Our full route
1 = Goldensands Beach
2 = Rochari Bay
3 = Anavissou Bay


September 22, 2023
Goldensands Beach, Turkey 38º15.88'N,26º14.83'E to
Rochari Bay, Tinos I., Greece 37º38.98'N,25º03.54'E
67nm

We left Goldensands Beach this morning as soon as it was light enough to see where we were going. The forecast was for wind from the NW at 7-12 knots. Maybe we could SAIL! No, we could not, though we put our jib out when the wind was more than 5 knots and 40 degrees apparent. That didn't do much, but it made us feel like we were getting something for free. I'll take a calm day for crossing the Aegean Sea any day! Today's weather was absolutely gorgeous, and we even had a rare sighting of dolphins!

We aimed for Ormos Panormou (Panormou Cove) about 67nm away, on the east side of Tinos Island, as our overnight anchorage. Rod Heikell (the author of the Greek Waters Pilot cruising guide) and several Navily commenters had gushed about this being a nice anchorage with good holding in several places, though with some scattered moorings that we'd have to watch out for.

Well. When we arrived, late in the afternoon, we discovered that superyachts were already anchored in those several places, taking up most of the space. We widened our search to include an area outside of the mooring field, but it was too deep to anchor in, so we continued sniffing around the large cove, looking for a suitable place to drop Obama.

We'd been underway for eleven hours by now, and we really wanted to find a place to stop for the night, before it got too dark to see the bottom. Finding no good options in Ormos Panormou, we entered small Rochari Bay, hoping to find a spot to drop. The wind was calm, and was forecast to remain so during the night, as the meltemi was still taking a break, so we weren't worried about being caught on a lee shore. There was no anchor symbol in our pilot guide, on Navily, or on our navigation charts, no indication of Rochari Bay being an anchorage, but we figured that if we found a large enough patch of sand among the weeds, that was a comfortable distance from the rocky shoreline, we would anchor there. A pretty, sandy beach lay at the head of the bay, so there should be a sandy bottom somewhere under the water.

Eric slowly guided Awildian deeper into the bay, while I stood on the bow looking into the water, to see what was on the bottom. At first all I saw were rocks and weeds, but eventually I began to see patches of sand. Small at first, but then larger...I dropped Obama onto a large sand patch in 18 feet of clear water, several hundred meters off the beach. Obama dug in and held well.


X marks the spot where we anchored

Rochari Bay is a lovely spot: beyond its white sand beach lay the village of Rocharis, with a smattering of typically-Greek, boxy, white houses, some with blue doors and blue shutters. About halfway to our next destination of Athens, and with the calm forecast, it was the perfect place for us to spend the night.


The quaint village of Rocharis


September 23, 2023
Rochari Bay, Tinos I., Greece 37º38.98'N,25º03.54'E to Anavissou Bay, Greece 37º43.34'N,23º56.31'E
60nm


Time to go

After a good night's sleep, we left Rochari Bay as soon as it was light enough to see (notice a trend here?), and spent the day motoring the rest of the way across the super-calm Aegean Sea, over the top of Kea Island, around the bottom of the Attica Peninsula, past Poseidon's Temple and one of our favorite anchorages at Sounion, and up the west coast of the peninsula to Anavissou Bay.

Arriving in Anavissou Bay, we motored slowly around, looking down into the murky water for a promising, weed-free patch of sand or mud to drop our anchor in. Having been forewarned by Navily and the Greek Waters Pilot guide, both of which had mentioned "a pile of rocks" and "an obstruction" "in the middle of the bay," (helpful, but not particularly specific, advice), we watched our depth carefully. None of the satellite photos - nor the navigational chart - showed the actual position of this obstruction. At one point during our sniffing around, the depth suddenly went from 6 meters to 2 meters and back to 6 meters, within a distance of only a couple of meters. What the heck? Was that the "obstruction"?

The first time we anchored, Obama had a hard time grabbing, which usually means a rocky bottom. So we hauled him up and tried again. This time, he held well, and after reversing Awildian to set and test the anchor's hold, Eric turned off the Things, and we enjoyed the silence.

A little while later, while walking around Awildian's decks, and looking around, as I like to do, I happened to look down into the water off the starboard transom, and saw...BIG blocks of rocks, stretching off in both directions. Lots of them, not very far beneath the surface, and not very far behind us. Yikes! That would have been ugly to hit! I got our handheld depth sounder and learned that the tops of the rocks were actually about 9 or 12 feet down. Awildian, with his 4.5 foot draft wouldn't have hit them, but boats with deeper keels might. And what might the depths be, in other places where the rocks were stacked?

Later, I did more research on this "obstruction" and found a satellite image that clearly showed a ROCK WALL extending right across the middle of the bay! You can see it in the photo below, as the light-colored connected lines that cross the bay where the water color gets lighter near the beach. Why wasn't this wall on our navigational charts?! I uploaded the image to Navily, where it's now in the gallery for this anchorage, so everyone can clearly see where the wall is. And avoid it.


The rock wall at Anavissou Bay

We enjoyed the rest of the day, feeling happy and relieved that we had once again managed to cross the Aegean Sea while the meltemi slept.

September 19, 2023

We pulled up Obama early the next morning, as soon as it was light enough for us to see where we were going.

Though the morning was forecast to have the lightest wind of the day, it was already honking by the time we rounded the bottom of the peninsula and began heading north. The seas were uncomfortable: one meter steep, choppy waves that Awildian pounded into, again and again. It was a wet slog; water sprayed over both decks - lower and upper - ran in rivers along the deck and down the transom steps like waterfalls. Blech. Fortunately, Awildian has plenty of space so Eric and I were able to stay dry while we were underway.

The forecast still looked good for us to make a dash across the Aegean Sea to Greece three days later. That meant we'd need to clear out of Turkey two days later, at Ҫeşme, which was almost a hundred miles to windward. We could easily make it there in two days - at least that's what we told ourselves when we decided to stop for the day at one of the anchorages just north of Didim, after five hours of slogging.

The forecast for the next day showed less wind, and slightly smaller waves, so we figured we could make up some time then.

We hate having a schedule.


September 20, 2023

The next morning, the wind and sea-state, though not particularly comfortable, were, on average, less jarring than they had been the previous day. We were even treated to some short stretches of gloriously sunny skies and relatively calm seas as we made our way north toward the Samos Strait. We'd set the goal of reaching the anchorage at Goldensands Beach today, just around the corner from Ҫeşme, about 80 miles away. But we left ourselves the option to bail out earlier if either of us wanted to.

Late in the afternoon, the wind began coming more from the west, which would make Goldensands Beach a poor choice of anchorage. We consulted Navily to see what our options were. Several sheltered anchorages were conveniently spread along our route, so we picked one and headed for it.

The anchorage, about ten miles from Goldensands Beach, was called Mersin. It was a lovely spot, with clear water and great holding in sandy mud. Birds sang from trees and bushes beyond the sandy shore, and if I hadn't been so tired, I would've gone kayaking. But Eric and I were both wiped out after another long day of slogging upwind, so we just had dinner, listened to an hour of our audiobook, and went to bed.


September 21, 2003

The next morning was beautiful and calm (yay, calm!). We pulled up our anchor and headed for Ҫeşme Marina. This time, the marinero guided us to the Customs dock instead of to a berth. Once there, Eric hopped off Awildian and went to find our agent, Buse, at Pianura Marine, to sort out our departure from Turkey.

Since our clearance into Turkey had taken several hours, I expected our exit clearance would be similar. I was excited at the prospect of being able to rinse Awildian's salty, dusty decks with fresh water (we hadn't experienced rain in months), and I was already getting the hose out of the storage locker as Eric stepped onto the dock with our passports.

Just as I was about to attach the hose to the water spigot on the dock, Eric called. I needed to go with him and Buse to the passport control office. I left the hose and met them on their way to the ferry terminal, where I smiled at the Immigration officer as he compared my face to my passport photo. That done, Buse said she would take our documents to Customs and expected to be done in about 20 minutes. Yeah right, she'd said that last time, too, and it had been several hours.

Eric and I walked back to Awildian. A few minutes later, I was rinsing the top deck, creating dark red, muddy rivers and sludgy puddles on the lower deck. Just as I was climbing down from the top deck, to rinse off the lower deck, Buse returned with a stern-faced man in a uniform. I figured he must be the Customs dude. Why would he be coming to our boat?

It turned out that yes he was the Customs dude, and he was there to watch us leave. Okay, I said, I'll be done in just a minute, and I turned to rinse off the lower deck, the deck that we walk around on, which was currently a quagmire of red mud.

"No," Buse said. "You must leave now."

"Now?!" I asked. "But I have to rinse this off..."

A glance at the look on the Customs dude's face told me that I should comply. We don't mess around with Customs and Immigration officials; they can truly ruin your day if they want to. When an official who has the power to impound your boat and throw you in jail tells you he's there to watch you leave now, you leave now.

I was spitting mad, muttering under my breath, as I disconnected the hose, coiled it, and threw it into the storage locker, all the while leaving a maze of red, muddy footprints all over Awildian's deck.

I was still grumbling when we left the dock a few minutes later, and drove Awildian slowly around the point to beautiful Goldensands Beach, where (grumble grumble), using buckets of seawater, then rinsing with some of our watermaker water, I was able to wash away most of the muddy footprints and puddles.

Goldensands Beach was an appropriate place to anchor overnight before our dash across the Aegean Sea to Greece, not just because it was a convenient jumping-off point, but also as the first and last anchorage we stayed in, in Turkey, it would bookend our stay in Turkey. To commemorate our final night in Turkey, we enjoyed a dinner of manti, a delicious, Turkish meat-filled pasta.

Since the meltemi showed no signs of letting up for at least a week, so that we could cross the Aegean Sea to Greece, we had no reason to hang out in the Güllük Korfezi anymore. Having explored all the anchorages of the Korfezi that we'd intended to, we decided to move on, to see some of the more "touristy" places to the south of us, that many of our friends have been cruising in and telling us about, at Bodrum and beyond. We'd have plenty of time to head back north again, if it looked like the meltemi was going to take a break. Or so we thought.


South from Didim


September 16, 2023

Today we left the Güllük Korfezi, bound for places farther south.

We chose an anchorage that looked like it would provide good shelter from the strong northwest wind, which was blowing at a consistent 15 to 20 knots. As we headed out into the windy, choppy Aegean Sea, we were very glad to be going south, rather than north! Even so, we hugged the Turkish coast as much as possible, to minimize our exposure to the wind and waves.

After a four-hour trip, we arrived at our chosen anchorage. In the Navily app it's called Karaincir; in the Pilot Guide it's called Aspat Koyu. Whatever its name, it's a wide bay with a sandy bottom - lots of room to anchor, and good holding - near the town of Akyarlar. It was nice to be able to see the bottom through the water again, after the murky water of the Güllük Korfezi. We dropped Obama in about 30 feet of clear water, with 150 of chain to help him dig in and hold well in the strong wind.


Modern Turkish homes

On shore, the beaches were packed with umbrellas, lounge chairs, and people. Motor boats towed "hot dog" floaties behind them, loaded with thrill-seekers; they criss-crossed the anchorage in their attempts to dislodge the riders who were hanging on for dear life. It was a busy, vibrant scene.

Scanning the crowded shore, we didn't see an obvious place where we could bring the dinghy (plus, because of the choppy waves, it would be a wet ride to shore), so we enjoyed our time on Awildian, which we were happy to do. Over the next two days, we took care of small chores; read; worked on a jigsaw puzzle; perused the weather forecasts, looking for a break in the meltemi; played cards; called our friends, Alison and Randall (on sv Tregoning) to wish Alison a happy birthday. Basically just living our lives in a beautiful place.


Our neighbor, Aegean Clipper, at sunrise


September 18, 2023

"I AM SO DONE WITH ALL THIS WIND!!!" So began today's journal entry. The meltemi had been blowing for weeks, and it had gotten old. Really old. I was fed up with the constant whooshing, the choppy waves, the salt on every outside surface of the boat, the continual glances at the boats anchored near us (especially the ones upwind of us) to make sure they weren't dragging. I longed for the peace and quiet of a calm day.

Ready for a change of scenery, we pulled up our anchor and moved to a bay a few miles farther east, toward Bodrum. We were hoping to find a nice little town there, with a quay where we could easily tie up our dinghy, and maybe enjoy a meal at a restaurant. It didn't seem like too much to ask, with three different anchorages located in the bay.

But finding the right place to anchor turned out to be a bit like the situation of the chairs in "Goldilocks and the Three Bears:" it was hard to find one that fit "just right." The easternmost anchorage, Regia Mare Beach, looked promising for a restaurant dinner, but it was crowded with local boats, all on moorings; no one was anchored, probably because the water was so deep. A couple of moorings were available, but since we didn't know their provenance, weight limit, or structural integrity, we passed them up.

The westernmost anchorage, Bağla, was also full of local boats on moorings, in deep water, so we passed it by.

In the end, we opted for the middle anchorage, inexplicably called "Javelin" on the Navily app (more recently renamed Kargi Koyu). After cruising along the shore, keeping outside of the marked swimming areas,
hoping to find a reasonable spot to drop Obama, we discovered that the only suitable place was near the only other anchored boat in the entire bay. We felt bad for anchoring nearby, but there was a good reason why we were both there.


Some of the swimming areas where we couldn't anchor

In the afternoon, Eric was watching the windsurfers scooting around the bay, enjoying the big wind. One of them seemed like a beginner: he fell off the board a lot, and had a hard time getting back up and going again. The whole time, he was getting blown farther and farther away from the beach. He had passed us awhile back, and was farther out to sea now. Eric could tell that this guy was getting tired. Eventually, he struggled back up onto his board one last time, and waved toward shore, hoping to attract the attention of the windsurfing concession, so they would send the boat to tow him in. He waved, and waved, and waved. No one came, and he was getting blown farther out.

Eric decided to go get him, so we lowered our dinghy and went to see if he wanted a lift to shore. Not surprisingly, he did. He spoke English, which was helpful, as our Turkish wasn't all that great. He hopped in, and we towed the windsurfer sail and board alongside as we made our way toward shore. He was very appreciative, and asked if we wanted to join him for a coffee or a beer, but we said, "No thanks, just pay it forward. You can help someone sometime." Our usual response.

Later, I had a look at the weather forecast, which I do several times every day, when they've been updated. Well, well, well...this was new: According to this most recent update, it now looked like the meltemi might ease up in a couple of days - but not in the part of the Aegean Sea where we were; only farther north, near Ҫeşme. If we could get to Ҫeşme within two days, we could clear out of Turkey there, and comfortably cross the Aegean Sea to Greece. IF the forecast proved accurate, that is.

The downside was that Ҫeşme was more than a hundred miles away, to windward; to get there, we'd have to bash into the current meltemi the entire way. Not a happy prospect, but with the meltemi looking to quickly ramp up again after this short break, and us needing to get to the Corinth Canal before it closed for the year on October 1, we knew that this might be our only option.

Sigh.

We made plans to leave the following morning.


The big mosque and neighboring homes

Hello!

I've created an animated travel map - with pictures! - summarizing our explorations of the Güllük Korfezi.

You can see the animation here: Awildian's Travels in the Güllük Korfezi

If you move your cursor near the top of the frame in the animation, you can explore each of the places we stopped, one picture at a time.

Be sure to turn the sound on (lower right corner).

Enjoy!

The Güllük Korfezi


Anchorages mentioned in this blog:
1 = Iasos/Isene Bükü
2 = Harapli Koyu
3 = Fevzipaşa
4 = Didim Marina/Turnali Koyu


Harapli Koyu 37°16.505'N,27°29.955'E

The next day, we pulled up our anchor and left the ancient city of Iasos, heading over to another one of the "finger inlets," Cam Limani, to an anchorage called Harapli Koyu. Harapli Koyu is a beautiful spot, a wide open bay, with a crescent of sandy beach, backed by pine-covered hills.



There was no one else around, save for two off-road vehicles parked under a couple of trees at the campground about a mile away.



We spent two days at Harapli Koyu, enjoying the serenity and the scenery.



We went swimming, we took walks along the trails beneath the fragrant pines,




My happy place, among the trees

and we hung out on Awildian.



Our 36th wedding anniversary happened while we were here. We marked the occasion by looking at photos from our honeymoon and early married years, reminiscing. It was fun, to see those really young people, who are now us!



Eric posed this question: "If we hadn't chartered a boat for our honeymoon, would we be living like this now?" (We'd explored the San Juan and Gulf Islands of the Pacific Northwest aboard a 27-foot C&C sailboat for a couple of weeks. It was my second time sailing, ever.)

It's a good question. Of course, we can't know the answer, but we both suspect that some seed of this lifestyle was planted way back then.



Incidentally, according to Google Translate, Harapli Koyu means "ruined bay" in Turkish. I never did figure out what was "ruined" about it.

Unless it was the ambiance, which was definitely ruined by the hordes of biting flies that descended upon us during daylight hours. These flies were stealthy, too: they looked just like house flies, but they packed a nasty chomp.

They originally had us fooled. We thought they were just annoying; we didn't know they were out for blood, until they landed on us and began biting. Samurai Eric did all he could with his fly swatter, but he's only mortal, after all, and was eventually overwhelmed.
Fortunately, way back when we were still in Italy, we'd planned for just such an occasion: buying a doorway screen, extra screen material, and velcro strips. Once we'd deployed these, we were able to keep most of the vicious, bloodthirsty bastards on the outside of Awildian. Eric could easily deal with any intruders.


Fevzipaşa 37°21.75'N,27°19.33'E

We left Harapli Koyu bound for an anchorage near Didim Marina, where Awildian would have his biweekly tank pumping appointment the following day. We chose the spacious, well-sheltered, but not-particularly-scenic bay near Fevzipaşa.



We spent the afternoon doing glamorous boat jobs, including sucking out the contents of the "sumps" of each diesel tank, to check for water and sludge. Some other Leopard owners had reported that their fuel tanks had rusted out, due to water collecting in the sump. Since this would be a disaster, but one that was easily averted by preventive maintenance, we thought it would be a good idea to check the sumps. This job necessitated first removing the mattress, sheets, and pillows, from each aft cabin bed, so we could access the top of the fuel tank (located under the bed platforms), specifically in this case the valve on the sump pump hose. Awildian is outfitted with a pumping bulb in each engine room, that allows the sump area of each tank to be pumped out. When Eric pumped the sumps, the diesel was clean. Yay.

Because every job on a boat actually requires at least three jobs (The Fixing Trifecta), Job #2 was tightening the scads of hose clamps on all the fuel lines, because whoever had "tightened" them last hadn't done a good job and I - the Hose Clamp Queen - can't abide loose hose clamps, especially on our fuel lines. Job #3 was reassembling the beds.

Didim Marina & Turnali Koyu (AKA The Didim Marina Anchorage) 37°20.543'N,27°15.998'E

The next morning, after enjoying another beautiful Mediterranean sunrise, and before the sea breeze came up, we took Awildian into the Didim Marina. Didim Marina is huge, and new, with wide fairways, nice pontoons, and a posh fuel dock. Posh because it has plenty of space to dock; competent, helpful attendants; permanent docklines; and lots of cushy fenders. We cozied Awildian up to the fuel dock, where we had his black water tanks emptied, and his diesel tanks topped up.


The posh fuel dock

Because the marina office - where Eric had to do all the paperwork for the pump out - was far away, on the other side of the marina, the fuel dock attendant called a shuttle. A few minutes later, a large golf cart arrived, and whisked Eric away. On his way to the marina office, Eric got to see much of the marina grounds, which included a pigeon loft in the center of a field. A pigeon loft! I'd seen tight flocks of pigeons flying fast and purposefully above some of the anchorages; maybe they'd been racing pigeons.

Another thing that Eric mentioned, was that, based on the number of Turkish boats in the marina that were registered in Delaware (and out and about), you'd think that Delaware was a city in Turkey. Delaware-registered boats are very prevalent in Turkey. It's not uncommon to encounter a boat flying an American flag, with a home port of Delaware, a Turkish name, with a crew who speak only Turkish and couldn't point out Delaware on a map. The Turks are registering their boats in Delaware for the same reason that other non-Delawarans do: to keep from paying tax on the boat in their home country, and because registration in Delaware *was* cheap and easy. Recently, the rules have changed: now, in order to register your boat in Delaware, you have to prove that you will use it mainly in Delaware. I'm not sure what the owners of American-flagged Turkish boats will do from now on. They'll have to come up with a different scheme.

With Awildian's tanks appropriately empty and full, we headed to the anchorage near the marina entrance, from where we planned to do some provisioning. Reviewers on Navily gave conflicting reports on whether boats were allowed to anchor at some of the places closer to the town, so we opted to drop Awildian's anchor here, and take our dinghy around the corner to the main town.


A view from the anchorage

We stopped for lunch at a little kebap (yes, that's the correct spelling) restaurant, before walking down the street to the grocery store.


A bit of Turkish lunch



Not far away from where we had lunch was an interesting statue of Medusa. Interesting because it wasn't the image of Medusa that we usually think of - the snake-headed monster who would turn you to stone if you gazed upon her - but rather a likeness of her before Athena gave her the new hairstyle. Apparently she was quite a babe back then.

The Medusa "before" statue:




The explanation:


I'm going to spare you the social commentary I considered writing here, but I will say that it was damned shitty of Athena, to punish Medusa for being raped by Poseidon.



At the store, we loaded Rolly with groceries and walked back to Awildian, where hordes of flies greeted us! Welcome home, humans! What is it with all the flies in Turkey?! Lately it felt like the entire country was made of dust and flies.

We deployed our door screens again, but by now many of the flies were trapped inside, so I opened the screens to shoo them out. The majority of them took the opportunity to bugger off, so they didn't have to experience the wrath of Eric's fly swatter. Fortunately, most of these flies weren't the biting variety, but we still didn't want to be sharing our space with them.

Since the meltemi showed no sign of letting up during the next week, there was no reason for us to hang out in the Güllük Korfezi any longer, waiting for a chance to jump across to Greece. Having seen all the anchorages we wanted to see there, we decided to venture a bit farther south, to see some of the anchorages in the more "touristy" parts of Turkey, that most of our friends had visited.

September 2023

Our next stop was
Isene Bükü (Iasos) 37°16.962'N,27°35.367'E

Isene Bükü is a large bay near the ancient city of Iasos, at the head of the fourth, and easternmost, "finger inlet" of the Güllük Korfezi. The archaeological site of Iasos is located on a short peninsula separating a narrow inlet to the west, and the wide bay of Isene Bükü to the east. After taking a short cruise around the inlet, whose entrance is marked with the remains of an Ottoman castle, and whose shores were crowded with visiting yachts stern-tied to the shore, and local fishing boats bobbing on moorings, we opted to anchor instead in Isene Bükü, which was devoid of other boats.


Lots of space

The next morning, I took our kayak for a paddle along our side of the Iasos peninsula, floating on the calm water. I could see birds flitting from bushes and branches on shore, and hear them calling.



Eventually I beached our kayak, and scooped up a handful of beach sand for our collection. Here, it was composed of small pebbles, with bits of marble, and other pieces of ancient structures, thrown in.



I followed a cow track up from the beach, into the interior, where I found groves of ancient olives trees, their thick trunks braided and gnarled.


Old olive trees

Also scattered around the cow pasture were ancient ruins! Here and there, among the cow pies, thistles, and olive trees, crumbling structures stood...





...or lay.




Not in a park or an archaeological site, not tended nor curated, but just hanging out in the cow pasture,





silent sentinels - some falling apart, others in pretty good nick - remnants of prior civilizations from hundreds or, in some cases, thousands of years ago.





I spent a couple of hours wandering among the olive trees and ruins, imagining the lives of the other people who had lived there, and what the structures must have looked like in their prime.





And birdwatching. I saw quite a few birds, including a new one for me, a Red-backed Shrike (Lanius colluris).


Red-backed Shrike (Lanius colluris)
Photo from eBird

When I paddled back to Awildian, I could hear the dulcet tones of Eric playing his bass. He usually wears headphones, and only plays out loud when I'm not around, so I don't often get to hear him.

The next day, Eric and I took our dinghy around the end of the peninsula, past the Ottoman castle, and into the narrow cove on the other side.

Scenery along the way...





Remains of the Ottoman castle in the harbor entrance





We spent the next few hours exploring the "official" Iasos archaeological site, which was fascinating.


Map of the site



Layers upon layers upon layers of civilizations, from the 3rd Millennium BC until the 16th Century AD, all built in the same place, one on top of the other.


Ancient ruin, modern lizard

Unlike the feral ruins I'd seen the day before, these had been excavated, studied, curated, and prepped for viewing.




A modern dog

The newer (only centuries old) structures included a classy amphitheater,





whose stone seats had carved lions' feet - some even with claws! -



and a big civic area, with dozens of columns.





The older structures included many watercourses and drainage culverts, criss-crossing over and under each other.



There was even a sleuth of archaeologists (yes, that's the actual collective noun for them) hard at work excavating new discoveries while taking refuge from the searing midday heat beneath a large tarp.




Old and new



If you'd like to learn more about Iasos, this is a good place to begin: https://turkisharchaeonews.net/site/iasos