March 30th 2012 EPILOGUE:

(My little sister’s birthday.)

And so ends the ballad of Adam and Eve, we just have the simple task of delivering a different boat from here to Vounaki in Greece. It’s a short run compared to our marathon crossing from France. An epic journey, by all accounts. Many deliveries go to Croatia or Vounaki, making ours one of the longest you can do in the Mediterranean, and it’s rare to get another job that brings you in the direction of home. Normally, we’d now be looking for flights out of here. So, what to say about Turkey? What a place. A hit and run visit, we stayed in Fethiye less than twenty four hours, swapped our boat for a van, headed across a mountain range, and were assigned a new sailing vessel. Farceur, registered in Cannes. Monsieur Farceur to you.

Our last stint on Eve carried us across the bay into the marina at Fethiya. Rain threatened but held off, I scanned the quayside for Sunsail boats through the binoculars. A couple of lads were walking out towards the end of a pontoon. Two I didn’t know, but the other? “Mark, that looks like Luca, they’re there already.” “That confounded Dutchman!” They had been four miles ahead of us in the bay as we stopped to eat, and Pete had thought that we were already in the marina. All we had to do was scan the horizon ahead but with land as a backdrop, it’s not so easy to spot a sail. They had been six miles out, not six hours, a simple misunderstanding? We’re all tired.

I ring home. I sound tired to myself. Land is once again confusing. The showers are cold, until a kind soul points out another block that still has some warm water. Adam’s crew headed into town, and I leave Mark and Dan onboard Eve to go and find them, ending up in the fish market, a market with a lot of restaurants around it. Each place has a guy outside it, hassling me to go in and eat. “You want good food, sir?” I didn’t know what I wanted. It was all too much, too many things going on, “I’m just looking for my friends…” I want them to leave me alone. “You make good friends here, sir, come in, come in.” I look to escape and see a small place, just a kitchen with a few tables and chairs outside it. There’s a guy sitting there, no one is hustling business outside it. I sit down, “Could I just get a cold beer please?” I start chatting to Yalcin Oztoklu, it’s nice to talk to a different soul. Eventually he asks if I’m hungry. Well, he tells me I look hungry and tired. I agree and order everything he has that has no meat. Sorry Dan, but I need some veggie food. The food is gorgeous, served with the biggest stack of bread ever. Nearly a whole loaf, so fresh. I start to feel more normal. Yalcin’s family arrive to eat themselves, their hospitality is impressive, we talk away over a couple of beers. They have just opened for the summer season, I’m their second customer. The small place earns them enough to get them through the winter months. As I leave, I tell the father, “You sir, are a rich man.” His smile says it all.

Heading back to the boat, I meet the other crews, the English lads. Tom and Ross I had met when we docked, and Mikey introduced himself with a handshake, “Anywhere here have a pool table?” I had just passed a pool hall. We went for a beer and fell back to the boats hours later, my Irishness delighted that my eye (and luck) was in on the table. They finally beat me after getting me too drunk to stand. We haggled with the landlord over the last round. Good people. I like this place. I didn’t like the following morning’s hangover, but sure none of us did. We had to clean the boat but first I had a little mission to carry out.

They do a spicy pancake in Turkey. Along with their strange coffee, it’d put hairs on the inside of your chest. I went back to the fish market and Oztoklu’s restaurant. Yalcon had offered to help me find a guitar, but I didn’t think we’d have the time so my breakfast visit was purely to say goodbye. With my resolve strengthened by more fine food, we left for the guitar shop. It had moved. But the locals were so helpful, we found it’s relocation quickly. With some wonderful haggling, I bought a cheap Chinese-built Spanish guitar. At last, a guitar. At last! I ran back to Eve. Cleaning her was tough. The sun was beating down, we were all in bits. Turkish customs came on board and we had to even give them the serial number on the ship’s stereo, as each item is being imported. “Dont’t forget Lisa!” We nearly left the CD in the machine. And of course we had to remove Eve’s name, what a shame. The little stocky marina guy, a pain in the ass, stuck on her new moniker, it looked like it spelt “garden” in Turkish. Dan couldn’t believe it, “We’ve brought her to the garden of Eden, alright!” We cleaned as much as possible and clambered aboard a maxi bus to bring us to our new destination, a four hour drive, we’re told. Mark, Dan and I, Eve’s crew. Peter, Fred and Luca, Adam’s. Ross and Tom, who we’d heard on the radio coming from Rhodes, and Mikey and Bobby (am I forgetting anyone here?), both Skippers, sharing a delivery. After a few weeks at sea level, we’re brought through a mountain pass at six hundred and seventy metres. The road is barely built in places, the scenery is amazing. I played guitar, the lads dozed. Not since I was working with Mark touring a band around Ireland had I played a guitar in a van traveling throughout the mountains. I had a bunch of melodies in my head from one of the mornings at sea, the time I stayed up for the sunrise. I had eventually gone below but was unable to sleep with all the ideas. I had sung the tunes into my camera, with the engine rattling away beside me. These are the first tunes I’ve written without an instrument to hand. Now I’m so happy to play them. Fred pays particular attention, Bobby slags off my voice, Pete acts as tour guide. “So they climbed that mountain but when they got to the top, it wasn’t cocaine!” Luca likes one of the tunes above others. The English lads chill, we all do. Such a mellow journey. Just after dark we arrive in Turgutreis and board our new boat. Farceur, the epilogue begins.

The Turks are lovely, great people. I’ve read that they make the best friends and the worst enemies. I would hate to have them add an enemy, they are warm and friendly beyond my expectations. A couple of days eating great food, trying some disgusting salted drinks, beating the lads at pool, buying cheap bits for those at home and we’re off again. It seems we stay there much longer but on Thursday the 29th at noon or so we cast off. And we sail. Wonderful wind. We head west-south-west to avoid banging straight into it and anchor at Analipsis on Nicos Palantiaia, a name I remember from our way here. The clothes line town that smiled at us smiles again as under cover of darkness we anchor in a sheltering bay. Food and wine and I play the guitar for hours. Mark and I end up sitting in the saloon chatting. I go to bed and instantly dream of Mark and I sitting in the saloon chatting. Jesus. Dreams. Sleep. I don’t know what sleep really is anymore, all I know is that I haven’t had enough in weeks. I’ve moved into another world. I’d buy sleep if I could afford it.

(29th March anchored at 36°34’30”N 026°23’44”E)

Of course we wake up a little hungover and faff about a bit before upping anchor. Mark gave me the helm to steer her out of the bay, we turned east again and headed north along the island’s rocky coast. I went below after a while for a nap and woke up lying more on my cabin wall than my bunk. It feels like I’m in a washing machine. I can see the sea through the hatch on the deck side, a view I haven’t had yet. Getting my gear on is ridiculously difficult, I go above and find skipper at the helm, grinning a little grin, “It’s fuckin’ mad out here!” Oh yeah, now this is wind. A lively breeze we have today. High twenties gusting to high thirties. About fifty five kilometers an hour, on average. Farceur is the same model boat as Eve, a thirty-six footer. “So, Mark, are THOSE big waves?” A firm nod with a twinkle in his eye. Grin and bear it. Dan had gone below when we went airborne the first time. That was what had got me on deck, I wanted to see this. I stayed hiding under the spray hood. The Captain looks forward, “See that headland? We’ll find shelter there.” I twist and see a distant island, Nicos Amorgos, the cliffs on it’s eastern headland beckoning us, but still very far away. This boat has a few more features than Eve, including hand rails along the gangway. I hang on tight, glad of the strength in my hands from carrying musical equipment in and out of places. The sea is mesmerizing. And it’s best to see what size of wave is coming, to anticipate the boat’s movement. I film as much as possible, Mark steers as much as possible. It’s tough but, bit by bit, the massive headland grows nearer. As we near the land, the wind’s ferocity increases. We hit nine knots. It feels like the sound barrier. The boat bounces along, slipping in and out of control, pushing to port and fighting back to starboard. We can see the calm sea ahead, it’s been hours now, we need to reach it soon lest we break something, we’re so close. An almighty gust hits us, ripping a lifebelt off it’s moorings, pushing the sails towards the water, tilting the boat over, over, over. An unspeakable angle.

And then calm. We have reached the lee of the land. She rights herself and suddenly we’re safe. Silently we look at each other. Jesus. My phone beeps. I check the text. It’s from Nina “Hey sailor! How’s the adventure going?” I show it to Mark, “Look man, contact from the outside world, we’re still alive!” We both thank you, Nina, we weren’t sure there for a while. We laugh a little laugh. Phew, it was tough going. Not as terrifying as my early watches, I’m used to this now. I trust the boat, I trust the Captain, I trust my own grip. But I had no time for terror. Time enough for fear, to be constantly aware of my footing, positioning, all muscles in use, pushing myself against the deck, holding on. Almost like climbing,  utilizing the three points of contact rule. I photographed as much as I could, although it was much more difficult. Maybe I should have lashed myself to the mast.

As we head west along the north cliffs towards an anchoring spot, the sea rears again, head on waves, banging us up and down. I write lyrics, they come to me and I cannot ignore them. That song from nearly twenty years ago, written in my first flat on Francis Street, but never with lyrics I was happy with. Now maybe I have the right to write a seafaring tune of love and chaos, the promise of land and the risks on the sea, the control we so lack at times when nature smiles and says hello.

March 26th 2012

0537 GMT+2 (We think. Has daylight saving come in yet? What time is it at home? What time zone are we in? Really, we’re clueless)
36°30’849N 27°55’296E
Speed 5.2 knots, course 85°T

The first glimpse I have of Turkey is the lighthouse at Dalisa Yasak. With the height of it we can see it from a great distance, even allowing for the curvature of the earth. As we pass the reassuring flash of Nicos Sesklio’s unwavering beacon to those on the sea, the Rhodes channel opens up to us. Rhodes and mainland Turkey are shrouded in cloud, but the sky above us is clear. As the day brightens from night I can discern the shape of our destination from the cloud. It had been a busy night, but I had missed it all. Slept for nearly six hours, dreaming of Lyndsay who was also Meli and Liz, with Skinny Marky who was a serial killer. Lynds was in cahoots with him. It was my first nightmare at sea, I thought I was going to die. On waking, I wasn’t convinced otherwise. I was in the act of slipping out of my sleeping bag, the blanket long fallen away from me. We had the same conditions as the first twenty four hours of this epic trip. Rolling seas from astern pitching Eve from side to side, making things difficult to manage. I stayed asleep longer than I thought. When I finally decided that enough was enough, to my surprise it was already 0300, time for my watch. Mark was still up, we had made great progress. It’s amazing, the difference an extra knot or two can make. Without wind we average five and a half knots, with, it goes to seven and more, giving us an extra fifty percent. We have cruised so much of this voyage. So unusual. Usually it’s honking at this time of year. I say it once again, we are blessed. As my watch begins, I feel the sea quieten. The wind speed plummets downwards. I watch it drop from eight to four and a half in as many seconds. We pass Greece’s last headland and the Captain can relax and get some sleep. We’ll be on land this afternoon. No big rush. We’ll savour our last little time with Eve.

We’ve crossed into Turkish waters as I write this. The cloud bank is now further away, towards Syria, Irag, the volatile middle east. It’s been a while now since Pylos, anything could be happening but we’ve seen no evidence of impending war. Not on an international level. It would be nice to know that they’ve calmed themselves down in the large country that would be our next port of call if this odyssey were to continue eastwards. At Göcek we stop, wait, change boats and head back west. Last leg, just as we are getting used to life here, Dan and I, we’ll finish. A journey for sure, in every way. Some voyage!

0650
There’s no sign of Adam. We lost them yesterday afternoon onto evening. Possibly it was their mast light we could see as it got dark and we looked for the lighthouse at Vrak, Kandelioussa, back at 26°57′ east. That was when I went below to sleep. Pete had been on the radio at around three o’clock yesterday afternoon. He had his engine up to twenty two hundred RPM, burning fuel with impatience. The skippers seem to want to finish the job, the closer we get, but it’s interesting to watch Mark get more attentive at this late stage. Just like they say that most car accidents happen within five hundred metres of home, when the driver’s attention is low as they relax, switch off, turn on their autopilot. Mark is switched on even more than usual. We’ve been in good hands on this trip. A wealth of experience. I was’t sure if I’d be up for doing this again. Or the ultimate delivery, the transatlantic. Now I know I’d love it. We’ve had it so easy on this one, I couldn’t turn down the challenge of heading along the trade winds to Central or South America. We’ll see, as ever.

I’ve let the men sleep through, they’ll arise soon anough. We have some wind, I’d love to let the headsail out but I’m not sure if I should so I won’t. Loads more to learn, me, before I can call myself Able Seaman Doyle. I still think in terms of aircraft jargon, but I’m improving. I should try for a pilot’s license, having always wanted to fly. I guess it must be similar enough, the oneness with everything, the reliance on the whims of nature and your experience of it. The stillness, the calm the time for thought and then the chaos and need for split second reactions to keep control over whatever vessel you may be manning.
Things cross your mind out here and then immediately the thought is gone. The subconscious rises to the fore, it’s a mad world. But less mad than many lives on land. The financial world, media, industries run by at best unthinking idiots and at worst, psychopaths. If there’s change afoot, lets hope it comes soon enough. There is always hope. And yes, Stuart, philosophising out here is somewhat ridiculous. I’ll roll a smoke.

0800
And all of a sudden, wind again! Out with the Genoa, down with the revs and we’re getting six and a half knots out of our girl. We hear Peter talking with another skipper coming out of Rhodes harbour to our south, another Sunsail vessel, we’re all on the last leg. Wonderful. Eve’s showing off as we count down the miles. It’s emotional, man! A wee pod of delivery boats heading for dock. Tonight’s going to be a hoot. Land once again, this time no euros, but Turkish Lira. Before all that, it’s all about Eve. Sail on you little beauty!

0930 36°32’871N 28°23’937E
NATO security warning was just on the radio. We switched to channel seventy two and listened to a message “for the protection of all mariners”. Any suspicious activity should be reported to info@shipping.nato.int, an email address I would never have imagined existing. Perhaps it’s time now to fly our French flag. We’ve been sailing incognito all the way across the Mediterranean. We are from nowhere, is that considered suspicious? Three half crazy paddies on an unnamed boat, are we somewhat like a car driving all this way with no registration? We are just a number, officially, eight one two, or “the 8:12 to Eden”, as Dan put it.

1200
The lighthouse is where is should be. Good. The sea rolls, propelling us towards it. Our autopilot is working overtime to keep us on course. It freaked out earlier, lost the plot, quite literally. It’s tough to steer in those conditions. Waves come in from astern, Eve is lifted by them and surfs down into the trough, dramatically rolling from side to side at the waves’ convenience. Dan prepares an omelette for when we reach the bay. Another hour, then we’ll reach shelter, drop the mainsail, and use the Genoa to scoot across. Adam must be ahead, possibly with the two other boats out of Rhodes. Perfect. We represent our bosses well. It’ll look good, us all coming in together. The two others had left France at least a week before us, as we hadn’t met them in our overlong stay there. There was no plan to arrive at the same time, a nice coincidence. All we have to do is get there without incident. I’d pray to the Turkish God of the sea if only I knew who he or she is. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be alright, but no slacking at this late stage. We’re nearly home. Turkey beckons with massive thunderheads building along the coastline. We’ve had no rain but for the pitter-patter shower the last night in Pilos. A rare sound indeed, these last weeks. We might get wet before we make land. If no then, surely soon after. Big clouds, not at all annoying. I won’t mind, we could do with a little rain, as could the whole region from here across to Gibraltar. Rain. I never thought I would welcome the idea so much. All three of us knocked the ashtray over this morning. Eve needs another wash. Whether it will be by hose or rain, we’ll see. And we’ll see what I think of the idea of rain when or if it happens.

1420 36°36’8N 028°55’3E
Gocek Bay. Or Fethiye Bay? Consulting our almanac it seems I was wrong, Fethiye is larger. We are crossing from the twin heads at the western point, flying the French flag after lunching on another of Dan’s magnificent omelettes. And this wonderful day, our last stretch, is made all the funnier for during the night we have somehow overtaken Adam. It must have been whilst I was sleeping. The last I saw of them was a tiny dot on the horizon ahead of us. Surely we can’t have passed them? Just before lunch, Mark rang Pete, “Yes Peter, where are you? We are in the bay about to have lunch.” “How did you get past me? We’re six hours out!” It was all our skipper needed to know, he’s delighted. The bay is about ten miles across, we’re way ahead of them. But how can this be possible? Is Peter fooling us? He must have gone to Rhodes, or have taken the southern part of the channel. We haven’t seen a sailing vessel since daybreak. I would know, I’ve been up since three this morning. No sign, no nada. The Cap’n sure has a pep in his step, a little grin skirting his face. This was never a race but of course there is a little friendly rivalry. The same exists between me and Luca, I must admit. So I’m grinning too. But how did we do it? It’s nothing to do with me, I was asleep. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

From the snow-capped mountains of the Pyrenees to the equal, in fact, more impressive mountains here.  Over 1,400 nautical miles in two weeks. It feels like two months. Or years, even. Big thunder booms out across the bay. We’re due rain, I believe we’ll get it. Hopefully it will wait until we’re moored. Hopefully. One last request to the gods?