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