Better than...

So here's where the blogger meets her match. Everything is going swimmingly. What more is there to say? Who, if they're honest, is interested in the detail of other people's summer holidays? Just show us the pictures, you say, and skip the babble.

OK. This is the water beneath our boat. Unedited. No enhancements. Dull, isn't it?

And here's Enki (smack in the middle of the photo below) anchored just outside the harbour entrance of Bozburun, a devilishly appealing small fishing and boat-building town tucked deep down on the Hisaronu Peninsula, about 60 km south of Marmaris by road.

Bozburn, on approach

We went ashore to eat, and bought a small rug from a man who threw a bite-sized fish from his catch to a cat which looked like Po. Isn't that the way things go on holiday? We liked the easy pace of life in Bozburun, or what we could gauge of it on a hot August night under a crescent moon.

Comfort on a boat is a grand thing

Drinks on the balcony

Backgammon players

After a week "out", we're getting the hang of swimming a line in to shore after we've anchored, and tying it to either a rock or a tree.  Did I mention that the sea is as clean and warm as bathwater? I put a thermometer in a cup of seawater yesterday - 27 degrees.

Here we are (above) backed up against the rocks at Bozuk Buku, a magnificent natural harbour at the tip of what's sometimes called the Loryma peninsula after the ancient city of Loryma which was built all around where we are anchored (if you can make out the flag in the background, it's flying from the ruins of the Loryma citadel). There's plenty of room for everyone in Bozuk Buku  - flotillas of Sunsail yachts which, bizarrely, choose to pack in tightly on the pontoons provided by pop-up restaurants, imperious private gulets which throw LED mood lighting up their masts after dark, the usual pot-pourri of family cruising yachts, look-at-me megamotor yachts with hydraulic lifting platforms for their tenders, and crew smartly uniformed to match - and amongst all this, the liveaboard fishing boats of families whose summer work is feeding those who come in from the sea.

Family campsite at Loryma

We bought a couple of Turkish towels from girls whose smiles couldn't be resisted.  One of them asked if we wanted bread in the morning. Her mother made it, she said. Is the Pope Catholic?

"Something's burning," Alex said when he woke. I'd been out in my kayak, stalking goats at the end of the bay and ruin-spotting. I'd seen the plume of smoke rising from behind Ali Baba's restaurant.  The previous day, I'd watched a woman stoking a wood-fired oven there, while her house-proud husband threw water on an oleander bush. I put two and two together. My girl's mother was baking. "That'll be our bread cooking," I told him. Eat your heart out, Good Living.

In Bozburun, we learned from a couple of old hands of a Saturday market in Datca, about 20 miles west. Needless to say, we were bound for Datca from that point. Smooth water sailing in this gulf is dreamy when the wind's blowing from the right direction. The market didn't disappoint either.

For the next few days, we'll keep doing what we're doing...checking out the anchorages in Hisaronu Gulf and surrounds with a view to designing a magical cruise for our guests, Barb and Andy, who fly into Dalaman airport on Sunday evening. Tonight we're at Keci Buku, near the head of the gulf. A gem of a place, according to Rod Heikell's Turkey pilot. It takes a while to learn the preferences of a cruising guide author - and Mr Heikell (made in NZ), we think, is not fond of night clubs.

For two nights we were anchored, all but alone, in a small sheltered cove he gives just a passing mention to. We won't be spreading the word.