Picking up the lines

The first crack of thunder has sounded. The rain I so skilfully forecast on this morning's cruisers' net has begun to fall (phew). Enki's keel rests on the earth, her great weight supported by a traditional Turkish wooden cradle, hammered together in situ. Safe as houses, we like to think, perched four metres above the ground. Living on the hard, it's called.

Enki's bottom is not as dirty this year

Enki was lifted out of the water yesterday. The condition of her undersides was a pleasant surprise. A year ago, after her first winter in the water at Netsel marina, she emerged sporting a full and unattractive marine beard but this year she came up relatively clean-skinned. Given that she spent this past winter in the exact same waters (same pontoon even), we have drawn a couple of conclusions - first, that the commercial-grade anti-foul paint which Alex can buy in Marmaris gives better protection against marine growth than the non-commerical product he was able to buy in France in 2012: and second, that the Turks did a better job of putting on the paint than the French workmen at Port...no, I won't go on.

It's also worth noting that we lifted about five weeks earlier last year.

We're not fussed about being "behind schedule". C'mon. Get real. What deadline do we have to meet? What does that list of boat jobs on the whiteboard really signify except pleasure? Will fewer weeks on the water equate to a fewer units of happiness? No way.

You don't even want to think about their boat jobs

After these past three complicated months downunder I see this life of ours more clearly (about time, you mutter). It's a cliche, and it makes me squirm, but we're living the dream. That's exactly how one of my daughter's new housemates described it. "You're living the dream!' he gasped (yes, he gasped). "I've heard that there are people who do that, but I've never actually met anyone who does." Matt's wonderment put me in my place, softly.

The ship from Thailand transports dreams in the shape of yachts

Liz is ready to cut loose

One of the other cliches about the boating life is that you are always saying goodbye. Yesterday, when it was a crime to be stuck in port, our Canadian friends Dale and Joanne untied their winter mooring lines and headed down the coast towards Gocek in their pretty Dutch canal boat called, of all things, Liz. Before they left they'd signed up for a further year at Netsel marina - after seven years of living aboard Liz, they say they've not found a better place to winter over in the Med (and the competition is Rome, Barcelona and Corfu). But we won't be spending a third winter with them here.

Joanne goes boating

Dale on the aft deck of Liz, more a salon than a cockpit

Dale and Joanne migrate back to Canada at the end of June and return to Liz in late September (they don't do blizzards anymore). They've told us a lot about their house on The Farm which is what Dale and his old ex-hippie friends call the community they set up in the 70s on a high outcrop in remotest Ontario. Dale's house is more comfortable than it used to be but the soil on The Farm, they say, still pushes up nothing as abundantly as rocks. All things being equal, we won't be meeting them or Liz on the water again, but they certainly have made the Canadian back blocks sound attractive. Maybe we'll swing by on our way through to Alaska....

Liz clears the fuel dock and prepares to leave Marmaris

The rite stuff

Marmaris puts on her best Christmas weather

The new Yanmar drives Enki around the bay

Christmas has been and gone for Enki. The lucky girl has a new engine, and during her sea trial earlier this week it  worked like a bought one. That's all I'll say, because if you look at the blog page titled Engine Swap, you'll learn all you want to know, and possibly more, about our Great Engine Experience. Alex has out-done himself, again.

Just because our pillowcases will be empty on Christmas morning doesn't mean we're not throwing ourselves into what passes for Christmas in Marmaris.

What do their parents tell them about Santa?

Food and fashion at the annual pre-Christmas ladies bazaar

His mum did the felt work 

We're eating our way through a dozen of Susan of Bolton's Christmas mince tarts (Susan is an ex-pat who bakes from home). The pastry is very short, and thicker than I'm used to, but I can't fault her fruit mince. A couple of days ago I joined a few friends to make Christmas crackers and crepe paper hats for the Big Day. The crackers won't have any bang (can't bring gunpowder on an aeroplane from the UK) but I'm assured by the mistress of ceremonies, Karen, that the jokes will be really bad.

Jane (left) and Mary on DIY Christmas cracker and hat detail

Gwen makes Sailors Point sparkle 

Last Sunday's potluck dinner at Sailor's Point, presided over by Netsel's Good Fairy Gwen, was just the opener of a veritable whirl of social activities. These include a Christmas Eve barbecue followed by live music at Scorpio Bar (the preferred waterfront hang-out for old salts who have no firm plans to go to sea again) and a full English dinner on Christmas Day at the Missing Link restaurant in Aktas village (hosted by Karen and Paul, a couple of liveaboards who've been waylaid by the hotel business). On Boxing Day there's yet another Christmas lunch proposed by the marina management.

The invitations to this third event were issued only yesterday. We'd all given up hope, there being is a fair bit of disgruntlement towards the marina management over its badly-handled decision to introduce a charge for electricity from January 1, and at a stiff rate too. So will anyone turn up at the Boxing Day do? There is mention on the invitation of "surprise gifts" which might just rally sagging seasonal stamina. This may not strike some of you as exciting, but last year I drew (the gift-giving is run as a kind of lottery) a free hull polish, donated by one of the marina's tenants Guven Marine. Now that put a big smile on the skipper's face.

Christmas cheer to you all then, from a place where headgear sorts the believers from the non-believers in a variety of settings.

Girls outing

Can anyone pull off crepe with panache? 

Diminishing returns

Enki's winterised cockpit set-up - pot plant replaces chart plotter, lentil soup replaces Greek salads

There are fewer liveaboards in Marmaris this winter. The pre-Christmas social calendar is hectic - tomorrow night we "decorate the tree" in the common room at Netsel marina called Sailors' Point. It's BYO everything, as usual, but the point with these gatherings is first the camaraderie, then the catering. Last year the place was bursting at the seams, but recently we've been just a small crowd, about 20 max, flushed out from a handful of British and American boats, one French, one Canadian, one Australian. We're the ones left standing after the summer shouting has died down.

An Australian-themed local fishing boat caught our eye

Dawn Fraser is parked under the footbridge, in the left of the photo

There are always guys fishing on the footbridge which joins the marina to the town

Things are much quieter at Marmaris Yacht Marina, the "other" marina in the bay. A plaintive call went out over the VHF cruisers' net the other morning asking any other liveaboards at Yacht Marina to please identify themselves - "or are we here on our own?" Waverunner asked. This at a marina which in the mid-2000s was the most lively wintering hole in the Med, with crowds of 200 people plus at its winter parties (of which there were lots). Yacht Marina is apparently full, just not full of people. It's become a giant parking lot.

The suspicion is this trend suits the Turkish marina owners. Over the past ten years, as the country's economy has sped ahead, the middle-class has expanded and as more Turks have become seriously wealthy, Turks have begun buying boats. The Turks are the first to tell you they're not really a seafaring nation, but boats are the new status symbol, according to marine professionals around here (Turks too). Most of the marine money goes into power boats which, like horses, have to be kept somewhere. Up and down the Turkish coast there's been a proliferation of marina construction, some of it legal, but a lot of it not.

This photo was taken in October, but there are still cruise ships coming alongside Netsel marina in December

Netsel marina is one of the oldest and biggest and, for good reason, it's also one of the most popular (and most expensive) marinas in Turkey. You'll know by now that its natural harbour offers shelter from the worst of the southerly gales, plus it's spectacular. The town is provincial, but it's become renowned for its excellent marine services. We who live in the marina end up spending a lot of money here, one way or another. But things are changing in Marmaris and it seems likely that foreign yachts won't be wintering over here in great numbers again. It's not so much that they're being priced out of the market (though there's that too, as the swarming to the discounted marina at Finike attests) but that they're no longer perceived to be as valuable to the business of the marina.

First week of December - I'm wearing an Icebreaker merino tee-shirt, but there's warmth in the sun

Having foreign yachts in your marina was once seen as an advantage - they paid for their contracts in hard currency, and less tangibly but as importantly, they gave the marina international bragging rights. That's still the case, I'm sure. Just to cite a couple of examples, Chay Blyth chose to re-fit his newest acquisition for ocean cruising at Netsel marina (the boat, resplendent in her new kit, sits awaiting riding instructions at the end of K pontoon), and last season Randy Repass, founder of West Marine (a big American chandlery) left his lean, mean sailing machine Convergence here for quite some time between outings.  These names add kudos to a marina, but what about the rest of us?

 Colin and Jane (Hydaway) and Dale (Liz) were at Netsel with us last year too

So were Rick and Mary (Orca)

Gotta have a bike

We're a motley bunch, we liveaboards, but ask around at any gathering and you'll find a pretty impressive range of seafaring experience. Crossing oceans is not all of it, but it's a significant part. Everyone, after all, has come here from somewhere else, and usually more than a day's sail away.  "What did you do in your other life?" we ask new friends. You'd be surprised at the range of experience there too. Lots of engineers, but also people who've built businesses, run for public office, taught, healed, made gardens, etc. Sure, we may look eccentric, old folks who get about on bikes and don't hesitate to turn up to dinner in wet weather gear and sailing boots if conditions warrant, and some of us can be a bit careful with our money (liveaboards do have that reputation, and it's not unwarranted). But we're lively. We're hibernating in Marmaris, but not in our lives. By and large during the winter we've got something on the go, usually a boating project or several, but often something else too. People living on boats hatch all sorts of schemes. And lots of them are smart, like Alex.
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The man is always flat out (seen from the companionway steps, tweaking his homegrown fuel-polishing system

Ishmail and Mehmet measure up for the base of the Yanmar

I think it's fair to say that the guys at Marlin, for example, really enjoy working with Alex. He's fastidious, he's dogged, he's always thinking about better ways of solving the problem at hand - and he's respectful of the skills and experience of those he's paying. They can do something he can't, but that doesn't mean he isn't keeping tabs all the way.

Having Alex (and other old salts like Alex) here is - and has been - good for Marmaris. We're beginning to hear rumblings around the traps which suggest that locals are worried about the vanishing liveaboards. Perhaps the town at large will not care too much when the once-vibrant liveaboard culture curls up its toes (as seems possible), but the many skilled tradesmen and business owners who've invested their futures in Turkey's young recreational marine industry certainly will.

Alex gave the engine bay at least four coats of paint (that I smelled)

Our Christmas box

I haven't said much about the new engine yet - don't want to waste a good storyline - but for those who can't wait, we've gone with a Yanmar 110 hp with turbo. I'll let Alex explain the whys and wherefores on his practical boating pages. Put simply, it's got no electronics, Yanmar make only marine engines (i.e. they're generally not marinised car engines as other engine brands are), and it's got a turbo because that's what this size engine has to have to keep the weight down and the power up. We're scheduled to be at the crane again by 9 am on Monday. Alex has the engine bay looking good enough to eat dinner off. 

The rites of spring

Wildflowers at Hierapolis

Yesterday it was our turn to be ticked off by the marina staff for flying a sub-standard Turkish flag. We'd heard of others who'd had their faded and/or ragged courtesy flags lowered and tossed onto the pontoon. No ambiguity about the message. Turks take respect for their flag seriously, and its red should be as vivid as field poppies or young blood - not dried blood, as ours was. No problem. New flag hoisted that afternoon, with due respect.

Refreshing the flag is probably a seasonal rite here, as much as lifting your boat to have its bottom cleaned and its hull and topsides polished. We're due to be lifted in four days. The yard gets busier and busier. We've locked in tradesmen to clean the fuel tanks (remembering last year's drama) and "polish" the fuel, and to tune the rig which was new last year and has stretched. Alex is a fair way towards getting the solar and wind power up and running, and of the few jobs that remain, most are straightforward. Except, of course, we're talking about a boat...straightforward does not seem to exist in the boating vocabulary.

Ed and Sue Kelly (right) at the northern entrance to Hierapolis

To keep a sense of perspective, you need to get out among the ruins. Remember how fleeting life is? Back in the 1st century BC, the citizens of a luxury spa resort called Hierapolis thought it was really important to have a solidly-built house in which to rest their (dead) bodies. On Sunday, with Ed and Sue Kelly, we walked through fields of wildflowers and shattered stone mansions which are what remains of their illusions after earthquakes and centuries of pillaging and weathering have done their work.

Hierapolis tombs - they are spread along a 2km road

Hierapolis (about three hours north of Marmaris, near Denizli) had one of the biggest graveyards in Asia Minor, not to mention a huge marketplace and grandiose baths. On the first day of spring, hang gliders floated over its scattered ruins and the limestone terraces of Pamakkale which cascade down from Hierapolis in spooky mimicry of a glacier....and everywhere there were people, and life was good for them, and for us.

Local tourists at Hierapolis

Paddling on the travertine terraces

Turkey is so chock full of ruins that you can get a bit blase about yet another ancient city. But not one place we've been to thus far has failed to astonish us at some point. The warm mineral waters at Pamakkale which were (and still are) reputed to be therapeutic are certainly lovely to dangle your feet in, and the icing-sugar terraces are one of the marvels of Turkey. But Hierapolis's city fathers, who came from the very splendid city of Pergamon further to the north, built the most amazing theatre which Italian archeologists are restoring - and that's what took us by surprise, even more so than the often-photographed terraces.

Hierapolis theatre now (above) and as it was in 1955 (below)

A statue of Triton, taken from Hierapolis theatre

While we were on the road, Kevin and Mei slipped away on Whisper HR, the first of our Netsel marina winter crowd to set off cruising this season. They're headed towards Croatia, and then perhaps Italy next winter. We've enjoyed their company but we're learning that what you say is not "goodbye" but "see you down the track".

Floating home

The sweet vanilla-and-fruit smell of cake just out of the oven fills the cabin. This morning I felt the urge to bake. It's been a while, but we're home now, our bags stowed, clothes back in their lockers, and books, trinkets and cheaper-from-America boat paraphernalia filed. There's fruit on the table and Diana Krall sings to me live from Paris - Alex woke early and spent a couple of hours transferring new music onto our iTunes library (thanks Bridget and Tony).

Outside a fresh south-easterly wind blusters and rain is falling in fits and starts, but down below we're snug and content. Friends who have spent the entire winter in Turkey and Europe are weary of damp cold and sun-less skies, and who can blame them, but late March is very early spring and we think it will be another month before we're out of here.

Others are sniffing the air, anxious to be gone. They'll take a chance with the April firtana (storms) predicted in Turkish annual storm table. Kevin and Mei, our Melbourne friends on Whisper HR, have a pick-up in Rhodes mid-April. Mei has been cooking for the freezer. The yard has a buzz about it. People are doing those boat jobs they've been talking about doing since November, and firming up on their cruising plans. Ed and Sue have Angel Louise out of the water, getting her ready for the long haul back to their beloved St Katherine's dock in London. They too have decided to delay their Atlantic crossing by a year. What's the hurry to get home? they asked themselves and decided there was none after all. It's a familiar story.

So many tulips to admire

The garden path leading to Topkapi palace

Fresco in the Chora church, Istanbul

Istanbul, with its heavenly tulip plantings and forests of minarets, heaving crowds and sleepless streets seems far away now. There's only a month before the first wave of holidaymakers from the north dumps on Marmaris and the town still looks like the backwater it is out of season. The main shopping street is a shambles, impassable by car. At every corner there's a road being pulled up.

The state of chandlery street

But this is a town which leans towards the water, and when the skies clear and the wind drops, as it did on the day we came back, there are a lot of Turks and ex-pats who will tell you that you can keep your Golden Horn and your glittery Byzantine mosaics. They'd rather be living on Marmaris Bay.

Chora church mosaics