The Carian Coast
We were headed southward to the small town of Göcek to repair a few minor warranty items. We planned to slowly poke our way along this new-to-us stretch of Turkish shoreline. The Carian Coast is the area where the coastline roughly turns the corner from south to east. It borders the Ionian in the north and the Lycian coast to the east. It extends south of the Gulf of Gulluk to Bodrum, Datça and west of Marmaris. The region is known to boaters for the gentle sailing conditions, the beautiful bays, sandy beaches, and famous rock tombs. The two deeply indented gulfs would make for ample protected anchorages from winds arriving from any direction.
This is where the Mediterranean and the Aegean seas meet and is perhaps best known for the Carian Trail; an 800 km long walking path named after the Carian civilization. The trail accesses a lesser known and unspoiled region of Turkey offering trekkers an opportunity to find deserted beaches, climb through pine scented forests with stunning views of the dramatic coastline across to the Greek islands of the South Aegean. I read that along the trail you can visit the famed boat builders in Bozburun, see the Neolithic cave paintings in the Bafa region, discover the mountain goats roaming the Datçha peninsula, and observe the artisan women weaving those gorgeous traditional carpets. Definitely on my list for a land based visit.
The first day we cruised about halfway into the first deep gulf and anchored in a bay on the north side of the peninsula. We hadn’t intended to go quite so far but with calm water and tailwinds it seemed like a good idea. The next day was also bright and beautiful. We lazed around all morning and took our time getting going. We then explored some of the inlets further into the gulf before dropping anchor again just a couple of hours later. We were just relaxing and hanging out when the sky darkened and the heavens opened up. Some of you may not know this about me, but I have always loved electrical storms! At least from the comfort of my home or when I’m safely tucked away in a calm anchorage. I sat mesmerized on the back deck observing the lightning, and studying the raindrops as they bounced off the surface of the water. I find the harmonic thrumming tranquil and soothing. Soon after the rain stopped we revelled in the stillness, and the soft hues of the golden hour.
A few days (and anchorages) later we set out one morning with no specific destination. Gentle wind carried us along for the first several hours before again the afternoon brought unnaturally dark skies characterized by rain and wind. This was accompanied by turbulent seas head-on, straight into us. At each waypoint we figured the ride would get smoother as the wind would move around to our beam. Yet somehow the wind switched directions every time we did - maintaining its force directly onto our bow. At last we found a shallow bay, ducked inside and dropped anchor. The bay itself was actually super calm but we found an uncomfortable swell rolling in from the squall. We sat bracing ourselves and waited for the wind to subside and the swell to lay down. Unfortunately, though we waited quite a long while, the swell never abated. We decided to find a less disturbed, more protected bay and just as I moved outside to lift the anchor, the swirl of grey and white rain turned into hail. Small frozen chunks of ice pelted me and my fingers turned rigid in the icy wind. What the heck - I hadn’t dressed for this! Just around the point was another potential anchorage so we motored in to take a look, scanning the shoreline for the right water depth and wind protection. Shivering, drenched and cold I noticed a dock on the opposite side of the bay…maybe we could just tie up - I was SO ready! We made a beeline for it, and as we approached a man swathed in foulies ran down to catch our lines. Such a welcome greeting! It turned out the dock belongs to a well known, seasonal restaurant which, in summer, hosts dozens of private yachts tethered to their pier, anchored and shore-tied around the entire bay. The ’fee’ for using the dock was simply to patronize the establishment. We asked if the restaurant was open (we were the only occupied boat in the area) and were told they would welcome us to dine at 7pm.
A few hours later, after drying off and warming up a bit, we wandered up the dock to the restaurant. In early February the restaurant has not yet opened for the season - but they opened it for us! They had set-up one small table next to a roaring fire. We were the only customers. The kindness and generosity of these people is beyond description. Lacking much english, and our Turkish virtually non-existent, they offered whatever they had and we were delighted. Mezas appeared on our table, followed by homemade bread, salad, fresh calamari and kebabs. After a lovely meal they stoked the fire, brought us tea, and let us warm ourselves as long as we wished.
The winds continued to build outside our calm, sheltered bay and harsh winter squalls passed by daily. Despite what was happening out on the open water, the next afternoon I enjoyed a sunny hike up the mountainside, trekking through a dense understory shrouded by pines and olives and holly oak. The earthy smell of the forest, especially after the rains, was enticing. We ended up staying at our private dock for three nights. Why mess with a good thing?! Each evening we enjoyed dinner by the fire and each day brought a tranquil sense of harmony.
As hard as it was to leave, it was time to head to Göcek for our repairs. Here we would leave the Carian Coast behind and cruise through the more familiar Lycian Coast. The day passed quickly and we arrived in the marina late that afternoon. Known throughout the region for yacht tourism; Göcek's six marinas, beautiful bay, and spectacular scenery make it a popular choice for visitors of all kinds. In summer the entire bay and surrounding areas are chocked full of boats both anchored and stern-tied to shore, one after another, so densely crammed in you can practically step from one boat deck to the next. Even in winter the six marinas are damn near full of boats awaiting their owners springtime arrival. We were guided to a vacant slip on a pontoon which was, by far, the narrowest, tightest space possible. Our fenders had to be stuffed down between the neighboring boats AFTER we wiggled into our space! I wonder how many boats they can actually fit in there - they certainly know how to pack ‘em in.
Over the past couple of years we have visited Göcek a few times and developed a closeness with the Yacht Designer there and some of his colleagues. He greeted us warmly at the marina the next morning, welcoming us ‘home’. It was such a simple and heartwarming comment, and one that struck a chord in me. The following day we were joined by our other Turkish friends, also N41 owners, who drove from their home, 4 hours away, down to Göcek to visit with us. We spent the afternoon and evening laughing, telling stories, and drinking raki over a long and outstanding dinner at one of the finest local restaurants.
Two of the most commonly uttered phrases in Turkish have to be “yaparız” (we will do it) and “bir şey olmaz” (nothing will happen). I have heard these phrases often. The Turks trust that where there is a will - there’s a way, and only the best of outcomes will follow. They are well-known for their hospitality and I have been swept away by their charm and their generosity of spirit, whether it be through the offering of gifts, serving up tea or just spending time with people. They live for the moment, make meaningful connections and enjoy life to the fullest. Nothing could be more heartening and uplifting.
