (Turkish de light number one: The cuisine is cre ative, light and var ied, with fresh fish ancl meats lightly grilled over wood or
DAY TWO: Wind S.E.-S.W. 6-10 knots. Sea gentle.
After a leisurely breakfast, we sail about twenty five miles east on the predicted southwesterly toward Ekincik Bay, our anchorage for the night. The breeze builds nicely off our quarter, sending us surfing down the face of gentle six-foot rollers. By 4 P.M., we have our anchor down and a stern line tied ashore, Mediterranean-style; plenty of time for a swim, some snorkeling around the rocky shoreline and a nap.
Dinner is at My Marina, a spectacular, terraced, white stucco restaurant pasted up against the side of a sheer cliff overlooking the bay. The traditional meze leads to a memorable poached sea bass washed down with a good Turkish rose. (Turkish delight number two: Although it is a Muslim coun try, Turkey produces crisp, dry whites and roses, and some drinkable reds.)
For dessert, our Turkish hosts demonstrate a great sense of occasion. It is a birthday--the fiftieth--for the baby in our group; with a little advance warning, the lights of the restaurant darken and waiters parade from the kitchen bearing a whimsical, five-foot-high tiered creation that they place proudly at the end of our table.
Resembling a miniature Eiffel Tower lit by can-dles, it consists of fruit and sweets on silver trays supported by overturned Tuborg glasses and deco-rated with tinfoil, green branches and orange-peel curlicues. The effect is a little comical but as festive as a Christmas tree, and it makes the moment for us.
DAY THREE: 0330 hours. Wind N. 15 knots. Sea choppy.
Pandemonium! I awake below to hear foot steps and shouted commands on deck; a ffashlight rakes the length of the boat. A stiff, unexpected northerly has come up in the middle of the night, causing us to drag our anchor and bump against a large, wooden-hulled gullet, one of the traditional sailing yachts that carry a dozen or more passen gers. Half the guests are at the rail, and the gullet's captain, flashlight in hand, is peering anxiously down as our pitching boat threatens to slam up against his vessel's glossy varnished hull. Happily, no damage is done, and- we up anchor and motor away, finding a prote \cted cove a mile off.
Dawn brings blue sky and warm sun. Whatever provoked that middle-of-the-night bluster--a cold front, Murphy's Law, the gods--it is gone. Groggy from the party the night before and the midnight anchor drill, we first motor, then sail, about thirty miles southeast to the Gulf of Fethiye. The largest inlet along Turkey's southern coast, it is dotted with pretty, forested islands and ringed by 10,000-foot mountains, some still snowcapped in early summer. The sail ing is superb: brisk breezes over nearly flat water and unlimited safe, attractive anchor ages. It would be easy to spend four or five days here, sailing, swimming, exploring.
We anchor for the night in Tomb Bay, named after the striking stone tombs carved into the steep cliffs. These are the final resting places of Lycians, the fiercely independent people who occupied this wild, mountainous coastline for several hundred years before Christ.
The residents we encounter ashore are friendly and helpful. For a few dollars, they cheerfully replenish our supplies of fresh bread and cold beer. (Turkish delight num ber three: Contrary to their fierce, dour stereotype, the Turks we meet are invariably open and accommodating. Many speak Eng lish or German, and those who don't are masters at sign language. Instead of gruff ness, we find gentleness and quiet humor.)
DAY FOUR: Wind calm early, then S.W. 12-18 knots. Rolling sea.
On one of our longest legs, we sail some forty miles southeast down the rugged coastline known as the Seven Capes. The breeze builds all afternoon until we are surfing down~ind at a steady eight knots. I am at the wheel when suddenly from the bow comes a shout: "Dolphins!" Six of these beautiful swimmers accompany us for about twenty minutes, cavorting and crisscrossing beneath our bow as it plunges through the whitecapped water.
We spend the night tied to the quay at Kalkan, a pretty resort village where lovely terraced houses draped with bougainvillea and jasmine overlook the harbor. After din ner, we stroll the twisting, narrow streets lined with jewelry, leather and rug shops-- some junk, some not. (Turkish delight number four: Because of the favorable ex change rate of dollars to Turkish lire, the country is the last bargain in Europe.)
DAY FIVE: Sunny and hot. Calm wind.
Eight of us pile into taxis for the twenty-minute drive to Patara, the ruins of a major Lycian city overlooking the Mediterranean. There the "culture vultures" climb to the high ground above the amphitheater and get a stunning view of the triple triumphal arch at the entrance to the city, a necropolis dotted with tombs, a huge granary and the remains of an ancient lighthouse. Patara is a vanishing jewel: Huge sand dunes are burying the ruins, and no systematic exca vation seems to be under way
In the afternoon, we sail to Kastellorizon, the easternmost island of Greece, which lies just a couple of miles off the Turkish mainland. In deference to the touchy rela tions between the two neighbors, we run down the Turkish flag, stow our Turkish lire and run up the blue-and-white Greek flag.
Kastellorizon (literally "Red Castle," af ter the Knights of Saint John castle, which has long guarded the harbor mouth and now houses an exquisite museum) is a stunning, mountainous island with a sad and haunting air. Because of its strategic location, it has been invaded, conquered and fought over for centuries. Perhaps the saddest chapter of its long history was dur ing World War 11, when most of its popula- tion was forcibly moved to Palestine, Cyprus and Egypt by the British, who then bombed the island and destroyed many of its buildings. Today only 200 souls live on the island, but an ambitious effort is under way to restore the harbor and town.
Despite its proximity to Turkey, Kastellorizon has a distinctly Greek flavor, with whitewashed buildings, and tables and chairs in front of the quayside restaurants. We dine at Lisardis, eating dolmas under vine trellises and dancing to bouzouki music. The bill is $60 for two, with lots of Demestica and Metaxa enlivening the party.
DAY SIX: Fair. Wind E. 12-20 knots. Sea choppy.
Perversely, the wind is out of the east this morning and the water is rough as several of US set out in two small hired boats for the Blue Cave, Kastellorizon's chief attraction. We jounce for half an hour around the northeastern end of the is land to the mouth of the grotto, barely visi ble in the surf. The boatman explains that visitors usually don't come here in weather like this. Then, without further ceremony, he guns the engine and shoots through the low entrance in the trough of a wave.
Inside, when we catch our breaths and raise our heads, it is indeed beautiful--and peaceful. Nature has carved a gorgeous, high-ceilinged chamber dripping with sta lactites. The water is perfectly clear and blue, luminous in the morning light. It's lovely, but the boatman keeps shooting ner vous glances at the waves crashing against the mouth of the grotto. The water is clearly getting rougher outside, and none of us wants to be trapped until the wind quits.
"Okay?" he asks. "Okay!" we reply in uni son. He motors to the entrance, pauses and then, with a roar from the engine, speeds out under the low bridge. Outside, he tells us that there will be no one else in the grot to today. The water is too rough, he says. He gets no argument from us.
The strong easterly wind and heavy sea make for slow going this afternoon. We had planned to sail some forty-five miles east to Finike, where Frederic Bonin had led the shoppers among us to believe that irre sistible bargains lurked in the once-a-week market scheduled for the next day. But we cover less than half the distance in four hours of rough, upwind sailing and decide to divert into Kekova Bay.
Many cruising sailors consider this to be the jewel of the southern coast, combining beautiful scenery, superb anchorages and remarkably well-preserved ruins above and below its perfectly clear waters. We take one look and decide to stay a few days.
As we sail in toward the protected por tion of the bay, a fast motorboat approach es. In it is Hassan, a smiling, accommodat ing waterborne entrepreneur who seems determined to fulfill our every need: His restaurant is the choice for dinner, he as sures us; his taxi can take the shoppers to Finike for the market; he knows someone who will do our laundry; and if we are in terested in Turkish rugs, well, surprisingly, Hassan is the man to see. Ilis motorboat speeds off, replaced moments later by an other, driven by Ibrahim, who offers essen tially the same services. Clearly, free enter prise is flourishing in Kekova Bay. (To the frustration of Hassan and Ibrahim, we de cide to have dinner aboard.)
DAY EIGHT: Thunderstorms in A.M., sunny P.M. Wind S.W. 10 knots.
After a rare morning rain, we book vvhat is supposed to be a glass-bottomed boat (courtesy of Hassan) to explore Kekova Bay's famous underwater ruins. The remains of an ancient city lie just beneath the water: streets, the foundations and walls of buildings, arches and more, all submerged by a longago earthquake. We see this through a glass darkly, since the only glass in Hassan's boat turns out to be that in the bottom of two buckets he pro vides to hold over the side in the water to improve the view. Frankly, a simple diving mask would have been better, but Turkish authorities have banned diving here to re duce the theft of antiquities.
On one side of the bay is Kale, a modem vil lage on the site of the ancient Lycian city of Simena. Its neat whitewashed houses and red tile roofs march up a steep hillside domin.lted by a medieval By~antine fortress. The climb is steep, but the view from the parapets is stunning.
Scattered across the hillside are the dis tinctive Lycian sarcophagi, most of them plundered long ago by graverobbers. The tombs are everywhere, even rising in stately fashion from the shallow waters just off the village. I take the dinghy and row around one, wondcrillg who this fcllow was and wl-y his tomb stands olr by i(sclr. ~pparellll5, for a Ly cian, where you en(led up said a lot about who you wcre alld what you'd accolllplished in lire.
Dinner is at the Likya, an open-air restau rant on the watcrfront at Kale. We fall into conversation with an amusing Turkish gentleman who tUrns out to be the uncle of the restaurauteur. Todoy, it transpires, is his sixly second birlll(lay. With that, Mona Onstead produces ballouns and candles left over from our earlier birthday ccle6ralion, and a party is born. We toast our new friend again and again, dance to the Turkish top 40 and join the ouner's children in batting the balloons across tlle tabletops. Thcse restivities carry on until well alter midnigllt, when we finally retreat to the boats.
DAY ELEVEN: Warm, clear. Wind light S.W.
Al'ter a long motor sail llle previous day, we orc up carly to climb the steep slopes of Gemile Island, topped by extensive ruins of a Byzalltinc monastcry and scttlement. 'I'he remains of a mysterious arch-covered walkway lead down to a small cove. What was it l'or? No one knows, but local legend has it that the island was once rulcd by an alabaster queen--a woman with skin so fair lhat shc could not stand the sun--and that hcr subjects built the wallcway lo yer mit her to.descelld, ullsillged, to swim.
In the aflernooll~ the three skippers de cide to race lhe fiftecn miles lo an agrced upon anchorage in the Gulf of Fethiye, with lhe last boat responsible for providing the wine at dinner that night. But the afternoon southwesterly is slow to 6uild, so the other lwo bo.lls losc l)alicncc .Illd bc~in lo molor. We manage to fill our spinnaker and sail most of thc way, a moral victory at least.
DAY TWELVE: Hot, sunny. Wind S.W. 10 knots.
A broken throttle cable has rendered us poucrless, so we sail to thc nearest town, Gocek, drop anchor and call The Moorings for help. True to its promise to kecp you sail ing, The Moorings dispatches two mechanics by car. Within a couple of hours, they are at work on the boat, and we explore ashore. Gocek is a delight: dozens of good shops, including the best rug stores we saw, hot showers by the quay and good restaurants. We dine at Dolphin, run by two young British women. An exceptional meze includes calamari, stuffed peppers and yogurt with garlic. Then, big prawns perfectly grilled on a skewer, accented with a walnut sauce. Tab: $40 for two, with wine.
DAY THIRTEEN: Sunny. Wind S. 12 knots.
At anchor in Ekincik Bay, we follow an on Onstead traditiom an end-of-the-cruise "bilge party" in which the larders and wine lock ers of all three boals are emptied for a party on the beach. These leftovers--excellent ratatouille, pasta salads, fresh fruit--are washed down with lots of wine.
DAY FOURTEEN: Hot. Wind S.W. 12-16 knots.
We rise eorly on the last day and, for $10 apiece, board a small canopied motor boat for a forty-five-minute trip up the Dalyan river to tour the ruins of Caunus.
A prosperous city, Caunus today consists of' a fine amphithealer, elaborate baths, an acrop olis and what seems to have been a luxuriously appointed outdoor swimming pool. Pliny wrote of the sybaritic lifestyle that prevailed here, and judging by what's left, I believe it.
After a final, close-hauled sail, our last night out is spent in Ciftlik, a dramatic rock-rimmed bay not far from Marmaris, to where we must return the boats in the morning. Dinner at a beachfront restaurant is a double celebration: the conclusion of a terrific cruise and the wedding anniversary of one of the couples. We linger over the last of the wine, reluctant to let it go and dreading tomorrow's return to the real world. It has been a wonderful escape. x
Exploring the Turkish Coast More than a dozen full-service chartering organizations are in operation along the Aegean and Mediterranean coasts. Of these The Moorings, with more than 650 bareboats and crewed yachts at thirty locations around the world, is the largest. The company's boats tend to be more expensive than others, but its reputation for service, reliability and speedy repair justifies the cost.
THE MOORINGS' TURKISH BOATS range from thirty-six to fifty feet. Clients should book their cruises at least ninety days before departure to assure a full choice of vessels.
THE CHARTERING SEASON RUNS from April through the end of October. The choicest months are May and September; August tends to be crowded and hot.
1994 MIDSEASON RATES for a two-week cruise on a Beneteau 43 (or Moorings/Kavos 430) are as follows:
THE MOORINGS CAN ALSO PROVIDE a skipper and cook who sleep aboard and DCt as local guidcs and inter preters. The cost is $ 115 per week each, plus provisions or meals ashore. In addition, each fall The Moorings organizes fifteen-day cscorted sailing tours in Turkey. Up to seventy-five people can be accommodated on either bareboat or crewed yachts; the itinerary includes three days and nights in Istanbul and nine days of sailing, plus travel time. The 1994 prices for this "Journey to Byzantium," including airfare from New York, hotel accommodations, most meals and land tours, are $3,699 for a bareboat (per person, double occupancy); $3,999 for a skippered yacht; and $4,299 for a fully crewed yacht (with cook).
The Moorings: 19345 U.S. Highway 19 North, 4th floor, Clearwater, FL 34624;
(800) 535-7289.
FOR LARGER AND MORE LUXURIOUS YACHTS (forty nine to 100 feet) with two- to fourman crews, The Moorings recommends the independent yacht brokers listed below.
WEST COAST Interpac Yachts: Beverly Parsons, 1050 Anchorage Lane, San Diego, CA92106; (619) 2220327.
EAST COAST Ann-Wallis White: P.O. Box 4100, Annapolis, MD 21403; (410) 263-6366.
A COMPLETE LIST of yacht-chartering companies operat ing in Turkey can be obtained from Turkish Tourism, 821 U.N. Plaza, NewYork, NY 10017; (212) 687-2194.
BEFORE YOU DECIDE TO CRUISE the Turquoise Coast, it is important to be aware of the consular information sheet issued by the U.S. State Department about travel in Turkey. "While Turkish authorities are actively working to prevent ter rorism, there have been terrorist attacks in Istanbul and other Turkish cities over the past two years," it warns. Bombings and kidnappings, some involving tourists, have taken place in Istanbul and throughout the eastern provinces. The State Department advises against travel to eastern Turkey, "with the exception of the Mediterranean and Black Sea coasts." For information on current travel conditions, contact the U.S. Department of State at (202) 647-5225.
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