Village life in winter

We've been living in the small village of Orhaniye, tucked into a deep sheltered bay of the southern Mediterranean coast.

The view up our street

We are making slow headway on the boat. We've decided to just seal up the hull for this season, we will come back next winter and haul the boat in Bozburun. We were able to get a quote for E 1400 to haul for 6 months. Its a primitive yard, the boat comes out on hydraulic skids, but it will allow us to peel off the gel coat and let the hull dry for 6 months. In the meantime, we will find an apartment in Bozburun, as well as spend 3 months or so back in Australia for Sophie's wedding.

Scraping off the old antifoul

So, we've stripped all the old coatings off, and can now evaluate the extent of the osmosis. The osmosis  is confined to the gel coat on the hull, it appears to be originating in tiny voids between the gel coat and the first layer of CSM. It means that the gel coat must come completely off to get a good repair.

Osmosis blisters in the hull

You can see the osmosis blisters in this photo, they only penetrate the gel coat. The rudder was a different story, it had no gel coat and the water had penetrated more deeply. We stripped the top 5mm layers of glass off, back to sound laminate. The core was wet, so we opened a window in the rudder, pulled out all the foam (it looked like aerosol foam). We'll let the rudder dry thoroughly, re-foam it and then lay up cloth to re-build the exterior. We'll do it all in epoxy, then barrier coat it so should have no more problems.

Pavlov naked!

Meanwhile, we've been immersed in Turkish village life. Expat's seem to form communities all over the world and Orhaniye is no different. We've found some wonderful friends in Kevin and Sarah, who run a yacht charter business, 'Perfect Sailing'.

Megan and Sara on the road to Datca

They drove us to a Christmas ex-pat market in the pretty village of Datca.

The inner harbour of Datca

The market was dominated by German cruisers, who had some pretty yummy wares to sell.

Expat market in Datca

German Kuchen for sale

Even Santa's presence was felt. Shame really!

We've also become more of an accepted part of the local village. We've been invited to two weddings, which are multi day affairs, with lots of live music and Turkish dancing. The whole village is fed, so it must be a huge expense. Frightening really, since Sophie (Megan's daughter) is getting married this year.

Village mosque

Small village hamlet

We enjoy wandering around the village, and will often have conversations with the local villagers. These two ladies allowed their photo's to be taken, but then turned their back at the last moment.

Shy locals?

There's been heavy rainfall this winter, with lots of local flooding and rock falls.

Fallen rock slide

Heavy rainfall

A flooded street

The village is mainly small holdings. Every house seems to have orange or mandarin trees, a few olives, chickens, goats, and a large vegetable patch. Self-sufficiency is an economic imperative.

Typical small holding

We live on these sweet mandarins!

The local topography is wild and mountainous. Not the worn ancient hills of Australia, but young, sharp and energetic. The beauty of the scenery is entrancing.

Wild cliffs and landscapes

Cliffs behind the village

With one boot in the bucket and hand to the wheel

I remember when my brother caught a fish near Terrigal lagoon in 1968. He was so happy. It was carried, still struggling for  breath,  back to our holiday house.

 I was a very tortured young child. I was so concerned about war and nuclear bombs. The idea of killing a fish was unthinkable. I cried to my father to take it back. Amazingly they did.  So up to this point my experience with catching fish has been negligible if not fraught with anxiety. You know the phrase "if fish could scream there would be no anglers", well I took this seriously, as I did most things.

 The idea of catching our own meals on our boat was greeted by me with mixed feelings. 

 After all- you have to kill it. Eating fish has never caused me much concern, but killing them....

Typical of most people who have never been part of the hunting world, the notion that these animals have to die is conveniently forgotten. 

We never have had much luck fishing. Steve and I tried once in our tinny on the Richmond river. We got bored pretty quickly. We even have trolled before, leaving a line to drag behind our boat suitably hooked and attached to an attractive plastic fish or insect. No luck.

Then the impossible happened. Steve has written about catching the fish, but not about what happened in the aftermath.

 Now ... I assumed there would be a lot of blood and scales, messy. I had said we needed to think about what we would do with "it"in the unlikely event that some poor fish actually did take the"bait". We couldn't do it in the deck: what about the teak? And where was the knife, and how were we going to secure the catch? I assumed it would still be still alive. 

Sailing to Orhayne past Bozburan we looked back to the line - stretching behind us tens of meters. 

Looks like we've got something, Steve commented, not particularly excited as we still thought it might be rubbish or a snag of line. I went into action, what are we going to put it in...as Steve reeled in the line I grabbed a bucket out of the locker. 

The struggling fish was finally in the bucket. In the melee that followed Steve announced, I don't know what to do!!! I casually stated this was my blog topic now... after all such an admission could not go uncommented on. 

As the auto- helm capably steered our course, Steve went below to check with our trusty iPad - what to do with fish. I kept my foot on the fish in the bucket as it tried to escape. Now auto -helm was being unreliable. As I waited for further instructions, I steered the boat -with one foot in the bucket ensuring that dinner did not escape. 

Well you know the rest. Dinner was great. Steve produced a beautiful meal of our tuna , cooked to perfection.

  In Australia I knew people who fished or hunted rabbits. In Turkey I have met people who hunt, not just for sport but to put food on the table. For many in Turkey, particularly in the villages, life is tough. Hunting is still, though controlled, a means to feed your family. Protein is scarce in their diet, which is rich in refined carbohydrates like bread or pastry. Our fish was caught to be eaten not just for sport. Our diet of protein has declined since coming here so the fish made a difference to us too. 

So maybe it is ok to fish as long as you eat what you catch and only fish for what you can eat.

My winter coat

As the waters get colder and the days shorter, I was thinking of Paul Kelly's song "My winter coat", and how our experience has changed as we've moved from the hot long days of summer into a different kind of experience in winter.

Sliding downhill, wing on wing

At first, the weather in Fethiye was very mild, with light winds. It allowed us to experiment with new headsail combinations on Pavlov. Here's a picture of us sailing with twin headsails out, a technique we'll use later, sliding downhill in the tradewinds. 

Calm winter sunshine

The mild days are clear and tranquil, here's Pavlov sitting at the jetty in Orhaniye, with the Inox guy (Ergun Toraman) making alterations to the solar panel arch. 

Sailing from Fethiye to Orhaniye, the winds were light so we had our first attempt at trolling behind the boat. Around Bozburun, we thought we'd snagged something on the line, probably debris. Turned out to be a very nice small tuna-like species. The Turks call this fish a Palamat. I'll leave Megan to detail our adventures in fish-filleting at sea via Internet instructions, but it was a beautiful eating fish, worthy of sashimi.

Pavlov's first fish... a small but delicious tuna.

But the weather can have a sinister side as well. The wind can come up abruptly, surprisingly so and menacing. We've had 40 knot gales battering the boat against the jetty, a truly frightening experience. Best be on your toes in winter. This photo is from a delivery of a 43' Jeanneau from Orhaniye to Marmaris for some friends of ours, Kevin and Sara from 'Perfect Sailing'.

A wet delivery to Marmaris

This changeability is in such contrast to summer, which is mercilessly consistent. Summer is relentless sunshine, dehydrating heat and cloudless, parched skies.Summer is also tourists: its like all of Europe flocks to the Mediterranean coast seeking fun, clear water and respite from the heat.

Summer in Turkey is also all about the relentless pursuit of money. The touts in the street will pursue you with astonishing vigour to sample their carpets/tee-shirts/food/lamp-shades/ etc etc. The place is geared around fleecing tourists of their money. There are tourist prices and 'turkish prices'. Interestingly, in Fethiye, the local council will not approve building works or renovations during summer, to avoid a negative impact on tourism.

Summer crowds at Ephesus

All that falls away in winter, the streets are empty, the villages seem to quieten and turn in on themselves. Storekeepers drop the blustery arrogance, and seem genuinely pleased to see you, offering 'turkish prices' without any struggle. People smile at you on the street, offer a friendly 'Guniden' or 'Merebah, Hozgeldeniz'. There is time for gentler pursuits, the men are often seen fishing in the middle of the day, women spend more time at the weekly markets catching up and gossiping. The pace of life slows, time opens up, things breath more easily.

The empty boardwalk in Fethiye... Winter time.

We love Turkey in winter, it's as if we can see her true colours. Colour returns to the hills, the landscape is no longer bleached under the sun but can reveal its finer textures. The people allow their true humanity and gentleness to surface. The drive for the dollar submerges under the vicissitudes of winter weather. The tourists leave, the 'grockle' recedes, the tide washes out; leaving the naked shoreline and the flotsam of real life.

Our little village street in Orhaniye

A brace of brommies - or Multi-modality commuting

You might be wondering what a brommie is, and why a 'brace' is the correct collective noun. So here is a brace of brommies .... explanation to follow.

A nice plump brace indeed

The major reason for our hasty trip to London was to hunt for brommies, and we scored ourselves a very nice brace, with nary a pellet remaining from the shot gun blast.

Note the wings poised for flight

Brommies is the term of endearment given to Brompton bicycles by people who fall in love with the intensely cute but eminently practical folding bike. We used to enjoy riding our mountain bikes when we were back in Oz, and it seemed an ideal solution to the problem of being on a boat. That is, the only way to get around off the boat is shank's pony. Normally, Megan and I will walk for hours, but this has been giving rise to a few problems: we can completely exhaust ourselves, but not get very far, and my knee has learned some new things and is now classed as a 'trick knee'. I've even started walking with a cane, which is a very scary development!

Old crockness meets new crockness

The brommies solve this problem, we can ride around for hours, but actually get where we need to go. The shopping is now easy as they have commodious baskets that swallow an amazing amount. The really good thing is that, unlike most folding bikes that ride like a hernia with hiccups, the brommie rides like a real bike.

A practical pouch - maybe a marsupial brommie

So, we became infatuated brommonians, or is that bromedaries? We love our new bikes, treat them tenderly, and go "Aww, shucks" when people admire the graceful folded wheel stance that a brommie takes to let you mount her.

A bromedary (hmm, one hump or two) with brommie, ready to roll.

Of course, if you've sneaked a look in Pavlov, you'd know that there's not a lot of room in there, so where can one stash a brace, or hoist a bromedary? Well, this was the selling point of the bikes. We have a small unoccupied space just on top of the generator. We measured it  up, and thought that the two bikes would just fit. And they did! With only 1mm to spare.

A brommie lair - that's two adult brommies in there!

Another view of their hide-away.

The other great thing about travel by bromedary is that in their folded state (cunningly disguised by black 'stealth shrouds'), they can ride with you on trains, buses and airplanes. This so extends the extent of our travel capabilites, that it deserves a title. And it has been given one, as we learned in the yuppier reaches of London. Its called 'multi-modal transportation'.

So there it is. 'Have Brommie, will travel!'

Life and Death

Our recent trip to London brought back memories of an earlier visit. In my late 20's, I'd been living in India and Europe, working in various jobs and backpacking. A need to renew my vanishing travelling fund prompted me to head for England and the promise of work.

Megan outside Charing Cross

After working some months in a psychiatric hospital in Aylesbury, I secured an interesting but very poorly paid job. Eugene Himmler was a psychoanalyst who was also a survivor of Hitler's extermination camps. He had died, and his followers wanted to continue his work post-humously. They wanted a psychologist who would listen to hours of taped interviews with Holocaust survivors and analyse their contents. (This was called 'protocol analysis').

Streets of Catford, picking up our new bikes

They could only offer GBP 300 to do this, but they sweetened the deal by offering me use of their Swiss Cottage cottage. I accepted, and in fulfilling the job, discovered that Anna Freud (Sigmund's daughter) lived around the corner, and the Tavistock clinic was just down the street. All these memories from my youth, coupled with our impending departure from our safe haven of Fethiye prompted me to re-consider some of Freud's basic idea's.

Meeting Sue, Megan's cousin in Trafalgar Square

Freud believed that there were two instinctual forces active in our psyche, the force driving us towards life, and the force impelling us towards death, dissolving and decaying us. He named the life force Eros, and it was our creative drive, impelling us to expand, grow and try new expressions of living. He named the death force Thanatos. It's the impulse to stay the same, to stay safe, to shrink within our known boundaries. The end result of Thanatos is literally 'rigour mortis', the inability to move or change.

Chris and Barb, two friends we caught up with

Now, let me try to get to the point of this meandering diatribe. Lots of people we know, and several of our good friends, have commented that they think we are 'brave' or 'courageous' to head off sailing half-way around the world. Using Freud's terms, we are full of Eros, the life force impelling us to expand our horizon's and grow to the maximum. This just doesn't feel right to me. I don't feel 'brave or courageous'. In fact, I feel both of Freud's impulses, and the point where they balance.

St. Martin's in the Field

We're currently planning our departure from Fethiye, our little home away from home in Turkey. Fethiye now represents safety and security for us, it's high in Thanatos. While planning our impending visit to Cypress, Lebanon, Israel and Egypt; reading the pilots and government risk warnings, I can feel an increased 'frisson' in the air, and well as higher levels of stress and anxiety. I'm clearly heading into Eros territory, the challenge of the new and unknown.

The cross built at Charing - nice Thanatos memorial

Each of us has a set-point where these instincts balance out, the desire for security versus the challenge of the new. We have a 'comfort point' where we can tolerate and integrate these opposing forces. When Chris (above photo) mentioned that he thought we were brave, I think my reply was 'No, I just focus on taking the next step'. This lets me assimilate a smaller chunk of the new, and doesn't threaten my sense of security and safety by too big a margin.

Megan on the Tube

Nevertheless, I can feel the winds of change a'blowing and there is a slight shiver in the air. What will it be like, not having a permanent home for Pavlov? When we leave Fethiye, we will be 'free agents', at least until we take out another marina contract. We'll be sailing in more challenging waters, with overnight sails, watch-keeping and hostile government officials to deal with. Lebanon might get a bit iffy, and Egypt, with all its corruption and horrors, may need to be visited if we are to avoid a 5 day passage to Crete. How will we manage and cope?

Well, maybe just 'One step at a time...'

The extraordinary region of Cappodocia

We travelled with friends to Cappodocia, to experience the strange geological formations that have become dwellings to a variety of peoples.

These sandstone formations are quite extraordinary, as is the general landscape.

Our hotel was carved into the rock.

On the way to the national park, even the modes of local transportation are unusual.

The national park, known as the 'outdoor museum' has many examples of early Christian churches and monastic compounds.

Here's an example of the fresco's still visible on the walls of the church. These date from about the 12th century.

Cappodocia is also the largest centre world-wide for hot air ballooning. Its dry climate, still air conditions and incredible sandstone formations make an ideal site for the sport.

We arose at 4.30 am to prepare for our flight.

There were 80 balloons all launching into the pre-dawn stillness.

Our pilot has such fine control over our halloon, that we could scrape over the ground, pick olives from a tree, and twist and turn down the narrow canyons of the Cappodocian landscape.

Sure put a smile on this dial.

The sky was just filled with balloons, it was just so visually beautiful and ecstatic!

We just couldn't stop grinning.... silly loons.

Then we decided to relive some Easy Rider fantasies. Not content to rent the normal little scooters and step-thru's, we went for some 'big bikes'. East German made MZ's in fact.

They were such beasts to ride. I still have bruises on my left big toe from the shifter, and permanent scars from the kick starter (which loved to bite back).

Megan and I managed to get lost, and ended up riding down an impossibly steep, cobbled goat track in the dark and spitting rain. Fun.... no, but definitely character forming.

Jennifer and Mattius

Another great adventure in the Turkish hinterland.