The first of May saw Ken burning the final days of his Thai visa in the pretty beach village of Nai Yang, while Katie visited friends and family in America. Meanwhile, the good ship Sand Dollar made her way up the Red Sea, bound for the Mediterranean as a passenger on the deck of the yacht transport ship MV BBC Belem. We all rendezvoused in Marmaris, Turkey when the ship docked on 15 May, and we climbed the gangway to find SD looking good despite her dusting of Red Sea sand. She was slated for unloading the following morning, and we boarded the ship to find her in the slings, ready for her "splash". Gently and expertly she was lowered into the sea, and we climbed down the pilot's rope ladder to her deck, started her engine, cast off the last straps holding her alongside the ship, and she was free.
Fifteen minutes later we were anchor down in Marmaris Bay, near the beach of old town. The rocky slopes of the hills surrounding the bay are carpeted with pine forests, and the sparkling crystal clear water shimmers in shades from pale green to deep blue. A short row ashore landed us at the eastern edge of the beach, where it meets the town quay. Westward, the beach is packed with resorts and restaurants. East of the beach, the quay's esplanade is perfect for strolling, with dozens of boats berthed stern-to the quay - water taxis, tour boats, and the big traditional wooden gulets, all anxious to snag some sight-seeing tourists. The landward side of the quay is lined with sidewalk cafes, each with a hawker trying to entice passers-by to sit in the shade of the big market umbrellas on the colorful cushioned seats and sample "the best food in Marmaris". We became experts at running the gauntlet and never took the bait.
Beyond the restaurants rose the white houses and red tiled roofs of "old town". Narrow streets twist and turn past shops and the remains of an old castle, and wind along a picturesque canal, with the hundreds of masts of nearby Netsel Marina towering above it all.
We found outstanding bread, produce, cheese, yogurt, and local jams to eat at home, saving the expense of restaurant dining. However, in support of the local economy, we did manage to significantly lighten our wallets on visits to the numerous local chandleries.
The Thursday Market was a huge, almost overwhelming "abondanza" of brightly colored farm-fresh produce, along with local cheeses, olives, nuts, and honey, all of which the shoppers were encouraged to sample. While Katie noshed her way through the market, Ken relaxed and used the Wi-Fi to download favorite podcasts at our old guest-house, Maltepe Pansiyon, where we'd awaited SD's arrival. It's a charming, homey, low-key place with a shared kitchen and a watermelon-sized cat that actually waddles when it walks.
Maltepe's owner, Mehmet, speaks English, but the place is managed by his delightful elderly parents, whom we took to calling Nana and Papa. Papa spoke no English, but Nana had command of three words: "good", "morning", "market". "Good morning!", she'd chirp at us each day. "Marmaris good?". We'd nod enthusiastically, agreeing, "Marmaris good!". Then she'd chatter happily at us in Turkish while we, clueless, smiled and nodded like bobble-heads. She was much given to big hugs and European-style double-cheek kisses, and she and Papa adopted us as family. We'd sit in the quiet courtyard under the shade of the grape arbor, and Nana would bring us local olives and delicious home-made stuffed vine leaves, and we'd share a glass of our wine with Papa when Nana wasn't looking. So on Thursday Market days we'd return to our old "home away from home", where Ken would do his downloads, while Nana brought him iced apple tea and Katie trotted off to spend money.
During our time in Marmaris we socialized a bit with fellow yachties, re-connecting with friends Rick and Robin, Floridians aboard "Endangered Species". David and Juliet, a British couple, had us over to happy hour on their boat "Reflections", during which David poured generous refills of his perfect gin-and-tonics as we laughed at their hilarious dry British humor. We made instant friends with Americans Ray and Marilyn, whose yacht "Horizon" is a "slutter" rigged Bristol 32, five years older than our own, and we had great fun visiting back and forth comparing our boats. Ray repeatedly expressed dismay at the fact that SD's water line is three inches higher than Horizon's, although the fact that his ground tackle, wind vane, rigging, etc. are beefy enough for a 45-foot boat was most likely a contributory factor.
By the end of May Ken had started shopping for insurance for SD, since we can't sail in Greek or Italian waters without it. It was a time-consuming exercise in extreme frustration, as many insurers gave us a thumbs-down because of SD's limited value and age (33 years). While we waited for quotes, we took a break from the irksome business of insurance-shopping, and took SD out one sunny afternoon to stretch her legs for a beautiful day-sail on the sparkling bay. She sailed smartly for hours in a brisk breeze and seemed happy to be back in her element.
We decided to rent a motorbike one day for a reconnaissance road trip along the Loryma Peninsula, where we have several planned cruising stops in little coves and bays. We had a lovely sunny day for our ride, which took us up steep hills past pine forests, fragrant with a warm earthy sage-like scent. The traffic free road eventually left the forested area and wound through rocky hillsides with stubby trees and little sign of habitation. The pavement was rough, strewn with loose gravel and dotted with cow-plops. We made several stops at picturesque anchorages, liking what we saw, and took a lunch break in a tiny "locals" café in one of the villages. On our way home, we managed to hit a patch of loose gravel on a curve, and down we went, luckily in a cow-plop-free area. The bike was undamaged and we had only a few minor scrapes, so we dusted ourselves off and proceeded home.
We sailed out of Marmaris Bay on 4 June and had an uneventful voyage in light air to an anchorage at the tiny village of Ciftlik.
Several restaurants dot the shoreline, with catwalks extending into the bay. The drill is for boats to back in and berth side by side, stern-to the catwalk, although there are several spots to tie alongside. SD does not like to back up, and when she does, her track is unpredictable, so to humor her and to avoid stress for her crew, we chose a spot to side-tie. Occupants of these berths are expected to patronize the affiliated restaurant in return for which the dockside power and water and the indoor hot showers are free. That was fine by us, as "our" restaurant, family-owned and operated by our host Hasan, had ice cold beer and incredible bread, baked fresh daily in a wood-burning oven. Our favorite was the inch-thick soft, chewy flatbread, as big as a large pizza, and addictive when dipped in local honey.
We bought the honey when Hasan's son drove us to the village of Bayir, about five miles away, to have some documents scanned for our ongoing quest for insurance. We took a stroll through the village where each little shop has tiers of shelves lined with gleaming jars of golden local honey. In the center of the village stands a huge two thousand-year-old plane tree, its massive leafy limbs shading a grassy village square. At a little market stall in the square, a honey vendor offered us samples of his wares, and we made purchases of the thyme honey and a jar of crushed nuts in honey. (Great on yogurt!) Before leaving, we took our vendor's advice to walk three times around the plane tree and make a wish, which local legend says will give you a long life. Ken said it made him dizzy.
We spent three days at Ciftlik, washing the boat and our clothes, strolling the beach, and lounging in the sun, entertained by a comical trio of ducks who waddled along the sand and made almost every move in unison. On Saturday we departed for Bozuk Buku, which means "broken bay", possibly named for the ruin of an ancient fort atop the rocky hill at the bay's entrance. Here we picked up a mooring near "Ali Baba Restaraunt" (sic) in a little cove inside the bay.
Above us is the ruined fort, built of stone blocks, some over seventeen long and three feet square, all of them fitting perfectly together without mortar. The surrounding rocky hills are dotted with scrubby trees and bushes, starkly pretty in a wild, abandoned way. Except for the few little restaurants on the shoreline, there is no sign of habitation, save for one tiny structure at the mouth of a cave high up a hillside across the bay. Though there's laundry flapping on a line, we can see no road or other means of access to the place, and we've dubbed these folks "the cave dwellers". We had a lovely quiet first evening, sipping our sundowners under the suspicious stare of a couple goats on the rocks of the hill behind us.
(That's SD in bottom right corner)
The following two days brought gusty winds that kicked up whitecaps all through the bay, although our little cove was protected from the worst of it. Tomorrow we'll "turn the corner", leaving this anchorage to round the southern tip of the Loryma Peninsula and head north to our next planned stop. Southerly winds are forecast, rare for this time of year, so we're hoping for a fair wind and a nice sail as we travel up the coast.
We'll close this post with our latest good news - we've found affordable liability insurance coverage for our little ship. Life is good!
To see where we are, go to: http://www.pangolin.co.nz/yotreps_reporting_boat_list YOTREPS ID N4KS
You can reach us at: SandDollar_N4KS@yahoo.com
