A couple of years ago I sailed with a group of friends from Naples toMenorca by way of Sardinia and Corsica. Although it was a wonderful trip,we kept hearing, throughout our journey, a haunting refrain: "It's betterin Turkey." Turkey, we were told, is a sailor's paradise, having more consistentwind, less pollution, more interesting things to see, better food, andlower prices.
Unable to resist, four members of the original crew recently embarkedon a two-week cruise along the western portion of Turkey's Mediterraneancoast. The foursome consisted of two Britons--Simon, a BBC news editor,and Stewart, a construction contractor--and two Americans: Harry, a NewYork investment banker, and me, a writer who generally focuses on internationalbusiness and economics. We were joined by a newcomer: Ben, another American,who, thanks to a Fulbright grant, had spent the previous year living inIstanbul.
In spite of our diversity, we share the conviction that no vacationis better than a sailing vacation. Our faith grows out of the premise thatholidays should have so many dimensions and satisfactions that the routinesof normal life are relegated to the subconscious. We like sailing becauseit combines the kind of tourism that usually comes about with the helpof a car, the water-based recreation that is generally associated withbeach houses, the Big Chill-like social interaction that typically occursin rustic cabins, and, of course, sailing itself.
The Turkish yachting season extends all the way from April through October,but we decided on late August, a time that is sometimes uncomfortably warmbut that offers the most substantial winds. Several months before we plannedto go, we scoured sailing magazines for advertisements from Turkey-basedcharter operators. After we requested and received several brochures, weselected the company and the boat we wanted, and submitted a "sailing resume"to demonstrate that we were competent mariners (most companies ask foreither a resume or references). We agreed to pay $4,500 for the use ofTop Girl, a forty-foot sloop. (The price struck all of us as reasonable,considering that the boat would provide our housing and transportationas well as most of our recreation.)
Harry and I began our trip by visiting Ben in Istanbul. Straddling theEuropean and Asian continents, Istanbul is one of the world's most remarkablecities, and Ben, who speaks Turkish with a fluency that startles many natives,was a first-rate guide both in Istanbul and as we traveled, by ferryboat,along the Bosporus as far north as the Black Sea, visiting as many of thegreat historic sites as we could. (Actually, Harry and I found that wecould rely on English to communicate with many of the younger people wemet on the street and a number of shopkeepers.) After four days of explorationsHarry, Ben, and I took an hour-long flight to Dalaman, a city in the southwest,and then hired a taxi for the short ride to Gocek, the village where wejoined up with Top Girl and the rest of the crew.
As fast as we could, we received the obligatory briefing from the chartercompany's representatives, filled out forms, bought a few provisions, andhoisted our sails. From the very start the attributes that we had heardso much about were in evidence. Carried by a steady breeze, we began totrace a coastline formed out of enormous piles of chalky gray-brown rock.The sheer walls supported varying quantities of pine trees but not a singlehouse. Indeed, the land rose so quickly from the crystalline water thatdevelopment was probably impossible. Turkey, it seemed, was ours, and ourspirits soared.
Just after dusk we joined four other yachts in Cleopatra's Bay, so namedbecause the ruins there are said to include the baths where the legendarybeauty immersed herself in moisturizing goat's milk. Within minutes ofour arrival a man appeared from a small outdoor restaurant near the shore,calling out to see if we wanted to order dinner. Ben told him what we'dlike, and then we took a quick swim and went ashore for the kind of simple,well-prepared meal that would become our staple: a first course of yogurt-basedsalads, followed by grilled lamb and fish. The air was warm, and we lingeredlong into the evening.
Sailing through a narrow channel in the Gulf of Fethiye the next morning,we entered an expansive but sheltered body of water that has been a favoritesailing ground for thousands of years. Empowered by a forceful breeze,we began to get a sense of Top Girl's capabilities. In choosing a boatto charter, one is always called upon to make a difficult tradeoff betweencomfort and speed: at one extreme are the sleek racing boats that tendto be as uncomfortable as they are fast and good-looking; at the otherare "cruisers," which have every imaginable comfort and convenience butare consequently heavier, slower, and frequently unattractive. Top Girlstruck the right balance: even with three sleeping cabins; two heads (bathrooms);a galley equipped with two refrigerators, a stove, and two sinks; and asaloon with two additional bunks as well as a table for dining and anotherone for navigating, it managed to have enviable lines. As we headed towardGemiler, an island that Ben had visited before and that he said was absolutelycovered with Byzantine ruins, we were traveling at a very respectable fiveknots per hour.
Turkey has been ruled by some of the most powerful empires in history,and the coast we chose to cruise contains ruins from several cultures,including the Hellenic, Hellenistic, Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman. Andalthough the shortcomings of modern Turkey's infrastructure make it a struggleto get to many archaeological sites by land, most of them are easily reachedfrom the water. Indeed, when we dropped anchor in the strait that separatesGemiler from the mainland, we were only a few feet from what had probablybeen several small houses in the late Byzantine period, some 900 yearsago. After we used our rubber dinghy to ferry ourselves to the island,we began exploring what had obviously been a very wealthy and densely developedcommunity. In addition to houses and at least two churches, we found acolonnaded archway that was so well preserved that large sections of itscurving roof remained in place. We were the only people there.
As we sailed away from Gemiler, I was more optimistic than ever thatTurkey was going to meet our lofty expectations, and, equally important,I was confident that we were a compatible crew. Thank goodness. Spendingtime on a sailboat, obviously a small and confined space, can lead eitherto lasting friendships or to disastrous frictions. For us, the constantinteraction was nearly always positive, and involved a lot of joking.
Pursuing a southeasterly heading, we sailed toward Kalkan, and latein the afternoon we joined several yachts and fishing boats in its compactmarina. Like many towns in that part of Turkey, Kalkan was long populatedby Greeks, and their influence is readily apparent. For example, the mosquethat we could see from our berth obviously had been a Greek Orthodox Churchuntil a minaret was added. The Greeks left back in the 1920s, after Turkeyand Greece negotiated a treaty that encouraged Turks and Greeks to returnto their native countries. This fueled the age-old animosity between Turkeyand Greece, which continues today to such an extent that most Turkey-basedcharter companies forbid their customers to land in Greece. Top Girl'sowners, however, had told us that Kastellorizon, a large Greek island thatlies just a few miles from Turkey, was generally free of officials andtherefore an acceptable risk.
Making it our next destination, we entered the island's only harborto see a picture-perfect line of whitewashed houses with multicolored doorsand shutters. We soon discovered that the image is as thin as a movie set.The owner of the quayside restaurant where we had dinner told us that thevillage had been an Italian-ruled fishing community with more than 15,000inhabitants at the start of the Second World War, but that the Allied forcesconsidered it important enough that they occupied and destroyed almostall of it. The island has never recovered; today it has only about 200residents. When Simon and I made an early-morning climb to the highestpoint overlooking the harbor, we saw scores of modern-day ruins, and weeven came across the large shell of an unexploded bomb.
>From Kastellorizon we sailed to the nearby Turkish city of Kas. Restingon a slope situated between a large bay and a line of cliffs, some of themcontaining Lycian rock tombs that have the facades of temples, the townis known for its Hellenistic theater and also for its nightlife. We thereforevisited the theater, taking photographs of it as the sun set behind thecliffs; and after enjoying an elaborate seafood dinner, which, like dinnerseverywhere we went, cost less than $10 per person, we drifted into an outdoorcafe where two Turkish folk singers were performing. We met a group ofTurkish women at the next table, and Simon and I went with them to a rockclub where the blaring music showed no signs of abating even as we left,sometime after 3:00 a.m.
In the routine we developed, most days began slowly. Although Stewartencouraged early risers (mostly me) to delay their use of the creakingstairs that led from the saloon to the cockpit, I generally woke up soonafter dawn to make journal entries and to take long swims. By the timeI returned to the boat, Stewart had made the coffee--no one else ever did--andSimon had begun to prod us into deciding on the day's overall plan. Becausethe midday heat could be uncomfortable, we tried to do most of our sightseeingat the start of the day, leaving the middle, when the winds were betteranyway, for sailing. By midafternoon we had generally found a place tospend the night; our arrivals were uniformly followed by swimming and snorkeling,freshwater showers, cocktails and pistachios, and, ultimately, dinner andstargazing.
After Kas we continued on to Kekova Island, the farthest we got fromGocek. During two days there we circumnavigated the five-mile-long islandand visited Kalekoy, a hamlet notable for its well-preserved medieval castleand a sprawling hilltop necropolis of large sarcophagi. We also hired asmall fishing boat that took us directly over what had been the ancientcity of Simena. Built in the fifth century b.c., the city subsequentlysank below the water level as a result of one of the calamitous earthquakesthat have punctuated Turkey's long history. Peering through the water withthe help of a glass-bottomed bucket, we spotted walls, mosaics, and evenceramic jugs.
When we left Kekova Sound to return to the Mediterranean, we discovereda heavy wind of close to thirty knots. For me, there is an elemental thrillin using the wind for leverage and adjusting the angle and shape of thesails to achieve maximum speed. The more wind the better. But althoughI was eager to use sails to capitalize on the powerful force, the restof the crew overruled me, deciding that we'd get where we wanted to gofaster by using the engine to head closer to the source of the wind. Theywere probably right. It was the kind of day that reminds nautical interlopersthat open waters, even when they are warm and emerald green, can suddenlyturn dangerous. Even though the sky remained a cloudless blue, as it hadever since we left Gocek, the waves that were crashing over the deck madeus so cold that we were forced to fashion protective garments out of garbagebags. (All but one of us had brazenly left our foul-weather gear at home.)When Stewart took the helm, he went so far as to use a diving mask to protecthis eyes and nose from the onslaught. For the rest of us, shivering inspite of our plastic gowns, the sight of him wrapped up in his big baby-blueplastic sack, gulping down air through his mouth, provided welcome comicrelief.
Most sailors have nothing but scorn for powerboats--Americans call them"stinkpots"; Britons call them "gin palaces." Since this snobbery becomesparticularly acute in the midst of difficult conditions, it was ironicthat when we escaped the rough seas by entering a sheltered cove, we spotteda large powerboat that was carrying several American friends. It was a"Turkish gulet," a kind of boat that was designed specifically for charterholidays and that has become increasingly popular in recent years. Boardingthe sixty-foot wooden-hulled craft--which had masts although it never usedany sail--we could readily see just how different their experience wasfrom ours. While we charted courses and hoisted sails and braved challengingseas, our friends spent their days lounging around a vast deck, waitingfor a four-man professional crew to serve meals and move their motel-likecraft from place to place. Although there is something to be said for theirapproach (they were, after all, seeing many of the same places we were,and the magic of sailing is, unaccountably, invisible to some), we werehappy not to be a part of it.
Three days later, suddenly the last day of our voyage, we had returnedto the Gulf of Fethiye and were enjoying what was probably our single bestday of sailing. When I took my last turn at the helm, the wind was constant,at fifteen to twenty knots, the seas were relatively calm, and we weresurrounded by the dramatic terrain that continued to astound us. As wehurtled along at an invigorating speed, my faith in the perfection of sailingvacations had never been stronger. -------------------- G. Bruce Knechtis a writer who specializes in international business and economics. Heis currently a Reuter fellow at Oxford University, in England.
The Atlantic Monthly.