We continued down the coast and past our ultimate destination of Monastery Bay and on towards a lunchtime anchorage we’ve named Crowded Bay. Should have named it ‘Twats In Motorboats’ Bay. Basically it was carnage, with everyone dropping their anchor wherever they wanted. Extra points were awarded for laying one’s chain over another.
The first night of the rally was pirate-themed, hence the eye-shadow. Somewhere in my tiny brain I thought perhaps I bore a vague resemblance to Johnny Depp in ‘Pirates…’, but then I do have to keep reminding myself that he’s not a fat ****, so I just ended up looking like a gay English lout.
I’m not entirely sure why this happened: when the depth is over 100m the gauge normally just shows ‘—m’. I’ve never seen it show a reading like that before and I can only assume it was a shoal of fish, or one big fish, attracted by the sound of the boat’s chugging, monotone engine. Either that or a Turkish submarine was f***ing with us.
As sure as eggs is eggs after WWI, when the Young Turks had foolishly backed the wrong side and lost, the Brits took total control of this strategically important piece of land, and in 1925 Britain formerly declared the island a crown colony. There was much dancing and celebrating in the street at this turn of events (I jest). This is an excerpt from Liz’s excellent introduction to Cyprus.
Cyprus: Brits abroad? Raving to garridge in Aya Napa? Thronging beaches marauded by decapod-crustacean-skinned Essex girls? A fat, besmirched whore of a destination, over-pimped, blighted and past her sell-by date.
The further east we travel the happier I am. It’s so much more “Turkish”, if you know what I mean, much less “Cowes à la Turk”. I have to agree with them, though, it is very hot here. All of us have become quite lethargic and have found it more and more difficult to get motivated. One night when we were anchored just outside Kas (pronounced “cash”) I decided to liven us all up a bit.
Other people are just a-holes though, like this tw@t of a French ar$e who screamed and shouted at us whilst hopping about from one foot to the other. After safely anchoring well away from him I spent the next hour raising my arms at him in a “so what’s your problem?” kind of way.
We’ve been chilling out in some beautiful places though, taking in Kas, Kastelorizon, Kalkan and other places beginning with ‘K’, with plenty of pics to accompany stories of ancient Lycian tombs and angry French cons.
This is also where the paragliders land and hours can be spent watching their graceful sails catch the thermals. They land on the ‘marina’ strip, which is worth a mention. In our pilot guide the author says “At the time of writing work is proceeding slowly on the construction of the marina”, the text of which is accompanied by a photo of the unfinished marina. He states that he was given a completion date of 2001. Well, it’s 2008 and the ‘marina’ looks exactly like your photograph from 10 years ago!
We’d heard good things about Kalkan so we anchored in a spot recommended by two friends. The dip in the water was a real treat as somewhere close by there was a cold-water spring in the sea-bed, causing random little spots of cool water in the otherwise bath-temperature seas. Alas a quick dive down to inspect the anchor showed that we were on top of rock.
Actually, when I say busy I mean really busy. For an anchorage in the middle of nowhere there are rather a lot of vessels churning up this otherwise idyllic anchorage. Nothing bad, mind, apart from the twat on a jet-ski who needed a smack round the face…
Nice spot, this one (see pic, above). At last we were out of the Fethiye bay and could once again go for a dip in the water without swallowing clumps of grass, mud or poo. The water was crystal and we even put the basket out for Millie, who seems to think that we magically turn stale bread into fish just by placing the basket in the water. Sometimes it really is that easy.