Cathe's update



Back on the boat



Leaving Sydney to return to Familia was much harder this time. We all knew that the last warmth of a Mediterranean Summer was being shunted along by Autumn’s cooling winds and rumbling Fronts, we knew the kids were reluctantly being pulled away from their easy going grandma ,fine friends, now elevated school and the sheer incomparable wonder of Bondi Beach, and we knew a 36 hour transit of movies and games would see us sick and stressed at the end. Right on all counts.



The Cable Car at Capri



Coming back was a necessity: we had to finish what we had begun. Sailing into Capri reminded me of it. We almost didn’t go as Steve, the boys, Dom + Susie had visited whilst I was back in Sydney. But you can’t sail blithely past one of the worlds famous landmarks and not pop in. We were the only yacht in the marina and the berthing charge had suffered a steep descent in our favour. We walked up to Anacapri, the centro in terms of shops and cafes and fell head first into drifts of bustling tourists aimlessly window prowling for the latest + greatest + tackiest: I’m now sure the 10 /10.30 opening is intentional as it guarantees a feeding frenzy and even I felt disproportionally upset from being thwarted in purchasing a delectable ceramic ensemble of hot red chillis (now observed to be in every tacky tourist shop at half the price) as we HAD TO Go and View the top of the Island.



Axel Munthe's Sphinx, Capri

A singeing cliff face bus ride brought us to the chairlift which we took to the top. Then we meandered down to the Axel Munthe Museum , the former residence of a early 20th century Swiss Doctor who built over the remains of Tiberus’ villas (reusing the stone/ unearthing mosaic floors and mysteriously finding a sphinx revealed to him in a dream and to this day perched high facing outward on the terraced promenade keeping watch, inscrutably over the bay of Capri and all mankind’s endeavours, follies and transgressions. His autobiographical novel “ A life at San Michele” is an interesting read to discover more about the island as well as his unusual and civic minded life.



Capri to Amalfi at Dusk



We left Capri and sailed back to Amalfi where we resumed our berth with Julio and where we found ourselves once more – a sign of things to come – the only yacht / vessel there and about to have the jetty packed away. We felt familiar with Amalfi and really enjoyed the streets to ourselves and the locals. Our two biggest challenges were: staying awake for the pizza ovens to power up at 7pm, a long stretch when darkness falls at 4.30 pm and the kids have begged (and been bribed) for it, only to fall asleep mid mouthful, and The Walk Of The Gods.

Coffee above Positano

The walk normally starts at the village of Bomerano, high above Amalfi and traverses the cliffs to a long descent to Positano. Missing the Bomerano bus sealed our fate: so we caught the bus to glamorous Positano, descended to the beach to gaze upon a famous tourist vista deserted by tourists and then turned around to begin the ascent up to the Walk of the Gods. It’s a walk I’m very proud of because after some determined resistance by Sholto (“ I’m not going on another long boring walk”) everyone kept to pace and the long precarious ascent was accomplished after 4 + half hours with no food, no break and plenty of good humour. It really was a walk from the sea to the clouds, a walk of the Gods.

The Walk of the Gods 1



The Walk of the Gods 2





The last of the good weather? -Goodbye Amalfi



Since sailing further south we have ploughed into a run of bad weather, with days merging into a drizzled gloom of cramped sodden spaces, tetchy tempers and mad shenanigans. We’ve been the freaky foreigners out there trudging along in morose weather with every shop shut, every house shuttered, every street deserted. The one memorable place shining out was Maratea, where we struck sunshine, good food and energising company at the restaurant of sculptor / ceramicist Paulo Tomasino. All good things come to an end and we left to sail to the Aeolian Islands before more atrocious weather rushed out to meet us. These islands are famous from Homers Odyssey and warned about then for their unpredictable and freakish winds. The story goes Odysseus was given a bag not to be untied by the gods but his ship mates thought a peek wouldn’t hurt so upon opening it released powerful diabolic winds that remain to this day. The pilot guide soberly ascertains that over years of experience and other sobering seaman’s tales he has come to the conclusion that there is an Aeolian Triangle, much like the Bermuda Triangle, where all manner of strange things happen, here ‘you be off the map’.





Dominoes under way





Waiting out the Storm in boring Camerota





 An optimist by nature I’m rapidly being disavowed of any notion that a sailing sojourn in the Med over Autumn /Winter is a tantalising opulent adventure. There are sparkling azure days but Homer’s “wine dark sea” is more prevalent to the power of 10. For Fin’s 11th birthday we planned an overnight sail past Stromboli, a true birthday candle in the sky, an active volcano flaring its fierce rage for maritimers for over 1000 years. We timed our passage for 9pm, a high light of a 14 hour sail – actually motor – and in between blinks of an eye or a protracted yawn it did perform wonderfully but the truth is we were all so tired and so cold it was a bit like “yup seen it, now can we get out of here and find somewhere warm to sleep” which the boys promptly did whilst we endured another creeping passage of 4 hours. Singing Nick Cave helps.



Cruising the Med: Part 2

We coughed and wheezed for a few days in Chiaiolella befire finally setting sail again, into the teeth of a blustery Sirrocco gusting 20-30 knots (40 - 55 km/h for the landlubbers.) Well: Sailing in a Sirrocco - another tick vehemently applied to the bucket list - Errol was with us as we bore away to run with the near gale. It was only a short haul over to the Island of Ischia but a long way from the gentle nor westers of late summer. Wet weather gear was the order of the day - we are decidedly in the "low" cruising season now.



Sailing in the Sirrocco



We arrived in Porto D' Ischia and battened the hatches as the forecast was for more to come: the next day saw winds that must have reached 40+kts and an electrical storm and downpour to match. Our agenda was lunch and a bushwalk on the mountain. We got the rabbit cacciatore down in the moutainside restaurant, but the wind was extreme, so heading back to the boat looked like a better option than being blown off a cliff. By then, the gale had forced the seas into the harbour, raising the ocean level and threatening the quayside establishments: the water was ankle deep on the quay heading back to the boat.

The next day was more moderate so we headed for the Castello Aragonese, located on an island that first saw a fortified settlement in 474 BC.





Cathe on the Terazzo Delgi Ulivi, Castello Aragonese, Isola D' Ischia 





The causeway to the castle



The views were breathtaking, but so too were some of the macabre historic details. The Nun's cemetery is a dungeon with what appear to be stone toilets around the walls. If only. In fact they were the repositories for the dead bodies of the Nuns while the flesh rotted and the juices flowed into vases located beneath the chairs.  The best detail? The other Nuns would spend many hours in this room meditating on the transitory nature of the flesh of their sisters, often contacting diseases in doing so. Later the skeletons would be buried in mass graves. The torture museum surpassed this though. Suffice to say we left without taking photos of that particular display.



Dead Nuns in the Cimitero Delle Monache Clarisse



We are enjoying the low season vibe, the locked hotels, the empty streets.We are also looking forward to some of the sleepier fishing villages further south on the way to Sicily.







Soaking up the last of the sun - relaxing after homework, on route to Capri

Familia is now rocking in the deserted marina at Capri. The ferries come and go but there is not another cruising yacht to be seen, despite the fact that the prices have plummeted. It is dark at 5.15pm. Whether we hoof it up the hill or do a BBQ on the boat remains to be seen.





Familia - lonely on the dock at Capri



Ciao.







Back in the slow lane

We arrived back on Familia after 36 hours of travel by car, plane, ferry and van, arriving in 12 degree rain  to discover that the non-return valve in the shower pump out line had done a little wobbly. This meant that there was water all through the normally dry bilge and everything was damp. Not what you need when seriously jetlagged.

Everyone grumpily went to bed early except me, cleverly seeing an opportunity to focus on the mop up and then go to bed at a normal time, thereby beating the jetlag on day 1. My brilliant stratagem fell apart at 4AM when everyone cheerfully woke me up to watch movies on the laptop. Oh ye of little discipline. 4 days later everyone has the flu and we are still operating on a type of hybrid time, better suited to India or thereabouts.



In denial in Procida



Everything is noticably colder than 4 weeks ago, air and water temperature; but I have been desperate to suck the last of the marrow from this summer.  Once the sun did come out I have been firmly in denial, wearing boardshorts and swimming at the beach as the locals wander by in jeans, jackets and boots. The cheerful little beach scene of 4 weeks ago is now non-existent: the beach is empty, the deck chair vendors have packed up and left, and the lonely feeling is augmented by the flotsam strewn over the sand, washed up in the wild storms over the last few weeks.



Sculptures on the beach at Chiaiolella, Procida


The Autumnal weather means that cooking downstairs is now a perfectly acceptable activity. After visiting the markets Cathe made chicken noodle soup to feed the flu riddled crew. Not quite the bench space one would like but it's interesting how quickly we adjust.


Autumn slow cooking


The last of our bags finally arrived today (yes unbelievably we temporarily lost another one in transit) so we are ready to once again resume the wandering life. Tomorrow might be another lay day to shake the flu off better (and watch the Wallabies game) and then we'll be off again where the wind takes us. Some options will be less available, already the waterfronts are shutting down: cafes with the shutters drawn, hotels locked down, etc.  However, it's nice to feel that the pace has slowed down and the tourists have mostly left for jobs or warmer climes.

Southward bound.

Home and away

Sadly for those who are not yet aware Dick Stack passed away on the 27th September, aged 84 years.

After a vigil of 10 days, with his family always in attendance, and despite a few promising signs for a partial recovery along the way, he took a turn for the worse on the 25th and slowly slipped away. The boys and I jumped on a plane but were just a few hours too late to say goodbye.

Feed 'em meat Dick

Rest In Peace

The Funeral was attended by many friends, family and well-wishers;  the eulogies were poignant and formed a fitting send off for Dick.

We have been back in Sydney since then.  Feelings have been mixed as the Stacks dealt with their loss, but also it has been a time for catching up with old friends and family: and of course making up for lost time with some surfing.  The relatively placid Med just cant deliver that dynamic frisson that only a surfer knows. All the boys have enjoyed re-aquainting themselves with the Pacific.

Weeeeeeere back!

An offer from the Mackinnons saw us spending a week in their snazzy Bondi home only just around the corner from our house - it was almost too easy to settle into that easy Bondi Beach spring weekend mode: not to mention movies, TV, and commonwealth games.  

Somehow 4 weeks have slipped away since we arrived. The various arrangements have taken time, and the boys even put in a week at school (they were desperate to go) which was a nice respite for us and for them. I particularly enjoyed the rhythm of the last week: dropping the boys off,  grabbing a coffee at Greens Cafe, and heading down for a leisurely surf each morning.

Not complaining on a school day

On the strength of an auspicious forecast  one morning, I took advantage of being at Northbridge to head over to South Curl Curl, my old stamping ground. In a word: cranking.  After a few earlier forgettable outings it was pleasing that this creaky 43 year old had rediscovered at least a little of the old mojo.

As I paddled around the lineup it slowly dawned on me that I recognised a lot of the faces in the water. They were 10-15 years older but they were still there, balding, ageing, doing the same old thing, only wagging work now instead of school when the swell was on. I wasn't sure whether to be supremely impressed or supremely dismissive. The array of tradies vans in the car park rammed it home though: work life balance is king. Why did I move into town again? Is it too late to resurrect the Able Handyman from the pyrrhic success of a city career?

We have now booked our tickets to fly out Monday morning, so thankfully such questions will remain moot until we return, until the insanity that is life and work in the city is once again causing slumped shoulders and stress knots in the stomach. The weather forecast for Naples is for rain and chilly conditions, although hopefully we will see a few post 20 degree days later in the week before the inevitable descent into icy winter.

We hope to chase the sun down to Sicily and then Tunisia before packing up Familia and putting her up for sale. After that some land time beckons, perhaps settling in somewhere, surfing in Portugal's Algarve region, or perhaps Andalucian Spain, where the worst of the ravages of a European winter might pass us by (but not those North Atlantic swells) 


Impressions of Sydney 


When we first arrived back, the drive from the airport along the eastern beaches only reinforced our jingoistic views about Australia, Sydney and Bondi: now we've seen a large chunk of what Europe has to offer we can confidently say it dont come close. That white crescent of sand we call home and indeed all the others up and down the coast have a particularly antipodean allure that simply cant be matched. 


The feeling was enhanced when I delivered Moya, our Sydney yacht, up to Pittwater for her annual service one afternoon after the mandatory morning romp amongst Bondi's finest. I motorsailed past Neilsen park and out through the heads; the mutton birds surfed the wind off the bow while I marvelled in the view down toward the bridge. By Long Reef the wind angle was good enough to turn off the donk and she headed effortlessly into the 15kt nor-easter under full canvas. I worked the main with the helm locked off and trimmed the sails to steer her in the absence of a functioning autopilot - a particularly sublime pleasure that Joshua Slocum would have approved of. Off Warriewood a couple of whales sounded no more than 50 m off the bow before they realised I was there and headed for the depths. Arriving in Pittwater I was once again taken aback by the sheer beauty of the place: Palm Beach headland,  The National Park, the Basin.

We've entered a lot of harbours in the last 6 months and I can tell you that while some might equal, none can eclipse those that are right here on our doorstep. Maybe coming back in 6 months wont be so tough after all.

Very bad news

Cathe has jumped on a plane and is back in Sydney because her father, Dick Stack, has had a massive stroke and is in critical condition in RNS Hospital. We got the call on Tuesday and had her on the plane ASAP the following day. At the moment we are waiting to see how he goes but so far the news is not great. The family is rallying around but everyone is terribly upset and this is worsened because no-one yet knows just what the outcome will be. For us here on the boat it is difficult because we are powerless to help. The boys are out of sorts and very emotional with their mother being away and grandpa so ill: and so am I.

We have been staying in the sleepy and perfect town of Chiaiolella on the island of Procida. A 50 m walk from the pontoon brings us to a little black sand beach facing out into the Tyrrhenian which the boys love. But despite being in a magical location the sparkle is gone from the trip, although I am very glad Dom and Suzie are here to provide emotional and practical support. We have been doing our best to entertain them and so after a couple of morose days we have continued to see a few sights.

We decided to press on to the famous Isola Di Capri for a look at the Blue Grotto. At 4pm the approach resembled nothing more than an aquatic shopping centre carpark, but at 5.30 pm after a short recce along the coast, all the tripper boats had gone, so we swam in for a totally surreal experience on our own in this most famous of caves.



Underwater and alone in the Blue Grotto at dusk





A crack in the cliffs - Capri

Spurning the offer of a berth in the port for a mere 190 euros, we headed for a tiny crack in the cliffs in the remote west side of the island, making fast with anchor and ropes out of the worst of the surge. In the morning we headed to the south side and threw out the anchor, calling one of the restaurants who picked us up for lunch. The location was complete rich + famous lifestyle and the 4 euro per head coperto ( cover charge) was the most usurious we have yet struck: alas the seafood menu was a bit lost on us.

We are heading back to Chiaolella for some more downtime while we wait for news of Dick. Our thoughts are with him and the Stack family. 



Dick and Cathe - our thoughts are with you both.

Jetsetting

We had our last few days on Familia in Turkey at anchor in Deep Bay. Finally the relentless heat moderated slightly, and the weather and the scenery were both superb: a couple more weeks in Turkey suddenly looked like a nice option, but we were committed to plane tickets and the yacht delivery.


We met Ari, our delivery skipper, in Gocek before jumping on a plane for Istanbul. Everyone was very pleased to be off the boat at last, although when we arrived at our hotel the feeling palled somewhat as the realities of a small quad share room sank in: out of the cramped, emotional hothouse frying pan and into the fire? At least the staff had a relaxed attitude to the kids monopolizing the free internet point in the foyer while they worked down their life-threatening computer game-time deficit.



Sholto in front of an "elephants foot" column, Blue Mosque. 



Cathe covering up for Allah.

The Oceans 7 Hotel (recommended by Baz) was located in the old town tourist hub, a short walk to the main landmarks: the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia, the Topkapi Palace, and the Grand Bazaar. Our three days were well spent walking to these attractions through the maze of back streets where all the interesting hustle + bustle of the trades in leather + carpets happen. Sadly we didn’t purchase anything despite serious looking, oohing + aahhing. Kooks.

The Haga Sophia - the largest structure on Earth from the 6th to the 16th Century

We then jumped on the plane for Rome. A real 2-bedroom apartment gave us relief from the claustrophobia of the quad share hotel room: nasty things those. What a revelation Rome is: extraordinary architecture stretching back 2500 years, food to die for, actual real coffee, and of course the vino: molto bene.

Gladiators at the Collosseum

Our apartment was in the Piazza Navone district which was in the thick of the old town, a walk away from all the main sights. Rome is serviced by a series of major soulless arterial roads reminiscent of William St, and on arrival in the taxi we were a bit nonplussed with the apartment’s location.



Illegal photography in the Sistine Chapel



Supping the waters of the Trevi Fountain

However, stepping over a couple of dead rats and walking down to the other end of the slightly seedy alley, a whole different world unfolded. Narrow pedestrian streets lined with groovy shops, cafes and restaurants, with stylishly dressed Romans hurrying this way on that, and the odd Vespa or Fiat Bambino beeping to get past. Keep walking and within 5 minutes one or other of the famous piazzas opens up: Navone, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps. Walk a bit further to the west and St Peter’s greets you. To the east the Collosseum beckons. All within 30 minutes walk, except it’s an amble punctuated with gelato, pizza, and much consulting of the guide book to garner the fine detail on whatever amazing building you happen to be standing in front of. So we got around to all the sights on foot, but 4 days was barely a taste which left us wanting more; we all made sure to have a drink from the waters of the Trevi Fountain which is said to ensure your return.



Arrividerci Roma, we shall return.



Some nice architecture in the Piazza San Pietro



Next stop was Naples via the fast train, from where we noodle down to Sorrento for a couple of days. From there a hair-raising bus ride along the cliffs took us to Amalfi to meet the boat and also Dom and Suzie who were joining us for a week. After a rejuvenating gap it was good to be back on board.

Amalfi is the centre of the Amalfi Coast, playground of the rich and famous. After the grace of Rome we found it a bit touristy, although the saving feature is the Littari Mountains which rise majestically from the sea. This area is a well known hiking destination and we took good advantage of the opportunity to stretch our legs. On the Sorrento side of the range the walking was more urban, narrow country lanes leading to little villages with rejuvenating cafes and gelaterias at which we refreshed ourselves before striking out again. A hiking holiday in this area has been penciled into to the book for future reference and we encountered a few people doing this.



Dom and Suzie - our first guests

On the Amalfi side the terrain is more rugged and remote (with the exception of the crowded town environs). Our first walk was to follow a watercourse up the mountains dotted with 5 centuries of deserted paper mills, and then cut across to a little village. Here we hid from our first rain for about 3 months with a spot of lunch in a fab restaurant with striking views of the coast, before the rapid 1000-step descent to meet Dom and Suzie. The rain was a welcome change, but also a reminder that our Mediterranean Summer cannot last forever.



Terrace of Infinity, Villa Cimbrone, Ravello



The next day we took a chance on the weather and while Suze settled on a rest day to beat her flu, the rest of us struck out up the next hill to the picture perfect town of Ravello. We made the mandatory visit to the gardens of Villa Cimbrone before settling down to a fine lunch at Villa Marie, boasting an even more striking view than that of the day before. The view, the food, tuxedoed Italian waiters gesticulating artfully with impeccable manners, the vino, the smug feeling that for once we had actually exercised in advance of the feedfest, all contributed to a perfect afternoon.



Braving the torrent from Ravello

A few worrying signs from the heavens culminated in the unleashing of the most torrential downpour imaginable, naturally when we were 1/3 of the way down the hill with no shelter in sight. Finally we made it back to the boat in the dark and after a warm shower and a few Jameisons even this experience seemed to enhance rather than detract from a great day.




2000 year old frescoe, Pompeii



The original caesarstone - Pompeii



After Amalfi we headed around the peninsula to Sorrento and a stab at finding somewhere to watch the rugby and check out Pompeii. After a lot of walking and mucking around we located the former in the ubiquitous Irish pub but after drowning sorrows (and a female shopping frenzy until late) Pompeii was relegated to the next day. Pompeii is much bigger than we imagined, an entire Roman city very well preserved beneath the ash for 1800 years, including mosaics, marble benchtops and even frescoes. We finished the day with dinner in the main square of the new town, watching the locals get out and parade about at dusk, a favourite Italian pastime.



Sadly the next day we got some bad news.

Noodling in Turkey

After Baz helped us get the aircon system going, we have become recluses below deck when in port, only emerging near sundown in the manner of strange aquatic marsupials. Having had almost all of our power to date manufactured by the solar panels and wind generator, we have been feeling smugly green and close to nature. However, our green ethos went down in flames in the airless near 40 degree heat of southern Turkey in high summer. In all of our marina stays we now stamp our giant carbon footprints straight over to the power point, get the 220 V going, and recline in comfort downstairs.

“Sorry to be such antisocial neighbours” I said with a cool, crisp wave to the sweaty family next to us in Kalkan marina as I pulled the hatch closed behind me: this summarises the level of our social interaction in Turkish harbours.

The Captain

We have spent the last 2 weeks noodling eastward from Marmaris with lots of anchoring out in beautiful locations, swimming and snorkeling. We can generally expect a cooling 10 kts or so when we are swinging on the anchor and enjoying our boom tent with it’s various zip-on attachments. The towns are airless but as I mentioned, we now have a strategy for this.

The pancake boat, Cold Water Bay.

Unfortunately the meltimi doesn’t really make it round the “corner” into the Med proper, so sailing this coast has been frustratingly patchy at best. Nonetheless, we always look out for an opportunity for a pitched duel with another yacht when we can find one, even if our "competitors" are probably reading books with the autopilot on.

Talk to this man if you need a long line taken ashore

After Fethiye we motored down to Kalkan.  On the way we anchored off Patara beach and....went surfing. Yes, it can be done in the med if you weigh less than 30kg and have low expectations. The boys were stoked and being in some dynamic water perked everyone up, less so Cathe though who was catapulted out of the dinghy when I tried to push it onto a wave. Whoops.

In Kalkan we hired a car and had a day trip to see Xanthos, Tlos, and the canyon at Saklikent. The Lycians were dominant in this area before the Romans came through and gobbled them up, busily building cities, agora and theatres. Unlike Greece there are only limited connections to heroes of old (although according to Homer Lycia contributed soldiers to the defense of Troy.) So while we remain interested in our ancient history, we are becoming slightly blasé about ruins. Indeed, at Tlos a closer look at the hot and dusty site failed to compete with the opportunity to simply do a drive-by in the air conditioned comfort of the car.

Saklikent offered a welcome respite from the heat. The ice-cold water bubbles up out of the rocks in a tall, narrow gorge that has a very Australian outback feel. All the restaurants have cushions on timber platforms, built just above the gushing water, which makes for a cooling effect and a nice vista for lunch. After walking up the gorge and swimming down the rapids in the last section of canyon, we went “tubing” down the river with a couple of fun guides.

Tubing in Saklikent

After Kalkan we moved on to Kas, again more with a couple of nights anchored in the bay, and from there down to Kekova Bay, with more picturesque anchorages and (underwater) Lycian ruins.

Underwater sarcophagus, Kekova

Notable here was the great goat rescue. We anchored in a narrow inlet and in the morning the (silly) billy goat was still stuck on the same ledge, bleating plaintatively. Closer investigation by dinghy indicated the goat’s interest in human assistance, and despite the absence of goat skeletons on other ledges (in the same way there are no cat skeletons up trees) we decided the drama of a rescue was too much to resist, so we mobilized the team for a rescue. This we duly effected by dragging poor old billy off his ledge and into the water, leading him to some nearby rocks from which he climbed to safety and a reunion with his patient family.

The Great Goat Rescue

Many of the anchorages are fed by fresh water springs, with the cold fresh water forming a shallow layer on top of the warm salt water: an odd experience for a swim although any cooling effects are most welcome. 

We are now back in Fethiye trying to organise a delivery skipper who will take Familia to Naples while we enjoy a shore journey to Istanbul, Rome, and other land destinations TBA.

The days blur as we hang at the pool, enjoy the luxury of the internet, have frustrating conversations with commercial skippers, and hang downstairs (as discussed above.) Waistlines and brain muscles continue to sag although an hour in the pool with the boys is almost a workout. Once again, everyone is itchy to move on, now with the impetous to get off the boat and enjoy some time ashore.

Bye for now.

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.