Gulets

Our first close encounter with a gulet was in about 2002 in the bay of Gokova, when one such vessel reversed hard-astern towards a “gap” on a timber pontoon, between two yachts; ours being one of them.

The gap clearly wasn’t wide enough, but Turkish skipper thought otherwise. There was plenty of space outside either of the moored yachts, but skipper wanted to get his paying guests as close to the restaurant as possible. And that was where the “space” was.

A few gesticulations, and yells and cusses from me, were followed by thumps and scrapes as the quarters of this large wooden, twin-masted schooner’s quarters came crunching into the relatively flimsy GRP, and hollow steel-tubed guard-rails of our charter yacht.

His American guests looked down, aghast, from their deck, onto our scarred and twisted bow. They apologised on their skipper’s behalf, as he was not going to demean himself. And they even invited us onboard their luxury craft, for a conciliatory sun-downer later that afternoon. The interior was indeed palatial with large rooms of polished hard-woods and sparkling mirrors.  

Our second close encounter came - quite unexpectedly - yesterday in Bozburun. And I say “unexpectedly” with conviction, because we were not very close to the sea!

Skipper and first mate had gone for a stroll, and we were wandering up a dusty track in the outskirts of the village, when we heard reversing-beeps. We saw a lorry reversing down the narrow road towards us. Nothing too strange there, until we saw what was behind it: the towering stern, of a very large, gleaming gulet, maybe 80 feet long!

Gulet needing a change of course

As we approached, we could also hear other machinery, which turned out to be a JCB-style vehicle manoeuvring around at the bow end. And the jabbering of thirty or so men, who were shouting, or gesticulating, else dragging large flat, heavy, lengths of timber by rope, along the road surface from bow to stern.

The whole mass – no idea of tonnage, maybe 50 tonnes? – was propped up on a massive double-runnered sled. The lorry was dragging it backwards via a large diameter, metal cable. And the men were working like Egyptian slaves, moving the runners from back to front as they popped out from under the runners.

How the stoens of the pyramids were moved?

But the gulet had arrived at a sharp turn to starboard. If the gulet and continued in the same direction, it would have demolished the front of a roadside house. And there was a telegraph pole close-to on the inside of the turn. A special move was now required!

The JCB driver cranked up the revs, lowered his bucket and pushed the rear of the sled away, so that the whole sled, gulet and all, lurched clockwise through about 30 degrees. Whoaaah!

That did the trick, but the gulet had budged a bit in its sled or runners, so the JCB drive, positioned himself further forward, and used the back of the bucket and hydraulics to nudge the boat back into the correct position in its cradle. Eek!

Two old-timers were on board. I’m not sure if they were the architects, or the transport company, or the ships owners. But they did have the best view of whether the gulet’s topsides were going to bring down a power line, or somebody’s eaves.

Alix and I noticed that, back up the road behind this scene, two cherry-pickers were working on raising power lines. After some enquiries, we discovered that the lines had had to take down – thus disconnecting the entire village from power – to make enough room for the procession. Now they were re-installing them!

The next gulet under construction in the field

We had a quick walk further up the road to see the ship yard. When I say shipyard, I mean field. I got a few photos of the bare carcasses of gulets-to-be.

And then we sauntered back down the road, easily catching up the fun. By this time, many more from the village had come to witness this ritual; wives, girlfriends, mothers, children. It was quite a spectacle for all.

Nearly at the shore.

Finally, the gulet slid its way to the shore line, just off the pebbly beach, close to the flimsy terrace of a restaurant. It would be launched here, and another “digger” had been brought-in, on a low-loader, to help.

It was now 13:00 exactly, and as if by magic, a few, open SUV’s turned up, all the guys jumped in the backs, and they sped off up the same road. We found out later, that the owners normally supply sandwiches etc., for the ‘slaves’ who seem to be doing it out of a sense of community spirit.

We walked back to Missy Bear saying that we should probably walk back after lunch to see the first wetting. But it was a long walk, and it was hot.

We were lazing in the cockpit later that afternoon, having almost forgotten about “Queen Serra”, when we heard a powerful engine in the harbour. There she was, “Queen Serra” lashed alongside another gulet, that was manoeuvring her into position. This second gulet cast off the queen, and she – engineless – was left to the wind, and two powerful ribs, to guide her into her first berth. Here, no-doubt, she will get fitted-out, and her own massive, Scania diesel engine installed.

"Queen Serra" afloat and being ferried into harbour

I asked our friend Osman how long she had taken to build. He asked another Turk, in the local language, and the response was, “one year if you have money, else two”.

There are quite a few rich people around the gulet centres of Bozburun and Marmaris. Whereas most Turks are getting poorer, the charter boat owners can charge foreigners in hard Euros, to go for blue-cruises along this Turkish Riviera.

Gulets would once have been the transport work-horses of the Ottoman empire, but now they are solely for the pleasure of tourists.