Voyaging With the Vagrants Plus 2- Chris and Pauline

Ocean. The final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Vagrant. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds with friends old and new.

Chris and I joined Sara and Phil in Turkey for eight days in June. Poor Phil. Three former teachers at once! 

Experienced mariners, look away now. I know nothing of ‘boat bothering’ except, like Rachel in Friends, to ‘go long’ and that tacking is when your scalp only burns at intervals. Chris on the other hand has sailed the Atlantic and was therefore my trump card. Our hosts had put together a wonderful and varied itinerary of picture perfect quayside restaurants, ancient ruins and wild and goaty bays, building up to the resort of Çiftlik and finally the neon craziness of Marmaris complete with Disneyesque pirate ships and Abramovic’s superyacht Eclipse, third biggest in the world, with its two helipads, mini submarine and missile detection system and launchers. Allegedly.

Mornings were heavenly, beginning silently with half a mug of tea and fresh fruit and yoghurt in the shade of the bimini. One morning after a heavy dew, the deck glistened and newly damp towels hung limply on the guardrails. Swims both before and after breakfast brought relief from the gathering heat, to be stored like a memory credit against the temperatures to come. At Çiftlik we had a full Turkish breakfast at the Rafet Baba restaurant, accompanied by a hopeful and very frisky kitten and its endlessly patient mother, a statue of sculpted, furry stillness.

Next, the silent focus and concentration of departure, our hosts’ psychic teamwork, Sara’s astonishing boat-scampering parkour, and when free of land, the fervent hope for a strong wind, and daily, the smell of bread baking in the galley, once heightened by the smell of glorious gluten-free falafels. The happy certainty of infinite shades of blue and another day of sunshine resulted in lots of singing from ‘Remember You’re a Womble’ to ‘Cruisers Creek’ via Shirley Bassey ‘If there’s a wrong way to do it, a right way to screw it up, nobody does it like me’ (my theme). You should see the way I fastened the gate. It was like a very loose crochet.

I do love a ruin. Perhaps it’s the sense of kinship. Sara and Phil had thoughtfully included several for me; first stop, Knidos. Magnificent! Pre-dating the 4th century BCE, it comprises the ruins of a city complete with maxi and mini amphitheatres, and temple to Aphrodite, previously the home of the Knidos Aphrodite, a sculpture by the Athenian genius Praxiteles. It is reputed to be one of the first life size Greek female nudes, now sadly lost.

Equally beautiful, the ruined fortress at Bozukkale made of gigantic stone blocks, an ancient navy base originally belonging to the Carians who ruled locally from 700-300 BCE. Formerly known as Loryma, with views across to Rhodes, it has one of the most impenetrable Wikipedia entries ever written, though Phil valiantly gave it his best shot.

Early evenings fell into a happy pattern of either mooring stern-to, or anchoring in a bay. Lazy drinks, jumping into the sea, swimming, showering and then dinner: the Sailors’ Paradise, where swallows swooped overhead, Ali Baba’s at Bozukkale where earlier we had watched the proprietor’s goats constantly nosing at the kitchen window to be chased off by a frisky Samoyed dog while the chef cleaned fish on a rock at the sea’s edge, a nearby donkey brayed energetically and a kayak with a dog on the front slid past. Chris and I called it The Durrells. In Marmaris, both sheet and forked lightning announced our arrival and I amused locals by falling out of the dinghy. Lively music and the Euros on big screens at Bono’s kept Chris chair dancing and football happy.

One evening we anchored at Orhaniye opposite an island with a ruined castle. We took the dinghy across, glimpsed a sea turtle and spent a happy hour scrambling to the top of the hill in the golden evening light. After a wonderful pasta dinner on board we sat in darkness at the stern watching the spotlit fish flickering as the boat swung gently at anchor: view of island, view of forested cliffs, view of island, view of forested cliffs…all soundtracked by the distant sirens of ‘sea-busies’ from nearby Marti Marina and the strains of romantic music from a neighbouring boat. At Bozbaran Chris and I went ashore in the dinghy and explored the gardens, orchards and shops before joining Sara and Phil for quayside drinks. That night we ate aboard; a triumphant meal of fried halloumi. Later, the beauty of the Call to Prayer drifted to us across the black sea from the turquoise neon of the minaret. Every night I slept deeply, lulled by the gentle rise and fall of the swell and the thought of the sinuous fish below.

There were memorable encounters with a range of people, from the lady who came aboard offering us chocolates for the start of the religious festival Eid al-Adha to the man who passed us three times, each time increasingly distressed by our weather-worn Turkish flag, once even taking a photo of it. Sara dutifully went to the chandler’s for a replacement despite having only days left in Turkey, and when we saw him the next day, this time in his official marina outfit, he was all smiles.

So, old habits die hard. At the end of a lesson there is always an evaluation of learning. So what have I learnt? I have learnt that the lazarette is an enormous oubliette. I have learnt that the li-lo is never in the way. I have learnt that the sailing life is a liminal life, of slipping between sea and sky, between islands, outside time and routine, where you are both coming and going simultaneously, where you feel quite simply, beyond. Some of my favourite moments were when Vagrant was sailing at 4 or 5 knots, gently lapsing, sliding, idling, the watermaker softly burbling, and the sea itself a kind of silence. Even in these quieter moments the boat seems sentient. Then again, the afternoon when we had 36 knots downwind was utterly exhilarating, an experience of clarity and sharpness, and seaspray that made us laugh aloud.

I also learned that people who sail live in a state of readiness because everything can change in a split second. On one day, Vagrant played up a little.

 

Imminent
Our cobalt kite blooms.
Serrated sunlit seas roll.
Unseen, a rope frays…

Later that day the passarelle behind me jammed under the jetty and then buckled and sprung up, barely missing me. Because I was ignorant of the dangers I was free to relax utterly while our hosts’ vigilance kept me safe. Thank you.

Finally, our thanks for a fantastic week. We really appreciated all the cleaning, bedmaking, cooking in the galley inferno of heat, gluten free research and delicious meals. Thank you! Enjoy Sicily!