You take two Y generation females out of their comfort zone in Melbourne, pack them like sardines into a fully loaded Boeing 747, fly them for 31 hours to Istanbul and then on to Antalya and you’ve already got two seriously scrambled kids. The temperature is hovering in the 40’s in Antalya, the wind is howling out of some distant furnace at about 35 knots and its time to board a yacht to go sailing; “are you from Syria?”, says Luana using one of her home grown sayings when questioning authority. “Syria is just over there” says mother Sarah, pointing to the east and bringing home one small reality – Syria is an actual place and not just a word that rhymes with serious.

We check out the yacht and guess what; it’s air-conditioned, the coolest place in the marina is on our boat. The wind rattles the rigging through the night and no-one sleeps really well – or necessarily in their assigned place. Luana and Rani are on the settees in the saloon so Grant, one of our travelling companions who missed out on a cabin sleeps on the floor. Grant’s daughter Haley scores the twin cabin to herself, Heather is in her assigned spot up forward and we the seniors on the crew take our double aft cabin – the one nearest to the main air-conditioning outlet!

Dawn arrives with a deep ruby blush and we decide to capitalize on the relative cool so we set off at 6 AM. Our yacht is a Gibsea 51 with 5 five cabins and five heads, air-conditioning as reported earlier, two fridges, ice- maker, gen-set, hydraulic winches, all the latest navigation toys including Tacktics wireless wind instruments and a 100 HP engine; lots of power is necessary in this usually windless part of the world.

We motor down to Tekirova – called Phaselis for about 3,000 years by its original Athenian settlers, and anchor in a pine fringed bay with huge naked mountains in the background.

Ashore there is a Roman aqueduct, a street with ancient shops and a small Greek theatre, which would have been cool for a concert say the kids. After a morning swim we have some breakfast and then off we go toward our destination called Cinivez, pronounced Chinivez because of the squiggle under the C. In the end we didn’t stay in Cinivez but the anchorage we used, called Kavas had plenty of protection and the afternoon sail into a 15 knot south easterly on a flat sea was a treat.

After a long run on the engine across Finike Bay, where a pod of dolphins appeared on command, we anchor in sapphire blue water in a key-hole called Karaloz on the island of Kekova and if it had not been for the five or six other yachts and gulets there it would have ranked 12 on a scale of 10. The kids were in the water faster than a couple of sea otters in an oyster lease.

Enter stage right the maternal grandmother, Maggie, who cooks up a pasta dish with the world’s best tasting tomatoes. Then the maternal grandfather decides its time to go sailing so we run around the end of Kekova and up the channel to the final destination for the day, Kale Koy. Luana doesn’t like this on the wind sailing business with the boat tipping and mother Sarah works to overcome her fear.

Well words can’t really describe, Kale Koy. The hamlet by the water is a gaggle of cottages, which double as shops during the summer. Yachts are moored to finger wharfs propagated from the restaurants at the water’s edge, a few gulets rest at anchor in the bay and from the Byzantine castle above that overlooks the whole scene you can clearly see the submerged ruins of what the book says is the ancient city of Simena. It’s all a bit surrealistic but there it is you have to believe it. Surrealism is amplified next morning as we drift along the opposite shore of Kekova Roads, the enclosed waterway created by the island of Kekova. There was once a city here and the remains are visible above and below the waterline, through the emerald green 24 degree briny. We drift along with the kids in tow on a trailing rope before once again dropping the pick while we swim ashore to a beach with yet another imposing ruin on the shore - this must have the top end of town 2,500 years ago.

Still within Kekova Roads is Ucagiz with just a little more sophistication, which we hope will include an ATM. The boat “kitty” is fast becoming a World Bank exercise with transactions in Turkish Lira, Aussie dollars and Euros complicated by loans from the float and credit card transactions. Luana is the designated treasurer and she has her XL spreadsheet to sort things out – no worries, and who cares any way. The wind comes in hot again so we retreat to our air conditioned capsule after an excellent seafood dinner ashore, (which cost $25 a head including wine). Ucagiz is a neat place and ranks well on our scale.

The ten mile leg to Kas (pronounced Kash) starts off on a glassy sea but a breeze line appears and we set up to a sail. Pretty soon its 20 knots and our less than fleet footed cruiser with sails is romping along at 7 plus close hauled and its champagne stuff…unless you happen to be Luana who loves rough water but not on a boat that isn’t standing upright. The sailing gets the thumbs down and we head for shelter in a beautiful bay called Ice Ada. Our abstinence from conventional daily showering seems to work on the two yachts already there and they take off at great speed! Maybe they knew something we didn’t because an hour later the wind really starts to flex its muscle. We turn the nearby cape for Kas and the breeze builds steadily to a 40 knot Westerly. Thank goodness for 100 HP engines. We pass the Greek Island of Kastellorenzo to port and we are in Kas.

Luana under the expert guidance of Maggie and Kath, two seasoned shoppers, tackles the night time shopping scene. Pretty soon she’s onto something she wants to buy but she doesn’t have the cash and its closing time. “Take for you and to pay tomorrow. I see to your eye you will come back”, the shopkeeper says and she does and Luana has had her first encounter with Turkish generosity. Of course this expedition is also Luana’s introduction to “retail therapy”, and she catches on faster than a 5 year old in a toy shop.

Let’s go to Greece for lunch we decide the next day as Kastellorizon beckons across the 3 miles of water that separates this lone Greek outpost from the Turkish mainland. On our way we search in vein for the famed Blue Grotto but take the consolation prize with a swim in a totally deserted bay with towering rust coloured cliffs on either side.

Then it’s to the harbour and the same Vangelis who tied us up 10 years ago with his “welcome to Europe” opener. For you I have special lobster, (as he did 10 years ago) – just three is fresh today. Mother Sarah, once a child in Greece, bursts into tears of joy as the plunk, plunk, plunk of the bouzouki from Vangeli’s taverna drifts across to the boat as we secure our lines.

Kastelorrenzo of course has well known connections with Australia, with most of the population having moved there after the Second World War, but now the third and fourth generation are revisiting their roots and we witness the tragic consequences of an arm wrestle between the old and the new and between two cultures.

From the next table in the taverna comes the Australian accented voice of a young female, “I’m eighteen and I’m old enough to decide what I want to do. My friends are all in Mykonos and I want to go to Mykonos. I’m not Greek, I was born in Australia and I am Australian and I’m sick of hearing about the past, the past, the past. I live for the future not for the past”, she laments in a flood of tears. Her elders try to console her but there is no consolation and the frustration of this teenager pervades an otherwise idyllic scene. Later we hear of other tensions and disputes between Greeks who stayed and those who left and an apprehension in general arising from the proximity to Turkey so it becomes apparent that all is not rosy in the Garden of Eden.

We of course partake of excellent lobster and oven cooked goat and following breakfast next morning our bill comes to Euro 450, which points to a price difference in general between Greece and Turkey of about 75%. Breakfast is to the tune of Vangelis lamenting the fact that he has problems with his mother, his current girl friend, who comes from the Ukraine, his before girlfriend who comes from England, the future wife of the mayor and of course the mayor who in spite of being his first cousin is also a crook.

Sadly we then leave Kastelorrizon and head for Kalkan, back in Turkey. From a distance Kalkan is all concrete but on closer inspection its narrow streets are peopled by gentle merchants plying their wares…and nice stuff too. Needless to say the show and tell on our boat continues unabated. In the evening we recline oriental style at an excellent open air restaurant and pay less for dinner in YTL than what it cost in Euro in Greece and the exchange rate is 1.75TL to 1 Euro. After Heather picks up a couple of shirts she ordered to be hand made the previous evening (at a cost of YTL 40) we set off on the long hop to Gemiler Island up near Fethiye. We manage to sail for an hour or two but motor the last bit so as to arrive by swim time.

In fact we don’t make it to Gemiler and pull in to Aquarium Bay, or Karacaoren in Turkish, lured by a rickety structure with restaurant written on the front, which obviates the need for that dreadful cooking on board phenomenon. Really authentic oven baked Turkish cuisine makes its way to our table, as does Osman who tells us that our plan to walk up to Kaya Koy the next morning is not wise. “Is for you too big mountain”, he says, “I take you in my car is for 8 people good”.

Well Kayakoy is the spectacle of the trip so far. When Ataturk took power after the First World War one of his missions was to purge Turkey of foreigners, and Greek foreigners in particular following their catastrophic British backed invasion of Turkey in 1919. Kaya Koy, then known as Levissi, was a happily mixed but predominately Greek town and when the Greeks left so did the minority Turkish population so that today the town is deserted and derelict and a walk through the streets is a mind numbing experience. This is especially so for readers of the recent novel “Birds Without Wings”, set in this town by Louis de Bernieres who must have spent months researching his subject and creating a kaleidoscope of characters, all of whom came to life during this amazing excursion.

Osman doesn’t want any money for his labours when he returns us to our yacht four hours later and instead suggests that we should buy him a cocktail in Fethiye, where he agrees to meet us in the afternoon. In fact when we arrive in the Fethiye marina there he is as large as life at work with the marina staff tying up arriving yachts. He takes a shine to Haley, Grant’s daughter, but she does not reciprocate and he finally leaves us broken hearted.

Fethiye is another town with little going for it from a distance, its original buildings having in the main been flattened by the earthquake in the 50’s after which the town was rebuilt without much care for aesthetics. Once again, though we discover a warren of narrow streets alive with merchants, restaurants and, after dark, a collection of bars and night clubs. Our eventual verdict on Fethiye is negative, however; too many cars, too many tourists and too expensive when the berthing fee in the marina takes YTL 108 from our ailing kitty.

In compensation, however, the next day is one out of the book as we sail close-hauled on a gentle 12 knot westerly breeze across the very flat Gulf of Fethiye into the area known as Skopea Limani, the jewel in the cruising crown in this part of Turkey. We enter an enclosed waterway created by Tersane and Domuz Islands through a tiny opening and cruise by three of the options for the evening anchorage before deciding on Kapi Creek, with a swim stop along the way of course. Ismail, who runs the only restaurant in Kape Creek quickly becomes our newest best friend and seats us for dinner at a table set on a small stage over the water at one end of his restaurant that trails along the shore. By dinner time there are probably forty yachts in the anchorage and a multi-lingual buzz emanates from the hundred or so people in the restaurant under the stars; Swedes, Russians, Poles, Dutchmen, Brits, Ukrainians, Germans and so on. The world is coming to Luana and Rani.

Tersane Creek, Tomb Bay, Deep Bay and Sarsila Cove are all anchorages around the same waterway and we spend the next day drifting from one to the next in search of our next dinner venue. We chose the Nomad restaurant on Tomb Bay where we also climb to one of the subject tombs, but there was no one there to tell us the story. The kids are now up to swimming where there is no bottom to be seen, being towed behind the boat while underway and diving underneath the keel of the yacht at anchor; all big confidence steps forward.

Then we reach the dreadful realization that our 12 days on the good ship Stella is nearing an end and we start running down the provisions and counting the meals and minutes to the end. The moments become increasingly precious but there is no way to stop the clock and we sadly disembark in Gocek.

Luana, our blossoming financial controller, having excelled at EXCEL produced the final analysis of our expenditure over the 12 days on the boat and came to a figure of AUD45 per person per day for all meals (always with at least one per day ashore), the boat running expenses including about AUD 350 in fuel at the end, mooring fees where applicable and the transfers to and from the boat. Two weeks in Greece would produce the same number in Euros or AUD 75 per person per day.

Next stop is Istanbul and prime target for the attention of our shop squad, now with the kids, having passed their provincial apprenticeships with flying colours, very much at the forefront, is the Grand Bazaar. A retail mind bender with 22 entrances, 64 streets, 17 inns, 4 fountains, 2 mosques, 3,500 shops and 25,000 employees the bazaar could give Westfield a lesson on how to separate people from their money. The shopkeepers have an affable and sincere manner about them that will easily drop your guard and in our case that happened in one of the carpet shops where we bought a recycled patchwork kilim. Our girls, being female and stunning, attracted several offers for camel swaps in exchange for marriage and Australian citizenships.

We take dinner across the Golden Horn but still on the European side in another beehive of human activity, Istiklal Street, where about 50,000 people an hour march from one end of the pedestrian promenade to the other and then presumably turn around and march back again. We disappear down Cicik Passage, (pronounced Chichik because of the squiggle under the C) to camp in a restaurant in a whole street full of restaurants. “Is very good our food or you can broke my legs”, says the spruiker who eventually becomes our waiter. It was very good and we eventually departed happily replete; well not quite. Back up on Istiklal Street an ice cream salesman, doubles as a magician, and amuses everyone with his antics before we get to partake of his product, which has the texture of chewing gum and the taste of nothing much really.

The history tour in Istanbul is potentially endless with the Greeks, Romans, Byzantines and Ottomans having head-quartered themselves here before Turkey became a republic in 1923. We drag our only moderately impressed teenagers through the highlights; the Aya Sofia and Blue Mosques, Basilica Cistern and the Topkapi Palace but nothing matches the Grand Bazaar.

Our trip to Turkey sadly ends with a round-table in the departure lounge at the Istanbul Ataturk airport and an attempt by each of us to select the highlights. There is no clear winner among the places along our route but the Turks themselves top each of the rankings; humorous, honest, trusting and sincere our encounters will leave lasting memories with us. Of course all of them are Moslems but contrary to the images painted by our media there were no demons to be seen.

Among the places Kale Koy and Ucagiz, the sunken city and deserted bays of Kekova, Roads, the deserted city of Kaya Koy, Kape Creek and Greek Kastellorizon all feature prominently. Istanbul is another story altogether and the Grand Bazaar takes the cake but the cistern, Topkapi and the two mosques are all up there as well. On the downside cattle class in Singapore Airlines was a clear winner and Antalya was imminently forgettable.

I am certain that our two novices will be back when hopefully they travel in the future under their own steam. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when they describe their experiences to their contemporaries back at school in Oz.