03/07/06 The Voyage of Blackwattle - leaving Turkey

by Nancy Knudsen on 3 Jul 2006 Blackwattle is to sail again. Well, we got this far, half way round the world, without killing ourselves, or each other. The second one is perhaps more of an achievement.

We came to Turkey glorying in our unemployed state, one ex-architect, and one ex-tourism/aviation operator, gone cruising. We’re leaving two years later as one ex-university lecturer, and one just graduated uni student/cruising journalist.

A Reinvention - and we are still in wonderment at the serendipity of it all.

Blackwattle and we, together with son Simon for a couple of weeks, are setting out from Ayvalik, a delightful village on the Aegean shores of Turkey, where Blackwattle has spent her winter. It’s so delightful, one wonders why on earth we are leaving.

We have made friends casually, as one does, with the owners of a little coffee shop in the town. They have come to live in Ayvalik from the big city of Izmir, a couple of hundred miles away, to get away from the crowds, traffic and smoggy air.

We asked them to talk about living here in this so sweet fishing village. 'It’s wonderful,' said the wife, 'a slower pace of life, fresh air, good for the children.'

'There are disadvantages however,' said the husband, ' they don’t like foreigners very much.'

I am appalled. 'O really,' I say, 'People here have been so nice to us! What makes you say that?'

'O we don’t mean YOU!' says the wife hastily, 'We mean US. We’re from Izmir!'

They are foreigners; we are just so alien we are right off their radar screens.

We’re nearly ready to go. Stowage, provisioning lists, stowage plans. The satellite phone is connected with a new aerial for better reception; the sails are repaired and up.

The engine is serviced, the electrosan unpickled. (Last year’s hint to pickle it with vinegar was not a joke, and it has prevented any barnacle build-up). The gearbox oil is changed, the engine hose clamps are new, the 350 books are stowed, the safety gear – the danbuoy, life jackets - and life raft have been sent away for servicing.

The lazy jacks repaired, the flares checked and replaced where necessary. Son Simon arrives and is instantly press ganged into service.

It goes on… and on…. I, by the way, am doing a great job of supervising. It’s tough, but it has to be done.

There’s a high wind at the moment – the Meltemi has been blowing for several days 25-30 knots and forecast to continue. The flags stand straight on the boats in the marina, the wind through the rigging whines day and night, and is so high that Blackwattle strains and bucks at her leash. She’s anxious, I think, to be gone. Fellow sailors work on their boats in the hot windy sunshine but no one leaves. We’re all waiting…

Wisps of memory of the magical spires of Istanbul invade my daily space. We’re so busy there’s now no time for regrets…

Tuesday 3rd July, 2006

We leave on a Saturday – we couldn’t leave the day before, because of course it was a Friday, and everyone knows that old salts can’t leave on a Friday for fear of being swallowed by the deeps.

With Simon we have walked the Ayvalik Bazaar, where we’ve provisioned with fresh vegetables from the local farmers’ stores. The weekly bazaar covers many blocks in the middle of town, a wild cacophony of wizened old men and headscarfed housewives shouting and bartering.

It’s sticky hot under the flapping temporary awnings as we push through the crowd, happily buried with our trolleys like everyone else. We buy wild honey, choosing between the various flowered honeys on sale.

We find this year’s home made sizmak – fresh pressed olive oil - and buy many litres. Cherries, peaches and plums and apricots are in season, olives by the barrel.

The smell of fresh stone fruit is everywhere. I find a lady bird on a lettuce and in the noise an confusion we play a child’s game 'Ladybird ladybird fly away home…' while the lettuce owner waits, mystified, for us to pay our 50c and be gone.

We stock up on home made scissors and knives and quickly bypass the rest of the fascinating melange of goods on sale to get back to the boat.

Finally we have said our last goodbyes, some with a tear, and drunk our last Turkish coffees. The final evening is spent with sailing friends (True Blue) and son Simon at our favourite summer restaurant which hangs over the water – it has a permanent roof but welcomes all weathers as it is open to the skies and the wide vistas of the Ayvalik Harbour, glittering with lights in the distance.

The food is simple but exquisite, the salty fresh evening breeze a blessing. I explain in my kindergarten Turkish that we shall see them no more.

....

It’s been blowing a gale for a week, but now it has calmed to a gentle 15-20 knots. It’s a crisp sunny morning as we glide out of the crowded marina and through the narrow marked channel to the open seas, heading for Lesvos, Greece.

The wind is on the quarter, we’re exhausted from the preparations and the heat – or maybe it’s just nervous tension, leaving ‘life’ behind us once more. The headsail gives us an easy 5 knots, and there’s no move to put up the mainsail.

A blissful four hours later, we’re in the wide circular harbour at Mytilene, lined with fishing boats and cargo ships, yachts and motorboats. They don’t answer our radio call, so we berth where we read a ‘Customs’ sign, against a nasty harbour wall, jutting with old spikes and chains beneath the water.

We sandwich with difficulty between a giant freighter and True Blue, just arrived and shouting instructions for us.

There’s a monster ferry coming in which ejects a stream of cars and thousands of tourists in shorts dragging suitcases like puppy dogs. It’s hot and dusty here, and the roar of hundreds of motor scooters reaches us from the nearby traffic, squealing brakes, braying music. I think fleetingly that the lovely old pastel buildings must be suffering - like gracious old ladies who find themselves in a thumping disco by mistake.

We must register our entry into Greece, and Skipper Ted goes off to do this, returning with a smile saying they were at least helpful, and the entry cost a total of 30 Euro which includes six months stay for the boat.

We’re off and away as quickly as we can – this is NOT what we came to the Greek Islands for!