I depart London the first day of winter ( one day too late ) toasting it’s empty streets & renewed lockdown from a long abandoned apartment overlooking Pall Mall with Dan & Marcus.
It’s been a summer of small boats & the more I study them the more heroic they become. Volitive, skilled, masterful subjects to the weather & wind. All the more inspiring for putting off safe harbors. A 100ft Gullet out of Bodrum is more a small ship than a boat, cabins for 16 with a crew of 3, & only the duty less passengers of Carl, Fabian, Konstantin & myself aboard for a week.
When I arrive Bodrum is still in it’s summer season in every way but the crowd. With the aim of keeping it that way I join Konstantin aboard & we depart for a nearby quiet harbor, until Carl & Fabian arrive just after dusk by zodiac. We settle in to cruise north east for the next few days, winter follows closely behind in dark swift moving clouds.
Whatever the weather the water proves warm & crystalline day & night, while the islands & coves we more at change in extremes, from the rugged rocky aegean format one day to old growth coastal pine I’d expect of America’s pacific north-west the next.
4 months aboard the USS Kearsarge & 6 days broken down on Carl’s boat a month prior are my frames of reference for packing for sea. The first priority is coffee, followed by whisky, wrapped in a bullet proof sweater, tossed into my Seebag with about 6 cameras. The very best breed of sweater for the sea is one from North Sea Clothing. Scottish made, with much of the wools natural oils retained to keep the wet out & warm in, it’s a burly coarse beauty ideal for a sea blown breeze under the stars. Best yet it will make you look the rugged yachtsman you absolutely are not.
It’s a trip with no agenda, besides thought, & each has his fill. Konstantin is just beginning to find his passions in life, Carl is starting life anew, Fabian has 220 unread text messages to unread.
Iv’e got too many options, a few less finding out the Greek sea border is closed, along with about 130 more borders to Americans.
The blue of the ocean matches the sky so that the horizon disappears. Days are lost to the sun & each evening to Cuban Cuba libres, backgammon & the after sun scotch of choice: Glendronach 15. Bet’s are settled with high dives that nobody really minds.
Working our way back along the Turkish coast, nights are punctuated by strange guttural noises from the shore, seemingly projected our way. We joke uneasily about Odysseus’s lost crew.
Swimming ashore the following day a wild mustang challenges us at the first hill. As we are on a 3 fingered peninsula I cajole the others into primitive group hunting tactics to procure a photo of the wild horse. We have all come ashore in boardshorts, a lucky few in shirts, & all this is forgotten in the frantic chase through heavy brambles & thorns. Perhaps a mile later we are no closer to a photo, despite packing out a 200m telephoto in my Seebag’s removable-market bag. Separating our numbers in shoulder high thorned vegetation the stallion easily outmaneuvers us. Regrouping I find each member of the party is completely bloodied from the waist down, & Fabian has lost his phone. We conclude our pursuit of wild horses.
The following morning we pass a ship breaking yard, & take out the shore boat to investigate. Two aged sailors labor away amidst a dozen massive hulls in no particular hurry. An old sweater & even older dog are the days remarkable features.
Istanbul is next on the agenda. The weather bounces between Indian summer & torrential downpours, unwavering however is my friend, tailor & guide Edo of EGR Sartoria. Early mornings on the Bosphorus, the hair raising hum of minarets coming alive across the city, The Orient Express bar, deserted, & better for it as always. We make the pilgrimage to chief Emre at Dukkan for the worlds best meats, twice. In Sultanhammet Gibi is a welcome reprieve from a bustling city of hawkers. A private dinner & cocktails with an un-expected but endlessly successful marriage of Thai & Turkish cuisine.
I will likely always have my points of departure with Istanbul & certainly with contemporary Turkey, but the relief of spending a few weeks in place not dominated by the virus can’t be understated. Particular to the Turkish mindset, & summed up by a bumper sticker we repeat like a mantra each time we step into a cab. ‘’NO SEATBELTS WE DIE LIKE MEN’’
In Observer news, 30 – 11 – 2020 will see the pre-release of Observer’s first perfume & proprietary vessel, followed shortly by the Whisky Wallet & the return of an entirely new Team Hat. Please sign up for the Dispatch’s mailing list to hear about it first.