Whale watching

At Naxos we secured a nice safe berth in the marina. After a marathon sail from Sifnos to beat the next day's extreme forecast, we enjoyed our little rest from the wearing meltimi while watching other yachts stagger in to port, only to find no berths left. Once again, it was difficult for pity to not give way to a certain smug superiority, as seems to often be the case when safely moored in trying conditions, or indeed at random moments for no reason: after all, we are Cruising The Med. 

The comings and goings of the giant ferries into the adjacent commercial harbour prompted an investigation into options; and so we decided that time off the boat for a visit to Santorini was the right idea.  

Arriving in Santorini

Santorini is a fantastic romantic destination. Restaurants and hotels perched on the edge of the caldera, international jewelery and art boutiques, sunset bars on every corner. Yep, everything you could want except child care. Consequently, we were back on the ferry the next day.

To be fair the boys enjoyed the donkey ride up from the port, while Cathe browsed the jewelers.

Dhenousa

Back on the boat we found East of Naxos to be the most remote part of the Agean, and we enjoyed a couple of memorable isolated anchorages here. Having decided to leg it for Turkey, we had mad meltimi runs between Dhenousa, Levitha, and Nisiros before making it into Simi in the Dodacanese, our last Greek landfall. The assymetric spinnaker had it's first outing in these waters. We carried it up to 25kts, admittedly a prudent threshhold, dictated by a key stakeholder, but realistically we could have hung on in 30+. Speedwise our best effort was 14.5 knots, surfing while deep reaching in 30, but without the kite up: methinks a boat record begging to be beaten there.

Simi was again a fantastically romantic village, albeit one that seems to have comprehensively discovered by both the backpacker and superyacht brigades. Somehow they both own this town without conflict.

Mythos restaurant on the south side of Simi bay was the site of our third and final meal of note in Greek waters. Not a great record for an entire country. Having said that, the food and the romantic location almost made up for the culinary failings of the rest of Greece.

Mythos restaurant, Simi

We fall somewhere between the backpackers, grey nomads and uber rich though: staying on to meet my Bledisloe agenda found scant favour on the second day, and ultimately the points were burnt with no return - when will those wallabies earn me a decent mid (or better - end)-game text to Pete Baxter?

Departing Simi town, the wallabies loss was tempered by an anchor out in a stunning bay only a short distance from that busy little port. The camera fails to capture the drama of the sheer cliffs rising out of the sea, the monastery in the SW corner, and the sure-footed mountain goats grazing on the near-vertical cliffs on the north side. Definitely worth a few more days if we pass here again. However, we were on a mission and Turkey was in our sights.

Ormos Thessalona, Simi

Next was Marmaris, Turkey, and a long awaited catch up with Baz and Leonie. It was fantastic to spend time with some Aussies and natter about Bondi. The boys took to both of them like fish to water, perhaps recognising a pair with as much joie de vivre as themselves. Indeed, our two days stretched to three, four and then five: it was easy just to have a bit of a hang in one town for a while, especially with a couple of larger than life characters to show us around and share it with, and Baz's 50th to boot. A long way indeed from Wednesday night twilight sailing. 

Baz, Leonie and Sholto

Marmaris marina and the nearby old town are quiet and lovely: not until we made an expedition to the waterslide did the true nature of the beast reveal itself. Further to the west, past the castle, is the quintessential nature of oceanfront Turkey - Brit package tourists running amok. 

Whale watching indeed. Unashamed use of the skimpiest of bikinis to clothe the most massive of bodies, adenoidal cockney whingeing, and skin tones both whiter and redder than should ever be seen on the human form.  Baz may have been unkind when he said most of them were here using the pot money made on the side, dealing out of their council flats; then again, he may not have been. It's kind of like a schoolies week for grown ups, except the beaches are brown, the water tepid, it goes for 3 months, and the whole thing is more crowded than a leopard seal colony. At least the Gold Coast has white sand.

At Baz's urging we did not clear immigration out of Greece.  Apparently the go is to have passports and transit logs with both Greek and Turkish visas running simultaneously: the solution to seamlessly sailing in and between countries so geographically interwoven. So we are now international border criminals.  

Kucuk Kuyruk, Gulf of Fethiye

Fethiye Gulf is our current cruising ground, full of charter yachts and gulets , the huge, crafted traditional timber motor sailers of Turkey. Unlike Greece, there is vegetation on the slopes, and when in port the food is much better than the relentlessly dull fare the Hellenes typically offer: we are (after all) in Asia now. Beautiful anchorages, Lycean ruins and the mud baths (admittedly overrun with the aforementioned Brits) have all featured on the agenda so far in Turkey.

Familia is now berthed on the wharf of the Yacht Classic Hotel in Fethiye, which specialises in yacht visitors. The deal is that  if you eat at their restaurant, you stay for free, swim in their pool, use their showers, wifi, etc. Not bad. We visited their hammam, the traditional Turkish bath, and the boys are now converts of steam, exfoliation and moderate massage.

Sholto in the hammam

The plan is to noodle around the south coast for a few weeks before we catch up with my brother Dom and Suzie, probably in Italy. That meltimi run was tough but a great sleigh ride to get here: the bash back the other way would, I fear, be the stuff of divorce and mutiny. So we are looking around to find a delivery skipper to take the boat to Naples for a crack at the Amalfi coast, Sicily, Sardinia, and points westward.

However, there is an elephant in the room: the profound lack of adversity in this life. Waistlines are softly expanding; Brain girth measurements are (most likely) softly contracting; There are no significant maintenance jobs left to complete on the boat, or even plan for: living death for a serial renovator; The bank balance is looking only moderately frightening.;The boy's schooling is advancing at an acceptably lazy rate; The meltimi is largely nuetered here in Turkey, and the decision making about which idyllic anchorage to head for next is becoming increasingly lackadaisical.

Ranged aginst this I can see that the Atlantic crossing would be a waste of a precious month, would put major stakeholders offside, (indeed, we have only a flat and unambiguous refusal so far from that direction) and with some exceptions the Carribean would only highlight the same issues. So wherefore lies the direction? Hmmm.

Cheerio for now while we think this through.