September 8-16, 2023

Where is the Güllük Korfezi?


Anchorages covered in this blog post:



#1 Ҫukurcuk Cove The gateway to the Güllük Korfezi.

#2 Paradise Bay 37°19.151'N,27° 27.989'E

We began our exploration of the Güllük Korfezi the next morning, setting out for an anchorage with the enticing name of Paradise Bay. Arriving a few hours later, we anchored in the pine-ringed cove that was every bit as picturesque as its name would imply.



Though Awildian was the only boat for awhile, the bay began to fill up with tourist-laden day boats as the day progressed, and as many of them were tying their sterns to shore, we decided that it would be neighborly for us to do the same.

We got out one of our spools of bright-orange, floating, polypropylene rope that we use for this purpose (once or twice a year), and loaded it into our dinghy. Since Awildian already had his anchor down, all we needed to do was take the rope to shore, tie it to a rock, tie the other end to a cleat on Awildian's stern, then take up the slack. Eric did the rock-tying honors this time, while I paid out rope from the spool.



Later, I put the kayak in the calm, but not particularly clear, water and paddled to shore. Along the way, when the water was shallow enough that I could see the bottom (less than six feet or so), I kept seeing these odd-looking creatures on the bottom. They were black, shaped like worms, but BIG (some of them were a foot or two long), and had tentacles around their mouth. I later learned from Google that they're "worm sea cucumbers" (Synaptula reciprocans), kind of like benthic vacuum cleaners.


Worm Sea Cucumber (Synaptula reciprocans)

I had a really nice walk on shore - among the pines!




I saw quite a few rocks that I'm almost positive were petrified wood, resembling the cross-section of trees that had lived and died millions of years ago.


Petrified wood?

I had fun imagining what the forest was like, when those trees were standing tall.



One of the fun things about walking around in foreign countries, is encountering signs that you can't read. As I was writing this blog, I finally got around to translating the signs in some of the photos. The results can be interesting.


"You can hug me"


"Green path"


"Forest is not a WC. Take your shit inside."

OK then.

Sadly, scattered among the trees and rocks and strewn along the shore was a shocking amount of trash.







We enjoyed a couple of days at Paradise Bay, and then we were ready to continue exploring.



This time I took our kayak to shore and untied the stern rope, while Eric spooled. As we were pulling Obama up, the chain rumbled as if it were running across something hard, and Obama suddenly snagged. Uh oh. Knowing that fish farms had been located in Paradise Bay at one time, I was worried that Obama may have been caught on some leftover equipment, but after Eric drove forward over the anchor, it started to come up again. Phew! We may have dodged a bullet: when Obama broke the surface, he was trailing some long pieces of old electrical wire. Something was definitely down there!

#2 Kaptan Han buoy 37° 20.441'N,27° 28.524'E

It was a short trip (less than two miles) to the buoys owned by the Kaptan Han restaurant and marina. We'd decided to go there because it would be a good spot to sit out some strong wind that was forecast, and because we had a hankering for a restaurant meal.



When we arrived, we scoped out the mooring ball situation: some big orange ones and some smaller orange ones. We decided to take one of the smaller orange ones, figuring that the big ones were for some of the large fish farm boats that shared the cove. As Eric slowly maneuvered Awildian toward the mooring ball, I was perched on the front of the trampoline with the boat hook, ready to grab the loop on the ball, when I spotted a dinghy coming toward us from the restaurant. He stopped at the mooring ball and said, in broken English, "This one is not for you." He pointed to one of the large orange balls. "This one is for you." Then he helped us tie to one of the appropriate orange balls, which was nice. He told us that the mooring was free, and we told him that we'd be in for dinner later.


It will be a short dinghy ride to dinner

During the afternoon, I spent some time looking at the weather forecast, to see when we might have a break in the meltemi, that would allow us to cross back to Greece, on our way back to Montenegro for the winter. I'd been pouring over Windy (the weather site we use) for a couple of weeks already, reading the tea leaves, trying to tease out a few days that might make a reasonable passage across the Aegean Sea.

We didn't want to end up too far south in Turkey, because we had to come back north, on our way to Montenegro, and we also now had to stop in Athens for a chat with a rigger about procuring the hardware to support a Code 0 sail that we hoped to buy for Awildian.

I was feeling slightly antsy, because we had a bit of a schedule (ugh! The "S" word!). We were planning to take a shortcut from the Aegean Sea to the Ionian Sea via the Corinth Canal. The Canal, which was still being repaired after having suffered a major landslide a year earlier, had opened on June 1, was scheduled to close on September 30, and would not reopen until the following Spring. If we didn't transit the Canal, we'd have to travel around the bottom of the Peloponnese Peninsula, a trip that would add many miles, and quite a few days, to our plans, as well as exposing us to some potentially rambunctious weather or unfavorable wind.

Things were looking like they might calm down in the Aegean later in the week, so I lined up an agent to clear us out of Turkey in Didim, and another to clear us into Greece at Athens, just in case. I researched how to pay for the Corinth Canal (it's easy, all online). I was all set, should the forecast continue to shape up. (Spoiler Alert: it didn't.)

At 7 pm, we took our dinghy to the restaurant, which consisted of a small kitchen building, and a large wooden dock, on which a couple dozen tables were arranged. An area of wooden steps, where dinghies could be tied, ran along one side. A man, who would also be our server, held the dinghy painter while we got out, and after we tied the dinghy, he led us to our table.

Seven o'clock still being early for dinner by European standards, most of the tables were empty, but one was occupied by a group of people that included a yippy lap dog. Forming a hopeful halo around the table (and the cause of the dog's yipping), were a dozen or so skinny, scrappy-looking cats, some of whom were munching on bits of fish that the humans had tossed from the table.



We enjoyed a really nice dinner, on the Kaptan Han restaurant dock, and we soon had our own hopeful dinner companion.



As this was only a couple of days before our anniversary, we decided that it would count as our anniversary celebration.


My dinner companion for nearly 40 years

The next morning, as the fish farm boats began moving out of the cove to begin their day's work, we went to untie our lines from the mooring. When I prepared to release the lines holding us to the buoy, I discovered that they had spent the night tying themselves around each other and the buoy, creating what our Australian friend, Annie, would characterize as a "dog's breakfast" - a real mess. While I was at the helm, Eric, who has a longer reach than I have, spent about ten minutes hanging off the front of the boat, successfully untangling everything so we could slip away to our next destination.

September 2023

When we left Cemetery Bay early the next morning, our destination was one of the anchorages on the peninsula across from Samos Island - either: one on the north side of the peninsula (Anchoring Option 1), or one of the two small anchorages on the tip of it (Anchoring Option 2, circled in yellow). Since it was only about 1pm when we arrived at our first option, we carried on, pushing through the wind that funneled along the narrow passage, right on Awildian's nose, of course. The rest of the time, we enjoyed a beautiful, sunny windless day.


Cemetery Bay to Port St. Paul

For some of our trip, we traveled quite close to Samos Island, which is part of Greece, the waterway between the two countries being particularly narrow there. We could see Coast Guard boats from both countries patrolling the skinny waterway between the Greek island and the Turkish mainland, occasionally calling each other on the VHF to remind someone who'd strayed across the border to get back on their own side of the invisible dividing line.

Situated between Anchoring Option 1 and Anchoring Option 2 is a big, beautiful, crescent-shaped bay, with clear water and a sandy bottom. Named Dip Burnu, this juicy spot used to be an anchorage, but it's been appropriated by the Turkish government and is now off limits due to the presence of a military base. Bugger.

That left Anchoring Option 2 - Port St. Paul and Port St. Nikolao - two small coves on the tip of the peninsula. Both required careful piloting around islands, shallows, and obstacles, to reach them. Based on the expected wind direction, we chose Port St. Paul and, using both chart plotters, our printed pilot guide, the Navily app, and our eyeballs, we carefully and slowly motored around the two islets located there (Taysan Adasi and Su Adasi), watching for rocks and shallow spots.


Port St. Paul and Port St. Nikolao

Fun Fact for History and/or Bible Buffs: Port St. Paul apparently got its name for being a spot where Saint Paul, on one of his boat trips along the Turkish coast, supposedly took shelter, to give his rowers a break from slogging north against the meltemi. See? The meltemi has been a pain in the butt for millennia.

The water stayed deep until we were between the two islands, when it shoaled quickly. Standing on Awildian's trampoline, looking down into the clear water, all I could see were lush plains of sea grass, dotted here and there with small, bright turquoise sand patches. These sand patches were too small for me to accurately drop Obama onto; I needed something bigger. As Eric continued to bring Awildian slowly forward, I scanned the sea floor in front of us. Eventually I found some large sand patches that I could work with. When I told Eric that we were over a suitable sand patch, he brought Awildian to a stop, and I dropped Obama down through 20 feet of clear water, onto the sand. Bullseye!

When the anchor was set, and we'd turned off the Things, we stood on deck, taking in the stunning beauty and peaceful silence of the place.



Port St. Paul is a smaller anchorage than we usually prefer, but we hadn't had much choice. Still, we'd found a place to anchor where Awildian had plenty of room to swing 360 degrees, and plenty of water under his hulls. We were both well aware that, right over there, not too far away, was an area of extremely shallow water, marked with a couple of floats.

The water was calm, and clear as glass; I wasted no time in putting our kayak into the water, and my butt into the kayak.


Port St. Paul, from the kayak

What a gorgeous place to kayak! With the towering mountains nearby, I felt as if I were kayaking in the Grand Tetons, or Yosemite.



On a far shore, I saw a few horses. I remembered reading somewhere that wild horses lived here. I paddled a bit closer - close enough for me to see them better, but not close enough to worry them.


Wild horses

I would have loved to scoop up some beach sand from this place for our collection, but as I looked around, I saw no beaches, just big rocks and red mud.


No sandy beach here, just rocks and red mud

Also, biting flies accosted me anytime I came near shore, even after I'd sprayed myself with bug spray. I found the best approach was to avoid them, by staying toward the middle of the waterway. So, none of St. Paul's sand for us.


Awildian at Port St. Paul

When I got back to Awildian, Eric and I jumped into the water to cool off. After dark, we turned on our underwater lights to see if any fish came by. There were tons of them! Later, we lay on our backs on Awildian's trampoline, looking up at the dark sky, in the clear, calm night, finding constellations and marveling at the Milky Way.

Shortly before dawn the following morning, a strong breeze came up. It was from the opposite direction than we'd set Obama in, which meant that he'd have to reset himself in the new direction. In a snug anchorage like the one we were in, having an anchor that could reset quickly and efficiently was important. I happened to already be up when the wind started, and I watched Awildian's track on our chart plotter, as it moved from one side of the anchor circle to the other. When it reached the opposite side of the circle from where it had been, an arc began to form along the circumference of the circle; Obama had seamlessly reset himself in the new direction. We're very happy with our Sarca Excel anchor!

Just so you know, we always have a GPS-driven anchor alarm running, in case Awildian's track does extend beyond the circle that we've set (which would indicate that we're dragging). If Obama hadn't been able to reset quickly enough, the alarm would have sounded and we'd have had to do something.

When we set out from Port St. Paul a little while later, we put both sails up to use the wind for propulsion. But this turned out to be just a tease, because the wind died soon after. We took the sails down and motored the rest of the three hours to the Didim area. Along the way, we passed dozens of fish farms. Sprawled along the coast for miles, these were a prelude to the massive aquaculture operations that occupy much of the Güllük Körfezi (Güllük Gulf). Sadly, while providing lots of fish for human consumption, without contributing to overfishing, these operations have contributed to muddying the water in the Körfezi; water, which, in older cruising guides, was described as beautifully clear.


Port St. Paul to Didim

As we approached the peninsula that marked the northern edge of the Güllük Körfezi, we chose an anchorage from one of three small coves on the tip. We opted for the westernmost cove, Ҫukurcuk, because, in addition to its name sounding like someone sneezing, and despite having a sewage treatment plant on a nearby hill, it looked like it would offer the best protection from the forecast wind. The water in Ҫukurcuk Cove was murky green, with areas of lighter and darker green. Assuming that the lighter areas were sand, and the darker areas were weeds, we dropped Obama in 15 feet of light green water. He held right away. Probably sand.


We shared the cove with several dozen local fishing boats

Anchoring finished, I walked to the back of Awildian, to have a look around at our surroundings, and happened to see a long, thick (about 1.5 inches diameter), green plastic rope trailing from underneath Awildian's starboard transom. Uh oh. "That's not good," I said, which brought Eric over. Together, we peered over the transom for a closer look. It appeared that the rope was caught around Awildian's rudder, rather than his prop (this is a good thing), and wasn't attached to the ground anywhere (another good thing). Eric put on a mask and snorkel, and thick gloves (the rope had quite an ecosystem living on it, some of its members sporting sharp shells), grabbed a knife, and went into the water to see if he could sort things out.

A few minutes later the rope - maybe ten feet long - was off of Awildian's rudder and on his transom, and we were discussing what to do with it. I didn't want to just throw the rope into the trash, because so many creatures were living on it, the rope clearly having been in the sea for quite some time; neither did we want to just toss it back into the sea, where it might be a hazard to other boaters.

Eventually, we came up with a compromise: I got into our kayak and towed the rope to shore, where I tied it to one of the submerged rocks in the shallows. It was now in the company of many other marine-life-encrusted ropes, along with plenty of other human-generated detritus that was strewn along the shoreline. This was definitely not a pristine piece of coastline. Now the rope wouldn't be a hazard, and the critters could live out their lives.

When I approached Awildian after kayaking, I saw Eric through the now-closed sliding door: his arm cocked, his hand gripping a fly swatter, he stood motionless, laser-focused, taking aim at one of the many flies that had begun visiting Awildian soon after we'd arrived. Glancing at the sewage treatment plant looming on the hill, I tried not to think about where the flies' feet had last been. Suddenly, with lightning speed, he struck with a controlled ferocity and precision that brought to mind a skilled martial artist.

Eric wielding a fly swatter - this will always be one of the iconic and enduring images I carry of him, my Fly Swatter Samurai.

Early September, 2023



When we left Foça, we decided to see how far south we could comfortably go, before we needed to start heading back toward Greece and then ultimately Montenegro. We thought it would be fun to explore the Güllük Korfezi (Güllük Gulf), since it was reported to have a lot of forests and not a lot of crowds.

Kara Ada 38°25.78'N, 26°20.53'E


Our first stop was a pretty anchorage on the little island of Kara Ada. On shore, we could see goats, donkeys, bunnies, and a small farm house beside an olive grove. Only one other boat had an anchor down, but small day boats came and went every hour or so, tying up briefly at the dock on the western side of the cove, dropping off their passengers, who walked across the beach to have a look at the donkeys grazing in the olive grove, and then have a swim. A herd of goats walked across the beach and out onto the dock to greet every day boat as it arrived, and followed the new arrivals across the beach.



Sağlik Beach 38°19.41'N, 26°17.23'E
We left early the next morning, hoping to beat the forecast south wind to Ҫesme Marina, where we would empty Awildian's black water tanks, and fill up his diesel tanks. But the wind had other ideas; it got up earlier than we did, and was already blowing hard by the time we neared Ҫesme. Rather than try to maneuver in the marina in the strong wind, we anchored in the cove at nearby Sağlik Beach, and decided to try again the next morning. We spent the day relaxing and doing small jobs, and amusing ourselves by imagining that the collection of semi-truck cabs among the palms on the bluff was a "truck resort."


The "truck resort" on the hill

Kirkdilim Limani 38°08.61'N, 26°33.87'E


During the calm of the next morning, we went into Ҫesme Marina and took care of Awildian's pumpout and fillup. We were impressed with the service of the guys at the station. They even had lines that they tossed to us, so we didn't have to use our own.


Unpleasant necessities


How nice that they provide the lines for tying up!

Then we continued heading south, around the headlands past Goldensands Beach, where we'd spent our very first night in Turkey, way back in July. We were heading to Kirkdilim Limani, an anchorage that looked intriguing: a small anchorage at the end of a mile-long, crescent-shaped inlet. The photos on Navily looked stunning, and we wanted to have a look for ourselves.


Kirkdilim Limani from Google Maps

It was as stunning as in the photos. But it wasn't easy to find a good place to anchor: the small cove at the end of the deep inlet was surrounded by rocks and only had a small area with anchorable depths that wouldn't put Awildian too close to the shore. And...there was a boat already there, anchored smack dab in the middle of the cove, so we had to go looking toward the edges. On our third drop, we found a spot that we were happy with, and that Obama the anchor was happy with.



When we were settled, I put our kayak in the water and went paddling around the cove and walking around the forest on shore. It's a beautiful spot.





Middle Cove 38°12.49'N, 26°39.90'E


Outside of our sheltered anchorage, the wind was howling from the north at 20-25 knots. This wasn't a surprise, in this part of the world, in this time of year, and was one of the reasons that we'd chosen to head south. We went south with the wind, huge granite mountains rising up on our left ("like sailing in Yosemite," Eric said), and fish farms strewn across the water on our right. There are so many fish farms in Turkey!

We didn't have an anchorage in mind, but decided to choose one from the many options along the north coast of the Siğacik Korfezi (Gulf of Siğacik). The one we eventually chose didn't have a name that I could find, and since it was the middle of three small coves I gave it the imaginative name of "Middle Cove." My apologies to the Turks for not knowing what they call it.



All of the coves in this stretch of the Siğacik Korfezi are stunning: white and red rocks on shore, white sand beaches, and clear water in innumerable shades of green and blue. We couldn't go wrong with any of them. We chose Middle Cove because it had the fewest boats. Obama grabbed the sand immediately, and we settled in to enjoy the afternoon in this beautiful place.

Later in the afternoon, Eric said, "I hope that dinghy is tied to something," pointing to a red dinghy that was unattended in the water, just off the beach where some people were camping. A few seconds later, a gust came through, pushing the dinghy farther into the water. Down the beach a ways, some guys were hanging out in the shade of a tarp stretched between two trees. Successive gusts pushed the dinghy farther and farther away from the beach. Suddenly, three guys exploded from under the tarp, running flat out down the beach and into the water. The gusts kept pushing the dinghy farther from the beach; there was no way the guys would be able to catch up to it.



The red dinghy before it went AWOL

But every time the wind pushed the dinghy farther from the beach, it pushed it closer to Awildian. We calmly lowered our dinghy, drove over to the wayward red dinghy, picked up its painter, and towed it over to the closest swimming guy. Eventually all three arrived and climbed into their dinghy. They spoke English and thanked us profusely. We told them it was no problem. Just another dinghy rescue for the crew of SCOOTS/Awildian.


Semanli Koyu Cove 38°12.59'N, 26°41.79'E
As you can see from our GPS coordinates, we didn't move very far to our next anchorage. With all the pretty little coves nearby, it seemed a shame not to spend time in another one. Semanli Koyu Cove is another turquoise gem of a spot, and we enjoyed our day there.





Cemetery Bay (Siğacik) 38°12.08'N, 26°46.74'E


We headed for Cemetery Bay ahead of a Low that was forecast to visit Greece and Turkey, bringing strong wind from several different directions, and maybe even some rain. Rain would be nice, since it had been months since we'd seen any, and Awildian was sporting a layer of dust from three countries. Cemetery Bay seemed a good choice because it offers shelter from all directions but the west. Huge Teos Marina was also located here, but in keeping with our policy of avoiding marinas during the summer (mostly because they are so expensive), we were going to anchor out.

It took us quite awhile to find a spot to drop Obama. Much of the bay was too deep, and many areas with reasonable anchoring depths had boats in them already - large barges, fishing boats and other boats, most of them unattended, many of them unloved.



Eventually we found a spot that we could live with, and dropped the anchor in 40 feet of murky water, where he grabbed the ground right away. With the town a half mile away, and the wind kicking up lots of chop in the bay, we opted to hang out on Awildian for the time being, doing some glamorous boat jobs like fixing the inactive "full" indicator light on our holding tank.



The next morning, the rain came - about a dozen drops that only rearranged the dirt on Awildian's decks. After this downpour, we put Rolly in the dinghy and went to town to do some grocery shopping. We wanted to stock up now, before venturing south toward what looked to be a more rural area. After tying our dinghy between some small fishing boats, we walked through town to the Migros supermarket.

The part of Siğacik that faces the water, which is the part that most tourists see, is quaint, with cobbled streets,



cute specialty shops, restaurants, and hotels.



Bougainvillea vines, pomegranate trees, and caper bushes decorated the walkways.



But one street back from these charming areas, in the area of town where the Migros was located, the properties got rough and tumbledown, with junk-filled yards. At the Migros and a fresh produce shop next door, we got everything we needed, and began walking back to the waterfront.


Because this is Europe, random old forts and castles are everywhere. We stumbled upon one on our way back to our dinghy, and had a little walk around, admiring the stonework.






Back on Awildian, we put the groceries away and spent a quiet afternoon. Tomorrow we would continue south and see how far we got.

Late August, 2023

As August came to an end, we were delighted to host some more of our friends. This time, it was a family of four from New Zealand, whom we'd gotten to know while our previous boat, SCOOTS, was moored over several successive summers (and two full years during Covid) at the Town Basin Marina in Whangarei. Brian, who is the marina manager, his wife, Katharina, and two daughters, Zoe and Nina, were traveling in Turkey and spent a few days of their vacation aboard Awildian.



Brian and Co. hired a taxi to bring them to the waterfront near the Ayvalik North anchorage, where Awildian was waiting. Eric picked them up in the dinghy, and I welcomed them aboard Awildian. After they got settled, we lifted the anchor and headed toward Gümüs Cove, where the water was clear and the anchorage was sheltered from the strong NE winds.

As soon as the anchor dropped, the girls jumped into the water, followed shortly after by Brian and Katharina. This is an active family who loves the water!

It wasn't long before Zoe and Nina were jumping off Awildian's roof into the water.




Bullseye!

The girls spent much of their time in the water. It was fun to watch them enjoying themselves.



After dinner, they introduced us to their favorite card game, Five Crowns, which they played almost every day. It's a fun game, and we had a great time playing most evenings. Another evening, the girls wrote and performed a fun play for the adults, with several seamless and quick costume changes.


Planning the production

The next day, we took our dinghy to the beach, to see what the deal was with the HAERE MAI sign at the little campground cafe there. Haere Mai is the Maori phrase for "welcome," and we were really surprised to see it on a random, out-of-the-way beach in Turkey. When we asked the woman who ran the place, she said that she'd recently had a volunteer from New Zealand who'd made the sign.



We continued along the beach until we reached the end, where, a long time ago, people had placed large flat stones to create a partially-submerged causeway from the end of Alibey island, to nearby Maden Island. We walked out a short way onto the very slippery rocks, to have a look around.



While we were there, a Turkish man, who heard all of us speaking English, and some of us speaking Kiwi English, came over and introduced himself. He said that his dream was to one day go fishing in New Zealand. I hope he gets to do that.

The walk along the road was hot and dusty,



so we stopped at the cafe on our way back, to enjoy some cold drinks, while we sat at a table in the shade of a large umbrella on the beach. Life doesn't get much nicer than this.



Our loose plan was to begin heading south, and drop Brian, Katharina, Zoe, and Nina off somewhere along the way. So the next morning we picked up our anchor and sailed south to the sandy beach at Badavut. This was one of the few times we were able to sail this year, which I attribute to the good luck the family brought!







Brian and the girls went swimming, and when they came back, Brian spent some time cleaning the hull and props of the boat. Thank you Brian!


The Badavut cliffs


Some creative time.



After that, we watched as a succession of brides-to-be, bedecked in their fancy, poofy, floor-length white gowns, traipsed along the beach and out along the ledge of the rocky sandstone cliffs - grooms and photographers in tow, trying to get that perfect, one-of-a-kind wedding photo. We wondered aloud dirty their dresses were getting, and we took bets on whether the waves would sneak up and splash them while they posed, with their backs to the sea. One should never turn their back on the sea! Sometimes they did, giving the newlyweds a one-of-a-kind photo, but probably not the kind they were hoping for. Who needs TV when there's stuff like this to watch?







Later, after a fine dinner of Indian food prepared by Eric, we played some games of Five Crowns. Nina stomped us all, to win the night.



The next morning, we headed south again, to an anchorage that we'd been wanting to visit. The Bademli anchorage is a beautiful sandy spot, with clear, turquoise water, between two white rock islands. We dropped anchor and the family headed out in the dinghy to go swimming and exploring.





Several large tourist boats were anchored in the northern part of the anchorage, one of them sporting a huge figure of Davy Jones!



Zoe and Nina made a delicious breakfast the next morning. After brekkie, the girls went swimming, and when they'd had enough, we pulled up our anchor and headed to our next destination.

Foça (pronounced FO-CHA) is a small fishing town with a neat old fort, located on the coast about 21 miles south of Bademli. Brian and Co. had decided that this would be the place where they'd resume their inland explorations. We dropped anchor and then took our dinghy to town. While Katharina and I went grocery shopping; Brian and the girls went to find the bus stop, and to scope out the bus schedule to Izmir for the next day.



After Katharina and I dropped off the groceries at Awildian, Eric joined us and we dinghied back to town, where we met up with Brian, Zoe, and Nina, who had discovered the huge town market and couldn't wait to show us. They'd also found - and purchased - some ice cream, and showed us where, so that Katharina, Eric, and I could also buy some, too.

Ice creams in hand, we went to check out the market, with the girls leading the way through the narrow, winding streets. The market was fabulous, rivaling the Ayvalik Bazaar.



We bought some fresh fruit and veggies, some of my favorite dry-process Turkish olives, and even some Worcestershire sauce, which was quite a surprise find!

Walking through Foça, we couldn't help but notice all the huge Turkish flags, and posters and flags with a man's likeness on it. Katharina learned that the next day was Turkish Victory Day (also known as Turkish Armed Forces day), celebrating the Turks' victory over (and subsequent attempted genocide of) the Greeks in 1922. The man depicted on the posters and flags was Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the founder of the Republic of Turkey. On shore nearby was a huge projection screen showing historical pictures and Turkish writing. Anchored in the bay with us was a big gray Turkish battle ship.

Back on the boat, Zoe and Nina had fun counting the large purple jellyfish that were floating all over the anchorage, and scooping up some of the partial ones to take a closer look.





We went to shore to enjoy a farewell dinner at one of the restaurants, walking along the pretty, tree-shaded streets until we found one that suited us.



During dinner, Nina, Zoe, and I shared our food with several stray cats and a dog.



Nina did a great job driving the dinghy back to Awildian. Everyone was too pooped to play cards when we got back, so we all just went to bed.


Foça at night

The next morning we dinghied to shore and said our goodbyes.

It was an absolute delight to have Brian, Katharina, Zoe, and Nina with us; they exude such a positive energy, and it was wonderful to see the love they share, and the consideration they give to each other. As they walked to the bus station, to begin the next part of their land travels, Eric and I dinghied back to Awildian, to continue our own watery travels south.


On the way to more adventures...

Where we went:

August 2023

The Ayvalik Thursday Bazaar


Where is Ayvalik?


The Ayvalik Area with Cunda Anchorage

When the next Thursday came around, we were determined to find the Thursday Bazaar. We'd done some homework to figure out where the bazaar actually was. Our top suspect was another large covered area, near to the ferry docks and to Ayvalik Marina, called "Ayvalik Sebze Ve Meyveciler Odasi," which translates to "Ayvalik Vegetable and Fruit Growers Room." OK that had potential.

We anchored Awildian off the little town of Cunda and dinghied to the town quay, where we caught one of the many ferries to Ayvalik.


The first two passengers

Ferries came and went from Cunda's town quay every half hour for most of the day, and the cost per person for the 15-minute ride was 40 Turkish lira (about $1.50 USD). The cargo and passengers of the ferries were varied and interesting. On our trip, a huge bouquet of balloons rode above the wheelhouse, tied to the railings; women's clothing ran the gamut from full burkas to skimpy bikinis; men were dressed in everything from crisp linen shirts with trousers, to colorful shorts with t-shirts; children scampered around; the scruffy crew hung out in the shade of the wheelhouse with the skipper; some passengers, who, like ourselves, were on their way to the bazaar, carried bags or had rolling carts. People-watching in this part of the world is fascinating.

This time we got it right! After we disembarked in Ayvalik, we joined the steady stream of people who were walking up Ayvalik's narrow streets toward the bazaar. Long before we got to the "vegetable and fruit growers room," we started seeing evidence of the bazaar: tables set up along the street, loaded with all kinds of wares; clothing - everything from dresses to shorts to bras - hanging over the street like multicolored flags; food vendors; spice sellers; ice cream stands. It was such an exotic experience!











On one of the tables we saw small bags of dried hibiscus flowers (what the Mexicans call "jamaica" - pronounced "hah-MIKE-ah"), which got us very excited. Why such a tizzy about dried flowers? During the year and a half that we'd lived in Mexico aboard SCOOTS, we'd made a delicious and refreshing sun tea from dried hibiscus flowers, drinking gallons and gallons of the stuff. But we hadn't been able to find any of the dried flowers since leaving Mexico in 2016. Finding them now, thousands of miles away in Turkey, made our day. We bought five of the bags for the equivalent of a dollar each.

We also scored a couple of kilos of some roasted coffee beans, a rarity as most coffee in the Med is already ground.

We finally arrived at the "vegetable and fruit growers room." This was a huge open-sided, metal-roofed structure with hundreds of vendors selling all kinds of fresh and dried foods: veggies and fruits, eggs, olives, spices, cheese, nuts, and on and on. It was almost overwhelming. But in a good way.


This sign, just outside the Bazaar, translates as "Ayvalik Municipality Goods Market." Looks like we'd finally arrived!



I was particularly hoping to find a spice vendor, to buy some local herbs and spices. I'd made a list of about twenty herbs and spices that I hoped to buy, and then translated each of them into its Turkish equivalent. I thought that this might make the transaction easier.



It did. When we located a spice merchant, I handed him my list. He took things from there, locating each item in one of the dozens of buckets and bins lined up in front of his booth, and scooping them into small bags using a long, shovel-shaped scoop.


The spice vendor's stall

When he got to the basil (reyhan), he surprised me by dipping from a large bin of purple leaves. He only had purple basil, no green. That should make some pretty interesting pesto!

At one point, he started to put a big scoop of saffron threads into a bag until I waved him off. In my experience, saffron is very expensive. I almost never use it, and I just wanted a little bit of it. Turns out that saffron isn't expensive here. Cool! Maybe I'll have to find some recipes that use saffron. In fact the total cost of twenty or so bags of herbs and spices was less than $20 USD.

Another merchant was selling eggs. At his booth were two baskets full of eggs, with slightly different prices. I wondered what the difference was between them. I pointed to each of the baskets in turn and shrugged.


This very clearly says, "free range chicken eggs." I think it's cute that the word gezen translates to "traveling." So, eggs from traveling chickens. :)

He pointed to one basket and pantomimed the sides of a box. Then he pointed to the other basket and made a running motion with his fingers. I got it! One basket had eggs from caged hens, the other were free-range. I bought a dozen of the free-range eggs.


Buying the free-range eggs

Oh my gosh, the olives!! We had never seen so many different types of olives. Bins and buckets of green ones and black ones, wrinkled and smooth ones, wet-brined and dry ones; some that had even been roasted, with the grill marks to prove it. Eric doesn't like olives, but I do. I sampled two or three kinds and discovered my new favorite olive: dry-cured black olives. Yum!


My new favorite kind of olives.

Buying fruits and veggies was an interesting experience, too. For one thing, we had no idea what some of the things were, or how to prepare them if we'd bought them.


What are these? Thanks to Google Translate, we learned that these are fresh hazelnuts.

But there were plenty of the usual, recognizable fruits and veggies, too, and at a very good price. The vendors expected their customers to bargain, something that we definitely couldn't do. Everything had a price clearly displayed, so we just paid the list price. To us, those prices were already really inexpensive, so we didn't mind. But apparently the vendors felt bad that we'd paid full price, because most of them slipped some extra produce into our bag after we'd paid.

Since we didn't know the names for the numbers in Turkish, and the vendors didn't speak any English, they had clever ways to show us what we owed them: some would dig through their cash box and pull out examples of the bills and coins that we should give them, others would punch the numbers into a calculator and show us the display.

Long ago we learned that speaking different languages isn't an insurmountable issue. Smiles, patience, ingenuity, and goodwill go a long way toward communication. Oh, and Google Translate. Definitely Google Translate.

With Rolly stuffed full with our purchases, we walked back to the ferry dock. We boarded a ferry just as it was leaving, paid our 40 lira, and relaxed for the fifteen-minute trip back to Cunda. Once there, dinghied back to Awildian and began finding places for everything we'd bought. It took awhile.

August 2023



Where is Ayvalik?


Ayvalik Area

Pumping out and sticker shock at Ayvalik Marina
We were in the Ayvalik area long enough to need two Turkish-government-mandated fifteen-day pumpouts. Fortunately, we knew that the Ayvalik Marina has a blackwater pumpout station. How convenient! The first time we stopped in, their pumps were broken, so we got what they called a "technical pumpout." This means that we paid the pumpout fee (about $15 USD), the marina registered us as having been pumped out (satisfying the letter of the requirement, but clearly not the intent), and sent us on our way with full blackwater tanks. As we were on our way out into the Aegean, to dump our tanks several miles offshore, Eric opined, "Everyone wins in this scenario except for the environment."


The location of Ayvalik Marina

The second time we went to the marina, two weeks later, the pumps were working, so we actually had our tanks emptied. While we were in the office, enjoying the air conditioning as the marina staff completed our pumpout paperwork, we asked her, "If we wanted to stay one night in the marina, how much would it cost for our boat?"

She typed Awildian's dimensions into her computer. "8422 Turkish lira," she said, which corresponded to $312 USD. For one night! We knew that marinas in the Med were expensive in the summertime (which is why we always anchor out), but this took our breath away. Then she said, "But we have no room at the moment. We're full."

Mistaking our shock for disappointment, she quickly added, "But if you need a space, contact me and I will find a berth for your boat."

Gümüs Cove


The location of Gümüs Cove

On another occasion when a strong NE wind was forecast to blow for a few days, we decided to go outside of Ayvalik Bay and anchor behind one of the nearby islands. We chose Gümüs Cove (also known as Poroselene Bay) because it would provide good shelter from the NE, was reported to have good sand to anchor in, and sports a beautiful white sand beach. What's not to like? Also, the water was clear there, which would be a nice change from the water in Ayvalik's shallow bay, which tends to be murky and not especially conducive to running our watermaker.


Awildian at Gümüs Cove. Definitely not crowded.

The anchorage lived up to our expectations. I would have said "it surpassed our expectations," but we discovered that the cell signal here was spotty and weak, so we couldn't reliably use the internet. That was fine for the time that we planned to be there, but it meant that we'd have to find a different anchorage when we needed a good connection.


Some non-electronic entertainment

One day we went for a walk on shore, exploring the pretty beach (and scooping up a handful of sand for our collection), and then venturing inland to cross the narrow isthmus between Gümüs Cove and the bay to the east (Patrica Bay).



Patrica Bay was taking the bulk of the wind, kicking up sharp chop. Apparently it had proven too much for one monohull, which was now hard aground in the shallows, tilted at a rakish angle, being pounded by the waves and pushed farther toward shore, its tattered jib flapping in the strong breeze. Whether it had dragged its anchor or encountered difficulties while underway, we didn't know, but the result was the same.


Someone having a bad day

A man was on board, another swimming nearby with a mask and snorkel and carrying a rope, looking for something to tie it to on the monohull. Close by, a small power boat held station, bucking in the choppy waves, apparently waiting to pull the monohull when the rope was secured. When the snorkeler stood up beside the boat, the water only came up to his waist. Ooh, not good.

When the rope was tied to the monohull, the driver of the motorboat put his boat into hard reverse, the engines kicking up froth, but he was unable to budge the monohull from its perch. Bugger. The snorkeler untied the rope, waved apologetically at the man on the mono, and swam back to the motorboat. Sadly, the tides here are so small that the usual tactic of waiting for high tide wouldn't help this situation. We continued our walk, leaving the man sitting on his tilted deck.

Yellice Adasi (Yellice island)


The location of Yellice Island

For a change of scenery (and hopefully better cell service), we left Gümüs Cove a few days later and anchored in a pretty little cove on Yellice Island, not that far away. When we arrived, only one boat was anchored, so we considered the available space and gave them plenty of room when we dropped Obama. It was the biggest distance between us and other boats that we had all day.


Uncrowded in the morning

Not long after we set our anchor, the parade of boats began. Little boats and big boats, motor boats and sailboats, all crammed full of energetic Turkish tourists. The boat skippers didn't mind being close to us and to each other. We, on the other hand, were a little leery. At its fullest, fifteen boats were crammed into the little cove, anchored to our left and right, behind us, and between us and the beach. When one boat would leave another would arrive. This was a bit intimidating for us, but I will say that none of them bumped Awildian or interfered with his anchor.


Busy in the afternoon

As the afternoon waned, boats stopped arriving, and by six o'clock, only three boats remained - Awildian, the original boat, and one other. We three enjoyed a quiet and peaceful night at anchor in the uncrowded cove.

Incidentally, the cell service was better than at Gümüs Cove, but not great.

Pinar Adasi (Pinar Island)


The location of Pinar Island

On another occasion when the wind was going to kick up from the NE, and we wanted to get out of the bay and make some water, we headed for an anchorage that I'd been pining for, tucked between two forested islands (haha see what I did there). It was called Ortunc Köyü, and it always seemed to have a few boats anchored there.

We motored out the Ayvalik Channel and headed for the anchorage. When we got close, I stood on the trampoline, looking down into the water to find some sand patches for anchoring. But all I could see, everywhere I looked, were acres and acres of lush, dark green weeds, without even a tiny sand patch to drop Obama in. Bummer.

Some boaters will anchor in weeds, but we won't if we can help it. For one thing, weeds are a notoriously difficult substrate to anchor in - the thick growth keeps the anchor from reaching the bottom, or tangles around it, or makes it slide instead of biting in - not good at all for holding. Nor is it good for the weeds. Weed beds are thriving ecosystems, with all sorts of critters living among the fronds. All good reasons to keep looking for a sand patch.

Which is what we did, motoring slowly, "sniffing" for sand patches along the shoreline of Pinar Adasi. Eventually we did find a good-sized patch of sand, into which we dropped Obama, who held right away.

We spent a few days anchored at Pinar Adasi, sheltered from the NE wind by the bulk of the island, and with the Aegean Sea behind us.



I enjoyed kayaking along the shoreline, which had some really colorful and interesting rock formations,




That white stuff isn't bird poop. It's actually some kind of white mineral that is embedded in the red rock.

and occasionally scrambling up the crumbly hillside to sit with some pine trees, and some cool-looking thorny shrubs whose branches look like stick drawings of organic chemistry molecules.



From sunset until late morning, we were alone, but every afternoon, tourist-laden gullets (large Turkish tourist boats) would motor over from Cunda or Ayvalik, their approach announced in advance by the loud music emanating from their speakers and the loud voices emanating from their passengers.

Click on the link below for a short video of one of the Turkish party boats.

Having a great time on a Turkish party boat

They came near where we were anchored, then turned, dropped their anchor and backed up toward the shore. One of the crew - usually a young man - would dive into the water and swim to shore, dragging a thick rope that was attached to the stern of the boat. He'd tie the rope to a large boulder, then swim back. The skipper pulled tight on the anchor, then turned off the engines and the music. Immediately, people began jumping off the boat as if it were on fire, splashing around in the water or swimming to the beach.


After tying to shore

After a couple of hours, the skipper started the engines and cranked on the loud music. The passengers climbed aboard the boat, the young crewman swam to the boulder, untied the rope, and swam back to the boat. The skipper pulled up the anchor and the gullet chugged away, its passengers dancing to the beat and whooping it up. And another gullet would take its place.

It was a lot of fun for Eric and me to experience this exuberant example of Turkish culture.


Another quiet evening

Eventually it was Wednesday again, and we moved Awildian into the bay, to an anchorage near the town of Cunda. Come Thursday morning, we'd be at the ferry dock, ready to go to the Ayvalik Bazaar. Hopefully for real, this time...