Today was one of those days that makes sailing to your destination all the worth while. We explored an ancient citadel, took in breath-taking views, drank tea with peasants, rode a donkey, drew water from the well, watched goats being milked and drank 2 litres of raki. Pictures speak a thousand words so just have a read of my waffle as the images, below, load up.
The citadel sits on the entrance of Bozuk Buku (which Liz has renamed to Berzerk Buku after our hairy entrance yesterday) and dates back from the Hellenistic period. I have it on good authority that it is currently being restored, whilst the rest of the bay plays host to remnants of the ancient city of Loryma. As you can see from the pics it is already in a very presentable condition and made for a fun walk around the bay, offering us panoramic views both into the bay and out towards Rhodes.
Concerned that we only had 50 yentils (£20) on us we decided to have one beer in the Sailor’s House before returning to the boat. (The Sailor’s House, it turns out, is built on the site of an ancient church. You’ll see some of the artifacts from this church littered around the proximity of the restaurant.) As we finished, however, the proprietor, Mustafa, invited us to come and check out his garden, which is set back behind a rock in the fields. We stumbled round the rocky path and into an open plain, decorated with scrub, fig trees, old engines and goats, until we were presented with an oasis of vegetables within the confines of an ancient wall. In this compound stood a tiny brick shack and to get to it one had to walk across a wooden plank that spanned a huge, deep well. We were introduced to a grandmother and her daughter, both of whom lived in the shack and maintained the garden, and the daughters and son of the local goat herder.
Polite as you like they offered us their seats and put the kettle on so we could sup ada cay (sage tea) whilst admiring the garden, which boasted potatoes, tomatoes, mint, marrows, corn and all other kinds of produce that supplied the Sailor’s House with its fresh food. Dotted around the confines of the hut were relics from the historical locations that adjorn this area. Note the font and the cross carved into a rock that is now part of the perimeter wall.
This experience is very typical of Turkey and its people: wonderfully polite and welcoming and not wanting anything in return. We helped drop the bucket in the well to draw water in order to prime the water pump, and petted one of the kids (a baby goat, not a child) that lived in the garden, whilst the grandmother lobbed stones at the other goats that were climbing into the garden and eating anything they could get their teeth into!
Mustafa told us there were 800 goats in all and on our walk this morning to the citadel we passed the tiny wooden lean-to that the goat herder lived in. Goats everywhere. After bidding the family farewell Mustafa told us to return around 7.30 to watch the goats being milked.
We returned to the boat, had a sh!t game of Scrabble (as in Liz absolutely thrashed me), had a power-nap (a habit I’ve picked up off Jay) and returned to the restaurant to drink the last of our 50 yentils. After half an hour Mustafa reappeared and took us back out to the field behind the restaurant, walking in amongst hundreds of goats, and to the goat pen where the women we had met earlier were busy rounding up then milking the animals.
In the meantime Mustafa pegged it up the hill in his flip flops and returned with a donkey, which was to be Liz’s lift back to the restaurant, whilst I took some snaps of the locals hard at work. You couldn’t pay for this kind of entertainment.
This is where the rest of the evening becomes hazy. We had already told Mustafa we had no money but after establishing our like for raki he produced a 2 litre bottle of the rocket fuel which the three of us proceeded to hammer our way through, talking bollox and putting the world to rights. We stayed up so late the kitchen workers returned to their bunks, the generator was switched off and eventually got a lift back to the boat with Mustafa, who had successfully bagged a massage off Liz, which she executed, in the restaurant, across two tables armed with a bottle of olive oil! Raki…..mental stuff. It’s now 3.30 next day and Liz is still asleep.
The next day was a write-off.
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