Missy Bear Returns to Turkey

Dirsek

From the land of the myriad, skinny, begging cats, hanging around dinner tables, we have crossed into the land of the large, lethargic dogs, lying-around half-asleep in various thoroughfares and doorways.

Having said that, when I went up-to on our first morning in Datca, there were dirty cat’s paw prints all over the white deck. The coils of ropes under the sprayhood were thickly-covered in cat hair. It had clearly had a warm and comfortable night aboard, before vacating before we awoke.

We have swapped our blue and white-striped courtesy flag, for the red-backed white crescent and star. The two countries are very patriotic. The national flags are everywhere. The Greeks tend to have painted on theirs on the rocky headlands of their islands. The Turks favour the impressive flagpole atop a prominent summit. Wall-hung pictures of Ataturk are ubiquitous, although the Greeks have no equivalent. If the English showed such outward sentiments of patriotism, we would be called little Englanders, or worse. 

The night before we left Greece, an old taverna owner in Kos, was railing against the Turks; of course, to the islanders, this Turkish Riviera should still be ‘Greek’. And they worry that the Turks continue to eye up offshore resources in Greek offshore waters. What Putin and Trump manage to get away with, may create more uncertainty and interesting precedents. We have just seen a Turkish charter boat, proudly flying Russian colours in the port rigging. The Russians don’t seem to mind what we might think of their exploits in Ukraine. I don’t know what the average Turk thinks, as I’ve not yet asked the question. And ofcourse, this coast wasn't always Greek before the Ottomans arrived. Before the Doric, Greek-speaking, colonisers arrived here across the Aegean from the west, this land was home to Anatolian mainlanders. They were known as Carians, after their king.

This Carian landscape is very similar to that on the nearby Greek islands. Both are quite green, as it has been a relatively wet winter. Where gradient permit, the limestone crags and hills are clothed in low-growing, yellow-flowering shrubs, white-flowering bulbs, and small trees, that can cling onto existence on these steep slopes.

An old Carian castle of Bybassos, with Kermes oaks clinging to the rock

On the mainland, there do seem to be more pines on the lower slopes. They have survived the geology, climate, and man. On more exposed places, there are a few small oaks. The leaves of the petite Kermes oak don’t resemble the heavily-lobed English oak leaves, but the trunks are surrounded by last-seasons old acorn shells, which provide a clue to the species.

The peninsulars here occasionally flatten out at the sea margin, forming little sandy bays, which support a greater density of larger trees. In one or two of the bays along this Carian coast, exist the other-worldly shapes and colours of Mediterranean (or Cretan) date-palms, Pheonix threophasti.

A bay with rare Cretan date palms

The townscapes are similar - boxy and low-rise- and it is only the minarets, bolted onto the Byzantine-style, ex-orthodox churches that distinguish them. On the water, the large two-masted, timber gulets distinguish the seas here from the Greek waters. And although most floating craft swing at anchor in the relatively shallow Greek anchorages, here boats take a long-line ashore from their stern. This stops them swinging around in the deeper, and often more crowded Turkish inlets. 

Some things even resemble dear old blighty. The wending, wooded ‘fjord’ at Bencik, reminded me a bit of Breton valleys - or even the river Dart - especially as a spatter of rain started to disturb the glassy waters. Fish broke the surface as if it was Mayfly time. And there were calls of green woodpeckers during the day, and hoots of owls at night. As I write, beside the tiny restaurant quat at Dirsek, a swallow is warbling away, while sitting on a nearby lighting wire, strung between two metal posts.

At Bencik, anchored with a long-line ashore

Menus here are marked in Turkish Lira, but the Turks like Euros as much as the Greeks. And the Turks probably grumble about their leaders as much as the Greeks complain about him. Hyper-inflation under Erdogan’s less-secular regime, has made most Turks poorer. Unless they own a marina that charges eye-watering prices in Euros. Five years ago, one GBP bout you 10 TRY; now it buys you 50, but prices have gone up nearly as much, which is not good if you get paid in the local currency. Turks complain that the new religious regime taxes alcohol too much, and fuel.

Both peoples like similar foods; aubergines for example. But the Turks prefer theirs with a more-smoky flavour. The Turks love yoghurt and garlic, and they use spices much more widely. You won’t often find a chili on a Greek plate.

It has been mostly a spring of blue skies and sunshine, but the air is invisibly dirty. There is dust, and particulates from the maritime shipping. So, a rare drop of rain might cleanse the air, but it deposits drops of sandy grime all over the decks and canvas.

The holiday season has not yet really started in either country. Chairs and tables are still piled up in heaps outside restaurants. There is the constant sound of power machines, cutting and hammering as repairs are carried out. Balconies are being washed and swept. Paintwork is being re-touched. But at least one or two restaurants are open for our business. Here at Dirsek, there are no roads into the hamlet. I say 'hamlet' - it is a sole restuarant building and a chicken shed. An hour ago, the owner’s little wooden motor boat came in from somewhere, full of cement, tools, drinks and vegetables.

So we will eat tonight!

P.S. one of the mezzes is called “Atom”. It’s basically yogurt with garlic and whole small, hot chillis. They ought to name it “nuclear”. This morning, skipper and first mate both have ‘Atom bum’.