Turkey watching season

Christmas tart - and a Turkish bird

I love reading the news from Australia. Nothing much happens there. I check the ABC website each morning. Occasionally a story punches hard and the old me gets worked up (I'm still convinced, for example, that out-of-control drinking and the violence it spawns is worse in Australia than most other places, though Alex disagrees) but more often than not a quick glance reassures me that all is well downunder. Read about the two fishermen who spent a night in the water clinging onto their cooler box after their boat went down? What about the tourist who walked off the end of the St Kilda pier while she was checking her Facebook page. Gold. And now, between Christmas and New Year, I get cricket and crocodiles (of course) and news that the Sydney to Hobart race has been won, yet again, by the octogenarian Bob Oatley's maxi-yacht Wild Oats. Wonderful stuff. You couldn't hope to leave your children in a better country to get on with their young adult lives, I tell myself.

Look what they dragged up from the sea on the Sunday before Christmas

In this part of the world, people enjoy their quiet routines - a Sunday barbecue at the beach, for example - as much as they do anywhere else. But the news tempo is completely different. Headlines are rarely comforting given Turkey's proximity to Syria and the Middle East and, for that matter, to a flailing, ailing Europe. Turkey no longer feels as secure or stable as it did a year ago. There's still money in the country, that's for sure, but there's a watchfulness in the air, a sense that fortunes might be changing, that established systems might be breaking up.

Southerly winds gusting 40 knots whip up the sea inside Marmaris bay

The marina gardener wrapped in red paper and cottonwool

We popped into a shop in the bazaar last week to buy a couple of Christmas gifts. Tea was ordered and, as we were not in a hurry, we sat and chatted a while with the owner. Ali is an urbane and well-travelled Turk whose English is polished enough to engage in a level of discussion we are rarely admitted to in Marmaris, opened up about Turkish politics. "Did you hear about the mess we're in?" he asked. Yes, we'd read the headlines. Three sons of cabinet ministers and the CEO of the state bank arrested, among others, as part of a sweeping corruption investigation. The prime minister was not informed beforehand apparently. Next day, police chiefs were dismissed, as were the investigators, but the damage was done. The cat was out of the bag. A clear fault-line in the ruling AKP party has been exposed. People like Ali are now keenly waiting for the local government and municipal elections at the end of March. The results, while not directly affecting national government, will show if Mr Erdogan's tight grip on power has been weakened by the events of 2013 (including the summer of protest which began in Taksim square) or whether he has held onto his support base.

Liquidambar orientalis (or Turkish sweetgum) trees in the forest behind Marmaris

 As foreigners, and as guests of a country which is now the only place in the Mediterranean (excluding North Africa) where those of us with non-EU passports can winter over with our boats, we tread carefully where politics - even at a neighbourhood level - are concerned. But if you're interested in Turkey and its political dynamic (which you can definitely not take at face value), it's worth taking the time to read this background briefing which was posted on the Marmaris Bay Cruisers website by an anonymous cruiser. As far as I can tell, its source, a private intelligence company with a confidential subscriber list (who is this cruiser?), is credible. Combined with bazaar tea and talk, it gave us more insight into what's happening up in Istanbul and Ankara than we can possibly get from inside the gated community of the marina which, by the way, is owned by the Koc family, mentioned in the above despatch. It also reminded me I should read more by Orhan Pamuk whose cryptic novels so beautifully lay bare the Byzantine heart which beats under the deceptively smooth skin of modern Turkey.

Border line Turkey

A full moon rises over the fuel dock at Didim marina

It's the brute functionality of Turkey which hit us between the eyes. So much ugliness spreading around the gulf just south of Didim, our port of entry. Ugly resort developments spreading over the hillsides of Bodrum peninsula like some hideous skin disease, a rash of fish farms turning the waters of Gulluk gulf murky green, the colour and consistency of liquid pea puree. For a few days after our arrival in Turkey our spirits took a dive, and came up clogged, as did the filter on the water-maker.

A development gone wrong in Gulluk gulf near ancient Iassos 

Fish farming in Gulluk gulf (and below)

This is a country which values the things we in the so-called west have made such a virtue of in the past 30 years - efficiency, progress, growth, upward mobility. All conspicuously absent across the water, and what a price the Greeks are now paying for the scant attention they've paid to the fine print of the prosperity gospel. So the surprise to us, coming back to Turkey, our de facto country of residence, is how foreign it feels after Greece. Something has shifted for us, and we're not quite sure yet what that something is. We're hoping it will click back into position soon.

Enki moored for the first time at a restaurant jetty

Looking back from the jetty at Cokertme

A lot has happened in Turkey in the three months we've been in Greece. There was the boil which burst in Taksim square just after we left in June, releasing a big septic build-up of anti-government resentment. That's not finished with, but we've had a spattering of conversations over the summer with people who know Turkey much better than we do, and the consensus is that Turkey won't blow apart...not now anyway.

Cokertme beach

A couple of nights ago we met a man on the pebbly beach at Cokertme whose opinions on Turkey's future, had he offered them to us, would have been seriously valuable. He approached us as we sat at a dinner table by the water drinking Efes (Turkey brews good beer). He was dressed as a conservative gentleman dresses in the summer, in light slacks and an ironed short-sleeved shirt. His English was precise and correct. He was full of smiles. He apologised for interrupting us, but said he'd noticed the boat on the quay, and had to say hello. His good friend Geoff Brown was head of the Australian air force. In April, he and his wife had visited Geoff in Australia. He glowed as he told us about what they'd been shown - the military museum in Canberra, of course, but most of all they'd enjoyed Sydney harbour, which they'd cruised in the company of a naval frigate.

Peak hour rush for the anchorage

The man who pulled up a chair at our table on the beach was Mehmet Erten, recently retired and now renovating his house in Cokertme which is about as small a place as you could want to live anywhere and about as far away as you could hope to get from Ankara and still enjoy some of the benefits of modernity. Less than a month ago he was General Mehmet Erten, commander of the Turkish air forces, but as those of you who are alert to Turkish politics will perhaps recall, in early August the Erdogan government cleaned out the top brass of all four sections of the Turkish military, and General Erten was amongst those relieved of their responsibilities.

Look at me! I can swim now

He did not tell us this, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together. Retirement comes in all manner of forms, and his would have kept us talking far into the night, but it was our retirement he was interested in. He showed such admiration. "We Turks are not really seafaring people," he said. He had bought himself a Zodiac and was getting to know it. He wrote his name, his wife's name and their phone number on a piece of paper and invited us to find them when we next visit Cokertme and "drink some wine". We'd be delighted.

The flinty soil of Turkey

As well as feeling our way back into Turkey, we like everyone else are wondering what "the world" is going to do about Syria. My morning routine is to check email, the marine weather forecasts and the BBC, in that order, but these past few days I've been looking at the BBC before the weather.

We are not blase about the potential for a military "intervention" to force a change in our plans. Last winter the nightmare in Syria was possible to talk away as we sat comfortably in a marina in the south west of Turkey. This winter, there may be civil war in Egypt as well as Syria, and Turkey is hardly a passive bystander in this region. Interesting times.

Sailing down Gokova gulf

And in case you think we've lost the plot and our life on Enki has become one long public radio background briefing, be assured that we continue to pull off some very fine sailing exhibitions, unwatched but massively enjoyed nonetheless. Our days are determined by a) how my finger is healing - soon to be struck off the agenda (yay!); b) the working order of boat machinery (currently a small glitch with the watermaker, but since that item is a luxury we'll say no more); c) the direction and force of the wind and d) the search for a desirable anchorage which still has room for us. This last is the most taxing thing we do, believe it or not, it still being August and there being far too many people on boats rushing (literally) for the best spots and some of those not what you'd call Turkish gentlemen.

A nicely balanced boat making good speed

Mind games in Mytilene

Sappho's poetry on the harbourfront - remember it!

Playing on the foreshore of the old harbour

A year ago today we motored Enki out through the channel linking Port Napoleon, a mosquito-plagued French boatyard, to the Mediterranean sea and turned left for Turkey. Both the weather and the water in the gulf of Fos were dull and flat. Likewise our exhilaration at being finally underway was muted. I remember how much like a jail-break our departure felt. Unreliable, work-shy, mistake-prone tradesmen (apologies to Markus of Bowsprit, he was the exception) had effectively kept us hostage at Port Napoleon for a month, and our state of mind was fragile.

Past the sea wall and across the water there's Turkey

Enki sporting her new summer cover

A lot has happened since then and most of it marvellous. We need no reminding of how fortunate we are and yes, we are still having way too much fun (thanks yet again to Angel Louise for the turn of phrase). But the bizarre plot twists around our Volvo Penta D3 engine strongly remind us of dark days at Port Napoleon. We're playing the waiting game again, and our minds have re-entered crazed hostage mode. When will he call? When will he come? Will he ever come? Will anyone ever come? When will we get out of here?

The marina is a favoured exercise route for Mytilene walkers

Rain on the solar panels - which in sunshine give us all the power we need

A quick note about our beloved D3 engine, which is a marine version of Volvo's sophisticated electronic car engines: it's an EVC-A model, built in 2004, the first in what is now a long series of D3 engines. And there's the rub. The early D3 engine electronic warning sensors keep their secrets very close to their chest. In subsequent models, Volvo Penta has trusted the end-user with more information. So, for example, in the latest EVC-E model, you don't get a bald red warning light, period. It flashes up an error code/s. To the lay person, an error code means zip, but not to a Volvo technician on a phone. He can enter it into his diagnostic software and bingo, here's your diagnosis, or at least a partial diagnosis, and with that you get a mechanic on the job, or at least order replacement parts. 

Alex works the phones

We have fallen into a Volvo service black hole, and after a week in port we still don't know what's wrong with our engine. An Athens-based Volvo agent undertook early in the week to come to Mytilene on Friday with his Vodia machine, but that was washed away by a deluge of "disasters" closer to home. This morning he gave us another undertaking, which we choose to believe. He'll be here tomorrow or Monday, he says.

Ferries come and go daily in Mytilene harbour

We can find no sound reason to leave Mytilene with an instrument panel warning us of a "serious problem". Of course if our lives depended on it we could sail across the Aegean to a workshop in Athens or Volos without turning on the engine. But our lives don't depend on it. We're in a safe harbour here. There are planes flying in and out of the place. Someone will come, one day. Our frustration levels might be reading extreme, but our reason tells us that our insurance company might consider a decision to sail on in the hope that everything will be ok to be an un-necessary risk (reckless behaviour is their terminology) should we need to file a claim - say, if we got caught out in a small harbour with engine failure, there was no help and we rammed our boat or worse still, someone else's. You get to thinking like that. It's all very obsessive and corrosive. A good coffee in town is the best antidote.

The other thing that's been exercising our minds a lot is the notion that Greece is in Europe, for crying out loud. What if this happened somewhere truly "remote"? Is this the right engine for where we are planning to go? (Just for good measure, Alex has taken the bold step of buying electronic cigarettes! Refills should be available everywhere - no?)

The smoke is steam - he's willing, but his habit is an old one 

Can e-cigs unseat the Malboro man? 

The former estate of this derelict mansion is full of new apartments

We're getting to know Mytilene, and we like what we see. Yes, there's rubbish piled up in places you'd rather it wasn't, and business hours are Mediterranean i.e. the working day effectively ends at 2 pm when lovely cooking smells start to compete with the wafts from bad drains. The town - which has a population of about 36,000 people - has a lived-in feel. Students and other young people mill about the cafes on the harbour front and in the back streets, but so do families with kids, and middle-aged couples, and groups of old friends.

For all that we know about the Greek crisis, no-one seems particularly stressed, and people are dressed well. There are a few beggars, and some predatory gypsy kids near the bus station, but Mytilene doesn't feel like a town on its knees. Just before lunchtime, there are swarms of people tearing around its narrow streets on small scooters. They're like wasps which fly at you as you cling to side of buildings - there are mostly no footpaths. Mytilene has surprising and elegant architecture, grand Italianate buildings rather than cubist Greek. In its day you call tell it's been wealthy. Its harbour is not just a quaint fishing port, though it's that too. Every day there are new ships calling,  moving stuff in and out of the island.

Mytilene's church of Agios Therapon

Cherries on main street

Heirloom olive trees are all over the island

Lesvos is a seriously agricultural island - olive oil and ouzo are big business - and tourism is very much a secondary business here. Nobody takes much notice of us, who are so obviously not from the island, though they're friendly enough. Even the neighbourhood butcher speaks a bit of English. He has cousins in Sydney. The guy who delivered our fuel - we are hopeful - was born in Sydney, but he likes it better here, he says.

Most of Stathis' family live in Sydney. He was born there

Lesvos weather is island weather - variable. We love watching the clouds piling up over the Turkish coast - real clouds, not metaphorical ones. But let's talk about those for a minute.

Cloud build-up over Turkey

I started to write a post about what's happening in Turkey now, but I canned it for a couple of reasons. First, I don't think what I know as a result of our few months on the wealthy, western edge of the country adds much to what's being written in the mainstream media. I'm reading the BBC online, and the English version of Hurriyet, a Turkish daily, and we leap on the International Herald Tribune, with NY Times coverage, when we see it. There's good analysis in all these. For non-Turkish speakers, it's a big ask to get a good fix on what's happening. You're just grabbing at hearsay, or a few random conversations, and it's not really good enough. Second, I'm wary of what I write online. We hope to spend another winter in Turkey and I want to keep writing this blog. I don't want to get closed down. That happens in Turkey.

Back to clouds though. Sea Cloud, a sister ship to Enki, has been in Mytilene for a couple of nights.

Sea Cloud (in front) and Enki - the marina in quite empty 

Ian and Cathy Cook

Sea Cloud is owned by another Sydney couple, Ian and Cathy Cook, who bought her shortly before we bought Enki, and also in Europe from Swiss owners.  When we met up with them last year in Gocek, we talked about maybe cruising together up this way this season. They've had a few problems with an alternator, and we're now out of action for a bit, so we're yet to share an anchorage, but this morning they set off for our bay, the bay where we saw the swordfish. We've enjoyed their company while they were here, and as they pulled out of the marina, they spoke confidently of our catching up with them in a few days. You need to believe it.

Like peas in a pod - two HR48s flying the Australian flag

Sea Cloud heads north towards Limnos