Goodbye Greece… for now

In pre-dawn darkness on September 1st, we made an 0500 departure from Methoni, motoring north through a small roll-y swell with a sliver of a crescent moon rising in the east. We got the mainsail up shortly after daybreak, as the southerly breeze began to fill in and the swell subsided, and we soon raised the headsail then the mizzen sail. By noon we’d killed the engine, and were reaching along in sunshine and calm seas, making 4 knots under full plain sail. We both agreed that THIS was what we signed up for!

At 1530 we dropped the hook in the anchorage at Katakolo, a scenic little spot whose beach stretches for 54 miles.The town is primarily a cruise ship destination where visitors can get a bus or train to the ancient site of Olympia, 25-miles away. In an effort to latch onto some of that tourist money before it gets away, local businesses have packed the town’s two streets with shops and tavernas. The visitors must run the gauntlet enroute to the tour busses, but they all seem happily eager to eat and drink, shop and spend.

Shopping in Katakolo can actually be quite entertaining. Olive wood items, Greek wines, and other locally produced products are everywhere, and even in the souvenir shops there are bottles of ouzo (the licorice-flavored cordial) tucked in amongst the post cards and hand made (or not) crafts. Most places insist that you try a sample. (What a country!) And you can practically have a meal at the wine shops, where a wide variety of local goodies are sold: olive oil, wines, cordials, nuts, olives, and traditional sweets, and shoppers are urged to sample them all. We bypassed these snack-a-thon shops in favor of a small family-owned backstreet taverna, where the harbor master and other locals come to eat. The homemade wine and the pita gyros were cheap and absolutely delicious.

We did the tourist thing one day and took the little tour train for a 30-minute ride on a tiny narrow road through the countryside. It was quite charming, winding through fragrant pine forests, past vineyards and groves of olive trees, and we stopped at the small Mercouri winery, where peacocks roam the yard. This old Greek family-owned estate has a 150-year history in the production of wine and olive oil. Although there was no tour and no signage at this working winery, the old furnishings, photos, and paraphernalia in the main building gave us a sense of the history of the estate.

We also took a bus to the historic site of Olympia, where the games originated in 776 BC. In ancient times, ships bringing athletes to compete in the festival would anchor in Katakolo’s big bay.

Historic Katakolo Bay

 

Thanks to various earthquakes and to a 5th-century emperor’s order that the temples be destroyed, little remains of the magnificent buildings of Ancient Olympia. But extensive ruins spread throughout the leafy groves give a wonderful feeling of the history. In the huge open stadium you can stand on the ancient marble slab that marked the starting line for the races, and know that over 2700 years ago, an athlete put his foot on that same slab. Although our visit was a bit abbreviated when the captain suffered an attack of gastroenteritis, we still came away with an appreciation of Olympia’s impressive history.

After a pleasant two weeks on anchor in Katakolo, we made an 0600 departure for the island of Zakynthos, 24 miles to our NW. An initially uneventful motor-sail, assisted by light southerlies, became more lively as the day wore on and the weather became unsettled. We put a reef in the mainsail, and we hoisted the jib as wind and seas began to build. Conditions deteriorated as we neared our destination, with ugly dark clouds looming overhead and lightning flickering in the distance. We finally had to douse all the canvas as we approached the harbor, and with no anchorage here, we tied up at the quay a mere 30 minutes before a serious squall bore down on us. We were berthed bow-in, and Ken spent the better part of an hour in a howling wind and cold rain, adjusting the dock lines and stern anchor to keep SD’s bow safely clear of the stone quay.

Zakynthos Harbor as seem from the ancient fortress

 

We spent one day on a steep trek high up the hill that overlooks the town to visit the ancient ruins of Zakynthos Fortress, a 16th-century Venetian fortress that was itself built on prehistoric ruins. Barracks, churches, a jail, ordnance storerooms,and other surviving structures are spread over vast rolling lawns among the pine trees. and the view over Zakynthos town is spectacular. We agreed that it was worth the hike.

Zakynthos – olive trees galore

Our on-board entertainment in the evenings was to retire to the cockpit with our sundowners and watch the arriving boats du jour in their efforts to dock.  Some crews took their berth like pros, while other unfortunates required multiple attempts, which was comical to watch, but certainly no fun for those on board.

After a week at Zakynthos, we had a favorable weather window for our passage to Messalonghi, where SD will spend the winter while her crew flies home to America. Our passage followed our usual pattern of a pleasant start, with wind and seas increasing as the day progressed.  We began with a single reef in the main, but by the time we’d completed about 2/3 of the 40 mile passage, the wind was on our nose and SD was banging into a steep chop that threw sheets of spray all the way aft to the helm. We tucked in a second reef, but we were very happy to have those last wet 15-miles behind us as we entered the calm waters of the canal that leads to Messalonghi marina.  The channel passes quiet marshland where wading birds poke around in the grasses on the tidal flats and little wooden shacks on pilings line the marshy shore.  Two miles later we arrived at the serene lagoon beside the marina, where we dropped the hook.

We took a berth at the marina the following morning, and so began a week of prepping SD for storage.  Sails were raised so they could be hosed down before folding and storing in the cabin.  All cordage was washed, and SD herself was washed and waxed, and her rigging and hardware cleaned and detailed to remove any spots of rust. Inside the cabin, bulkheads and flooring and linens and lockers were washed, and most of SD’s on-deck apparatus will be stowed inside.  Bicycle trips along the marsh and into town provided recreation and a break from the chores. The marina itself is extremely well appointed, and although busy, it’s quiet and very attractive. With Messalonghi’s reputation as a safe marina with an historically mild winter, we feel happy that we’ve chosen this spot for our little ship to hibernate. We bid a readers farewell until May, 2014.

“SD” lookin’ good!

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Greece–continued

We departed Milos in mid-afternoon on July 31, for a blustery sail out of the bay, with winds gusting down off the hills as SD sprinted along under headsail and mizzen. Clearing the coast, we turned left to lay a westerly course for Monemvasia, 65 miles distant.  The night passed in the usual roll-y conditions of the Aegean, and the flukey winds had Ken frequently alternating sail arrangements to suit the conditions.  We reached Monemvasia in the pre-dawn, and hove-to for about an hour, entering a little anchorage at first light.  We had our hook down not a moment too soon, as the wind was really honking by 0900.  Conditions kept us aboard all that day, but we dinghied ashore the following morning, parking Loose Change in a tiny protected harbor among the little local fishing boats.
Monemvasia is a hump-backed island with a short causeway connecting it to the Pelopnnisos.  From offshore it resembles the Rock of Gibraltar, and on its south side sits a 6th-century walled Byzantine village, once an important port. From the sea, it appears unchanged from ancient times, although once inside the walls, we found small gift shops, cafes, and even tiny hotels, which have taken up residence in some of the old buildings. Happily, there is no evidence of new construction, and the village retains its charm, as houses, churches, steps, and (very!) narrow streets all remain in their original stone construction.  After dark, the mountain is low-lit to lovely effect, and from aboard SD we could hear a distant female voice singing softly in Greek from a piano bar at the mountain’s base.

Monemvasia

We made an 0645 departure, heading west to round Cape Maleas before turning north to Elafonisos Island. Winds were predicted to be light, but were actually fairly brisk, and the wind and seas increased substantially as we approached the infamous cape. By the time we were actually rounding the cape, we had 6-foot following seas, and the wind was howling. To add to the entertainment in these rowdy conditions, a 40-foot fishing boat, with miles and miles of the Aegean to choose from, had opted instead to motor along just a few yards off our port side. (Note to Dave Reaves: Encroachment!)  The wind went briefly light once we were around the cape, but it was just a tease, as its force abruptly began to increase until it was screaming a full gale, with SD barreling along in a miserable chop with just a scrap of headsail unfurled.
Arriving (finally!) at our anchorage, we got the hook down, but stayed aboard, as the wind remained strong and gusty.  By the next morning, all the drama had spent itself, and at 0615 we weighed anchor and headed out of the bay in light winds and calm seas. It turned out to be one of the most beautiful days we’ve seen, so perfect that we decided to skip our planned anchorage and continue around Cape Tainaron. Tainaron, another cape with a nasty reputation, was believed by ancients to be the entrance to the underworld. Tainaron and the previous day’s Cape Maleas are sometimes known as “twin Cape Horns” because of their notoriously rough seas, described by one source as “some of the roughest water in the Aegean”.

Tainaron Cape off the bow

Tainaron Cape Light

This day, however, we could look down to Tainaron and see nothing but more flat water. In the spirit of “carpe diem”, we changed course and were soon safely around, with the big bad cape fading into the distance. As we continued north in perfect weather, we passed the towering cliffs of Capo Grosso, pockmarked with old pirate caves, close on our east, while to our west there stretched a whole lot of nothing, all the way to North Africa. 
The quiet anchorages at Port Limeni and at Kardamila were small, relaxing overnight stops on our way up to Kalamata.

Kardamila anchorage

Port Limeni anchorage

Village street in Kardamila

In Kalamata,we berthed in the marina, as there is no anchorage. A wonderful paved bike path skirts the top of the bay and runs all the way up to the center of town. We took turns on our shared bike, riding in the cool mornings before the heat of mid-day and the influx of pedestrians, who exhibit an exasperating amount of not looking where they’re going.We’re not marina people, as we hate to part with our money, and being close enough to see your neighbor’s eye color is not a proximity we enjoy. But as long as we had no choice, we took full advantage of the amenities, like cold beer a few steps away, and unlimited fresh water.  Our onboard entertainment was watching the arriving yachts attempt the berthing process, which could be pretty lively if the breeze was up. On such occasions the newcomers would be blown past their target berth, often fetching up unfortunately positioned broadside to one of the berthed boats, whose crew would frantically arm themselves with boat-hooks to fend off the runaway. It was pretty exciting to watch, but undoubtedly not much fun for the participants.
Sometimes this wasn’t entertainment enough to suit Ken, so he decided to inspect our manual bilge pump. He found it to be badly corroded and the rubber flapper valves were no longer flexible. He decided it would be best to replace it instead of trying to resurrect it. This wet, messy project turned out to be even more fun than replacing the toilet pump, and involved several hours of labor and considerable chaos of tools and paraphernalia, and irritable mutterings from the captain.
After several days at Kalamata we departed for quieter waters, anchoring off the little village of Petalidhion, ten miles west, where we were often all alone in the anchorage. We treated ourselves one afternoon to a table at an “ouzery”. This is basically a bar, where old Greek men smoke, drink, laugh, play cards, and smoke some more. The locals took no notice of us (they were too busy smoking), and we sipped our iced-and-ice-watered ouzo and nibbled our olives, delighted to be soaking up local color in a decidedly non-touristy spot.
Next was little Koroni, a 3-night stop in a pretty anchorage at the base of a hill where sits an old monastery and the remains of an ancient fort.  We enjoyed wandering among the ruins, but our night-times were a repeat of Milos, with ear-splitting techno-noise (can’t call it music) blasting from a club on the quay. It marred an otherwise pleasant visit.

Koroni water front anchorage

Monastery of St. John the Baptist at Koroni

Cemetery at the Monastery (I see dead people)

Ancient ruins of St. Sophia Church at Koroni

Eighteen miles further on, northbound up the west coast of the Peloponnisos, we anchored at Methoni, where the enormous ruins of a 13th-century Venetian fort sit on the headland. The fort was built to guard the shipping route, and actually housed an entire community. The towering walls and parapets are still intact, as are the the ancient roads and many structures. Protected by the sea on three sides, the place has an actual moat on the landward side, and its entrance from land is accessed by a magnificent stone bridge of 14 arches.



Methoni has been one of our favorites stops; we ended up spending 2-weeks here. The anchorage was calm even when the wind piped up. Enjoyed watching the antics of boats coming and going. During happy hour we could watch the locals, silhouetted by the setting sun, fishing from the stone jetty while we sipped our wine; the landing of an octopus was high excitement! The small village was pleasant and convenient. Some days we would sail “Loose Change” (our beloved dinghy) around the anchorage just for the fun of it.

We’ll linger a bit longer, waiting for a good weather window before commencing our departure to our last anchorages enroute to SD’s winter home in Messalonghi.   Cheers!
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Hello Greece

 

We said farewell to Turkey on July 15 when we left our Datca anchorage for the brief and pleasant sail to the Greek Island of Simi. Although we were only a few miles from Turkey, it was immediately obvious that we were in another country. We chose as our anchorage the little bay at Panormitis, located in the SW corner of the island, whose shoreline is dominated by the Monastery of Michael the Archangel (c. 1740) and its five-tier bell tower, said (by Wiki) to be the tallest baroque bell tower in the world. In fact, there’s not much else on shore other than the monastery.

The village population is about sixty souls with a single quayside taverna and one tiny market selling a surprisingly good selection of wine and cheese. There are no roads other than the one that leads out of the village, and local children ride their bicycles along the quay. It looks like one imagines it did fifty years ago, even to the bell tower, whose bells are actually manually rung by one of the monks.

We dinghied ashore in the evening and bought a five liter box of wine (hey, we’re cheap) and two cold beers and sat on a quayside bench to drink them (the beers, not the wine). Facing west, we watched the sky tint itself pink and peach in the sunset, and a series of little lights winked on to light the path to a small windmill at the mouth of the bay. Behind us from the monastery drifted the haunting and beautiful sounds of the Gregorian chant as the monks sang their evening prayers. When the sun and the beers and the chants were gone, we took a table at the little taverna and celebrated our arrival in Greece by sharing a small bottle of ouzo, drinking it like the locals do. Poured over ice and topped with water, the licorice-flavored drinks were very refreshing, and we lingered over them for an hour before returning home.

Our first Taverna

Early the following morning we waited in front of the monastery and caught the little local bus for the 45-minute ride to Simi Town. Although the road is paved and well-maintained, it’s quite narrow, ascending steeply in a series of hair pin turns, sans guard rails. Sheep and goats rummaged in the road side shrubbery, and the view to the sparkly bay far below us was spectacular. Tucked amongst the big boats petite SD looked no bigger than a dinghy.

Gaining the summit, we soon began a steep decent down the other side, overlooking Simi Town and its picturesque little harbor. As we entered the outskirts and continued into town, the road narrowed to little more than an alleyway, twisting among the old buildings, all uniformly pale, in shades of white and cream and yellow. Touches of color are provided by red tile roofs and by wooden doors and shutters painted in bright blues and greens. The buildings are packed closely together up the steep slopes of the bowl-like sides of the hills, rather like and amphitheater facing the harbor.

We made the rounds of the various offices to check into the country, mistakenly starting with the Coast Guard. The pretty girl at the desk looked at our papers with a doubtful eye, frowned at us and said, “You have no visa. I don’t know if you can get visa. You must ask police. If you don’t have visa, you have to leave.” She didn’t look particularly optimistic, but we obediently trotted off to the police station, hoping the officer would give us a visa (passport stamp) so we wouldn’t have to leave. He did, so we didn’t.

After a bit of strolling and some lunch, we returned to Panormitis, arriving at the same time that a huge “tripper boat” was disgorging throngs of day-tripping tourists onto the quay. They swarmed the steps of the monastery in hordes reminiscent of those at the royal wedding, minus the hats.

A return trip to Simi Town was in order the next morning to get exit stamps in our transit log, as the wind forecast was favorable for departure on the following day. On our final evening in Panormitis, we visited the monastery itself, which was quiet after the departure of the day-trippers. Evening services were in progress in the tiny, dark, candle-lit chapel. The soaring stone ceiling and walls were covered with lovely old icons, rich with colors and gold leaf, and the fragrance of incense filled the air as the monks chanted their vespers. It was all quite beautiful and soul-soothing.

The following morning we embarked on a rowdy sail to the island of Tilos, 25-miles to our southwest. While in Panormitis we had changed our headsail, replacing the big one with our smaller 90% sail in anticipation of strong winds. It turned out to be a prudent decision on the part of the captain. Seas on our route were sloppy and choppy and definitely of the washing-machine genre. The breeze freshened as we approached Tilos and we were soon sailing hard on the wind. Ken tucked a reef in the mainsail and Katie manned the mainsheet, spilling wind to keep SD on her feet when she buried her lee rail.

As we rounded Tilos’ southern coast and turned into the bay, we had the wind on our nose, funneled between two hills, and SD was bashing her way into the white caps. We anchored in as close as we could, where there was significantly less chop, as the water was deprived of its fetch. However, we could see and hear the surf breaking on shore, so we stayed aboard. Our trip log for the day showed a maximum speed of nine knots!

Two days later the wind was forecast to be less, so we weighed anchor at 0600. The bay was just a bit roll-y, but outside it was just plain awful. We were greeted by steep choppy seas, with four-foot cresting waves, and it was also blowing like stink. We still had one reef in the main, and we only partially unfurled the headsail. The wind wasn’t horrible, but the confused seas sure were. Each time SD came over a crest, she’d slam into the trough, sending sheets of spray all the way to the cockpit.

Even with the side curtains on our dodger, we were both soaked to the skin within the hour. By the end of the second hour, Katie was feeling pretty seasick, which hadn’t happened since we left San Francisco, over five years ago. Ken, thankfully, was fine. We’d planned to sail to the island of Astipalaia, but with the wind angle, we couldn’t lay that course, so instead we set a course for Thira (aka Santorini), almost 100 miles away. Thank goodness for Horatio, our trusty windvane, who had the helm for most of the trip. Conditions improved a bit as night fell, and we had a big bright moon to light our way.

We arrived at the southern tip of Thira at the first light, and slowed down to time our entrance in full daylight. We entered the little “Fisherman’s Marina at Vlichada” and were directed by the harbor master to raft up alongside another yacht, a 51-footer named Blue Nose. Our new neighbors were Anna and Domenico, an Italian couple who run a charter business with their boat. The were charming, friendly, and very gracious, particularly since, as we were rafted, we needed to cross their deck to access the dock.

SD rafted up to Blue Nose

The following morning we caught a bus to the capital city of Fira. An elderly local gentleman named Spiro had staked out a nice spot under a shady tree near the bus stop, and from a little stand he sold produce from his farm, and wine that he made himself. About all that could be said for his English was that it was better than our Greek, but despite the language barrier, he urged us to sample all the goodies, and with gestures and big smiles, we managed a fine transaction, coming away with fresh figs, tomatoes, cucumbers, and excellent sweet red wine.

The island of Thira is actually a giant volcano, and is still active. It blew itself to pieces around 1450 BC in an explosion that spawned a tsunami estimated to be as high as 300 feet. It is believed by many eminent authorities that Thira may be the legendary island of Atlantis. The principal island is crescent-shaped Thira, which encircles the rim of the six-mile long crater, now filled with water, with the remaining cinder cone at the center of the crater. Steep-to on its west coast, Thira’s pumice cliffs drop sheer into the sea from about 700 feet, and keep going down for another 900 feet.

A landing stage at sea level is the quay for boats carrying passengers from the cruise ships anchored off in the caldera.  Behind this quay, 587 steps lead up to the sugar-white buildings of Fira, clustered tightly together on parallel streets along the ridge. We started the walk down, noticing a distinct piquant “eau de donkey” as we descended, and had put about 20 steps behind us when we rounded a bend and discovered the source of the olfactory punch. Dozens and dozens of donkeys, colorfully saddled and jingling with bells, lined the stone walkway that wound and snaked its way steeply to the old port, far below us. The donkeys looked weary and bored, but their drivers were animated and friendly, eagerly calling out, “Donkey, sir? Donkey, madame? Only five Euros!”

                                                 “Donkey, sir?”

 

We declined, having pressing business to attend to. One of the two on-board computers that runs our navigation software had suddenly expired, and we needed to get a replacement. Redundancy in this vital crew member was paramount, and we were fortunately able to find a replacement machine at a computer shop in Fira.  The on-site techie translated its language from Greek to English, and was able to do some trouble-shooting on a few glitches in our single working machine. All of this required multiple visits to the shop, much head-scratching, and some serious decision-making. (Not to mention money-spending!) We are quite happy with the new unit, even though the extended time spent in the search, purchase, and formatting meant that we had to sacrifice some sight-seeing time. Oh well, as our friend Bernice says, “There’s needs and there’s wants”.

After four days in Thira, we had a “weather window” for an early-morning departure. Our travels in Greece are dictated by the weather, as winds in the Aegean can be ferocious, and we need to plan our passages to avoid the howling winds called “meltemi”.  We had a less-than ideal wind angle for our next leg, but we managed an uneventful motor-sailing passage to a serene little anchorage about 15 miles from the island of Milos. The few beach-goers there were gone by sundown, and we had this charming place to ourselves for the night.

Friday, July 26 dawned clear and bright, and we had a lovely 17-mile sail to Milos, where we berthed at the town quay in Adamas, in Milos Bay.  We were thrilled to find unlimited fresh water at the quay for a sorely-needed wash-down, as both SD and her crew were as salty as anchovies. The small town was a short walk away and our little spot was convenient and comfortable. It became decidedly less comfortable at around midnight, when at least three nearby clubs began blaring what can hardly be called music at full decibels, apparently in a futile attempt to override each other. It was like being at a rave.  We decided that this simply would not do, so we moved farther down the quay and were henceforth spared the tuneless hip-hop noise and pounding bass, enjoying subsequently peaceful nights.

One of our new neighbors was a single-hander (solo sailor) named Stefan, a young German who was simply entranced by our Sand Dollar.  He asked endless questions and spent quite a bit of time admiring her from all angles, apparently delighted by her lines and appointments.  We even noticed him pointing her out to his friend, excitedly describing what Ken had told him. We don’t blame him, as we agree that she’s a peach!

Single-hander Stefan on his equally beautiful Contest sailboat (his friend’s Nicholson 32 in the background)

 

Cute little hand crafted Greek fishing boats

Example of white-washed home with the classic Greek blue trim

                                               Fresh-caught octopus hanging up to dry.

 

 

The prevailing wind angle makes it an exercise in self-abuse to try to sail north, so we’ve opted to go west instead, and make our northing in the Ionian Sea, hoping for less boisterous winds. With a decent weather window forecast for the last day of July, we’ll set a westerly course for Eastern Peloponnisos, and our eventual departure from the Aegean Sea.

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Goodbye Turkey

 

Dear Friends and Family,

We departed Bozuk Buku under calm conditions on a Tuesday morning, motoring  westbound and striving to get “around the corner” of the Loryma Peninsula before the winds piped up. Happily, this turned out to be the only time we had to motor between anchorages. Once we’d cleared this SW point, we turned north, passing the ancient Gulf of Simi to our east, with the Greek island of Simi itself visible just a few miles to our west, rising out of the Aegean Sea. Twelve miles later we were anchor-down in little Dirsek Bay, an idyllic spot surrounded by dry rocky hills peppered with scrub and a few small trees, looking like something out of the Old West.  There are no roads, and only one small restaurant and quay, with a horse tied to a nearby tree adding to the “wild west” flavor.

(Sidebar: During our time here, we noticed that each day, the horse was tied to a different tree.  We guessed that this re-location was done for grazing purposes rather than to give the animal a change of scenery.)

With very deep water in the center of the bay, the yachts anchor a short distance from shore and tie a stern line to a rock or tree to prevent their swinging into each other. Once Ken had SD tethered to his satisfaction, he had a swim in the pristine water to check the anchor. For Katie, the water was still a bit too chilly to do more than stand thigh-deep on the boarding ladder and watch the little fish potter around, inspecting our boat.

Photo: From high on one of the rocky hills surrounding Dirsek’s bay,  we can see our SD anchored in the clear turquoise water.

Early the next morning, Katie’s dozing was interrupted by a soft persistent clunking sound, which at first seemed to be coming from Ken’s bunk, where he was using the computer. When queried, he replied, “Nope – that’s a bell on a goat”.  Well, this was new, so we both hustled up to the cockpit, from where we could see that indeed, there was a goat with a bell on the near shore, accompanied by about 20 other bell-less companions, all browsing in the scrub.  We enjoyed the show while our coffee perked, but the entertainment was cut short when a man walking his dog on the beach prompted a general stampede.  Katie was disappointed at the exodus, but Ken saw it differently, remarking, “At least that added a little excitement, because it was getting kind of boring”.

A different kind of excitement occurred each afternoon when the ice cream boat made its rounds.This little open boat, carrying an ice cream freezer, was crewed by two smiling young locals. At around 3 pm they’d zip around from yacht to yacht, holding a waterproof menu and calling, “iiiiiiice cream!”.  The crew of the good ship Sand Dollar were faithful repeat customers!

We spent three days at Dirsek, and on our final morning we hiked to the top of the nearest hill and were rewarded with a spectacular view. The same dry, rocky, “wild west” hills stretched east as far as the eye could see, and to our west, Simi sat in the sparkling blue Aegean.  Not a single tourist venue in sight; this was what we signed up for!

Back at sea level, the wind came up by 1130, and we sailed away on a sweet eight-mile down-wind run, ENE to a larger bay and the village of Selimiye.  We sniffed around for a bit, but depths in the bay were consistently more than 60 feet, too deep for us to anchor safely, so we opted for our first “Med-moor”.  Nosing SD up to a restaurant’s quay, we tossed bow lines to staff on the dock, who secured the lines to metal dock rings. We were handed a mooring line which was already tailed to an underwater “laid mooring”, and secured it to SD’s stern. With fenders in place over the side to protect our hull from our neighbors’, Ken fine-tuned the lay of all the lines until SD was parked neatly and securely in her berth, and the dock was an easy step-off from the bow.

We berthed at “Aurora” restaurant, a totally charming little open-air establishment decorated with local crafts and art-work.  The tables in the shady patio pavilion were moved out onto the wide dock for evening dining, which began at 7 pm. It was all a far cry from the ubiquitous plastic chairs and tables and box-of-Kleenex napkins of SE Asia. Here in Turkey, all the chairs and tables are made of wood, even in the budget “locals” cafes. At Aurora, which admittedly caters to tourists, there were linen tablecloths, comfy chair cushions, heavy cutlery, and candles on the tables – all this and bay-side dining on the dock – it was SO Mediterranean!

As in many Turkish restaurants, Aurora has no menu. Selections for mezes (“starters”) and mains are attractively displayed  in a glass front deli-style case in front of the tiny kitchen. The proprietress walks you back to the case, describes each item, and then comes the hard part – you have to choose something. (Decisions, decisions; so much tempting food, so little time!)

We settled on fresh sardines with a tomato/olive oil drizzle, which were fantastic, and bore no resemblance to the canned supermarket fish. We also chose a seaweed salad, some chopped fresh leeks, and another salad, this one with white beans, fresh corn kernels, chopped onion and tomato, olive oil and spices.  Accompanied by oven-fresh village bread, it was all incredible, as was our shared main course of spicy chicken sizzled in a wok. It’s a rare indulgence for us to dine in a restaurant, as it’s just not in our budget, but patronage is expected when a yacht is berthed at the restaurant’s quay, so we treated ourselves, which wasn’t much of a hardship!

 

Treated ourselves to a carafe of chilled rose’ on a rare dinner ashore. Cheers!

Happiness is a good, long belly-rub to get one’s hind leg kicking!

The following morning as we busied ourselves washing the boat, the floors, and a couple of buckets of laundry, a guy came by on a motorbike and passed us a big round of the local flatbread called “pide”, still warm from the oven. “Compliments of the restaurant”, he said; “No money”. We wasted no time in digging out some of the local honey to enjoy with this taste treat. If we stay here more than a couple of days, we’ll each weigh 500 pounds!

Photo: Gulets on the quay at Selimye.

However, a pressing project was waiting.  Katie had managed to break the pump on the toilet a week prior by dropping a locker lid on it. Ken had ordered a new pump, which had arrived at West Marine, so we took a bus to Marmaris to pick it up.  As long as we were in the big city, we multi-tasked by picking up six bottles of our favorite wine, too.

The following day was toilet-repair day, which was just about as much fun as it sounds, and required a repeat washing of the cabin floor.

After three days at Aurora’s dock, enjoying the luxury of spotless showers, unlimited fresh water, and warm daily bread, we decided it was time to leave.  Not to leave quaint little Selimiye, but to vacate the quay. Although the restaurant doesn’t charge a berthing fee, the village does: 20 TL daily, or about $10, which is collected by a fedora-wearing guy on a motorbike. We intended to leave before his usual rounds to avoid the fee, but on this day we spied him approaching early, starting his collections at the far end of the quay.  We both dropped what we were doing, cast off our dock lines, and started the engine.  Fedora guy heard our engine fire up and made a bee-line for us, but we’d already reversed out of our berth, leaving him standing on the dock with a look of frustration on his face as he watched us motor away, taking our 20 TL with us.

We found a cove at the edge of the village where we anchored about 150 yards from shore, right in front of a mosque with the most powerful loud-speakers we’ve ever heard. At least they seemed that way when the muezzin began his 5 am wailing.  They must have bought them from the Rolling Stones.

Photo:  Mama and Papa and their smiling son sold produce and honey from their farm at this little roadside stand in Selimiye. We stocked up!

We spent another four days in Selimiye, relaxing, taking turns rowing ashore on water runs, strolling on the quay to buy wicked-good home-made ice cream, and exploring the town. We changed our headsail, and Ken made one more solo bus run to Marmaris to pick up an engine hose, and then it was time to move on.

On the first day of summer, we weighed anchor and sailed off, tacking our way close-hauled up to Hisaronu Bay, then turning NE, beam-reaching until the wind died off and began to back toward our port quarter. As we were now sailing down-wind in light air, Ken hoisted the spinnaker, and we glided gently along at two-three knots.

We sailed into Keci Buku and anchored in a small cove near the entrance, off a little islet topped with the ruins of an ancient fortress.  The slopes of the surrounding hills are covered with pine trees, and the marina and the main channel for the bay are visible, but far enough away that our spot is quiet and serene.

Ken tied a stern line to a rock ashore, and with SD in this orientation, she didn’t swing on her anchor, and the evening sun was always behind us. We could thus enjoy our sun-downers on the bow, a favorite spot for watching the comings and goings of the neighborhood. One evening we were surprised to see about two dozen black rabbits on the little islet.  They hopped down from the ruins to a small meadow on the shore, apparently oblivious to a handful of people who stood watching from the beach a few yards away. Soon, however, a dinghy with two people and a dog approached, prompting Ken to remark, “This ought to be good”.

Sure enough, as soon as the dinghy hit the beach, the dog was off like a shot, but so were the rabbits, scattering up the hill like a bunch of leaves blown by a leaf blower. The dog spent a few minutes trotting in circles in the now-empty meadow, nose to the ground, in hopes of rousting a straggler, but to no avail.

View from SD of the islet near our anchorage in a little cove in Keci Buku. Crumbling ruins at the top tend to blend in with the surrounding rock. Rabbits galore! Notice the “super moon” visible in background.

 

This is how “the other half” lives!

 

A study in contrasts: our neighbor in the Keci Buku anchorage on his self-built functional little craft.

During our nine days in Keci Buku we swam, took walks ashore and through the nearby farming village, and hit the Saturday markets for excellent fresh local peaches, lemons, and other goodies.  We crashed the marina’s pool for a swim, walking past some old ruins, probably Byzantine, which were left in place when the marina was constructed around them.  Vessels in our cove came and went, and ran the gamut from a huge luxury power cruiser to a tiny sailboat, obviously home-made and crewed by the owner and his wife. There were also intermittent yachts and gulets, and occasionally a tour-boat would anchor for half an hour, discharging hordes of Speedo- and bikini-clad swimmers into the bay for “swim call”.

We weighed anchor on June 30, Mom’s 90th birthday, for a blustery sail to Kuruca Buku on the Datca Peninsula. We tacked our way westward, hard on the wind, sailing 19 miles to cover the 12-mile distance.  We were anchor-down at 1330, but it took three tries to get it set, as the bottom was full of weed.  By nightfall the meltemi was blowing like stink.  This seasonal wind from the north continued all the following day, with wind speeds averaging 30 knots, and higher in the gusts. We stayed home!

Kuruca Buku

By  the next day it was over, so in light winds we dinghied ashore and walked a few yards across a sandy isthmus to the next bay, where sits a pretty vacation community called Holiday Village. A cluster of two-story white stucco townhouses with red tile roofs line the shore, all with colorful bursts of hibiscus, lantana, and bougainvillea, and with tall pines shading manicured lawns that stretch to a wide paved esplanade running the length of the beach.

Through gin-clear water we can see sand and the dark patches of weed, twenty feet down.

 

Beyond the townhouses is a big quiet campground under the pines, and the warm piney fragrance and the crunch of pine needles underfoot reminded us of our own camping and back-packing days. 

One of our two onboard computers went belly-up recently, leaving us with only one to run our navigation program.  As a precaution, we spent a day planning our route from here all the way to the marina in Greece where we’ll store SD for the winter.  We then printed paper charts, which we’ll use from now on to save wear on our one remaining machine.

View over the neighboring bay from a shady park bench. Greek Island Simi in the background.

Leaving Kuruca Buku after eight days, we had a marvelous close-hauled sail to Datca. (Rhymes with “gotcha”.)  We anchored in the smaller of Datca’s two bays, among about six other yachts, with gulets and tour boats passing close by (sometimes within a few yards!) enroute to and from the quay.  The roped-off swim area a few yards away was full of vacationers, laughing and calling back and forth, with a few brave souls actually swimming through the crowded anchorage.

We went ashore the next morning for a stroll through town and across to the other bay, which looked temptingly more low-key, occupied by only two yachts.  We agreed that we liked the quieter bay better, and returned to SD to weigh anchor. The anchor windlass chose this moment to self-destruct, and no amount of coaxing could resuscitate it, so Ken hauled up anchor and chain hand over hand. We moved to the other bay, and as soon as we’d anchored, Ken crawled into the chain locker, which was no small feat, considering that his shoulders are wider than the opening.  He quickly identified the cause of the windlass malfunction, which turned out to be the deck switch, where a small wire had corroded and come adrift from its contact.  Luckily, SD’s captain had the foresight to have stocked a spare, and once he’d installed it we were rewarded with the familiar whine of a happy windlass.

Ken dove on the anchor to check its set, and although it seemed to be holding, he didn’t like the looks of it.  He decided to set a second hook, so he rowed our Fortress anchor out in the dinghy, setting it at about 45 degrees from the main anchor. The bottom must be like concrete, because the second anchor also didn’t dig in as deeply as he would have liked. However, with the engine running in reverse at full power, we didn’t move, so we’re stuck pretty good.

Older photo of Datca Town; much more developed now.

We made some forays ashore to explore, buy some (more!) wine and other groceries, and sample some local food at a quaint non-touristy café. We came close to buying a computer to replace our dead one, but in the end, the Turkish keyboard was a show-stopper. On day two, Ken decided to do some preventive maintenance on the engine, which turned out to be a fortuitous move, as he discovered that the sea-water cooling pump was leaking. So another repair project got underway, accompanied by the usual chaos of parts, rags, and tools littering the cabin. Ken replaced the worn seals with spares he had on hand, and the repair was a success.

By the end of our second day, the meltemi had cranked up again, and by day three it was really honking, so we stayed aboard. Our anchors are still holding and our anchor watch alarm has been blessedly silent, so we haven’t budged.  We plan to check out of Turkey and sail to Greece in two days, on July 15, as the winds are forecast to abate a little, and our mandatory Greek insurance takes effect that day.  Without this insurance (with one copy required in Greek), we would not be permitted to sail in Greek waters.  (I tried to read it, but it was all Greek to me.)  Our destination on the Greek island of Simi is only a few miles away, but we’re pretty excited about embarking on a new set of adventures in a whole new country!

Love, K and K

Note: We’ve added a new YOTREPS gadget to our blog which will take you directly to our current position.

You can reach us at SandDollar_N4KS@yahoo.com