Pass Me Another Rice Pudding OR The Aegean Rally

by John Brooks

We are on a Mediterranean cruise, starting in Turkey at Kusadasi, race/cruising through the Greek Dodecanese Islands and back to the Turkish coast with a fleet of 10 charter yachts, accompanied by the Mariner Boating rally management team. Many of those present are sailing friends, so you know the parties are going to be brutal even if the racing is supposed to be friendly. After the long journey from Sydney via Istanbul a night in an excellent Hotel revives us. We have almost two whole days in the place which includes a visit to the nearby ancient Greco-Roman city of Ephesus.

Some rally people - clearly much smarter than us - arrived several days earlier and toured down the coast from Istanbul, visiting Gallipoli amongst other places along the way. They are de-jetlagged, fluent in Turkish and bazaar, and even know how to operate their digital camera, seasoned tourists!

The first rally leg is a cruise from Kusadasi to the port of Pythagorion on the island of Samos, just off the Turkish Coast, where the genial Christos, Minister for everything, clears us through Greek customs and immigration. Yes, this was the home town of the philosopher/mathematician, Pythagoras.

We spend a full day on Samos, enjoying beautiful late spring weather before racing south to Arkoi which is, in contrast to Samos, rugged, rustic and lacks any vegetation other than the wild thyme and sage which the goats eat and which produces such great tasting yoghurt. There are far more goats than people, no water, no power, but like the smallest outback Australian town and its pub, it does have a taverna.

We're getting the hang of this now; avoid the Ouzo and Raki - both of which can be lethal - and stick to the wine. However, most of these Greek Islands have their own local wine labels which are not necessarily up to Grange standard - a touch of understatement here - but, thankfully, Trevor Joyce has a list of the good ones. The food is all basic Greek fare: salads, olives, kebabs, spit-roasted lamb, grilled fish and etc. We eat ashore almost every night and breakfast aboard on local yoghurt, honey, fetta cheese and marvellous breads. It's going to be a struggle, but we are absolutely determined not to lose weight on this holiday.              

The next day we cruise to Patmos, probably the most striking of the Dodecanese Islands we visited. This is the spiritual home of the Greek Orthodox Church.

It's a healthy climb up to this edifice.  Two of our companions don't hesitate and launch straight up the hill path like a pair of mountain goats; Kaye and I don't hesitate - we share a taxi. The monastery contains priceless religious icons and treasures gathered over the centuries, and many visitors of serious religious intent. As a crude yachtie/tourist, I feel a little daunted by this display of religious fervour and escape to lunch at a cafe in the ancient town perched on the hilltop, enjoying spectacular views out over Skála harbour and the neighbouring islands which alone are worth the cab fare.

Next day we motor-sail along the scenic east coast of Kalimnos, ending the day in a spectacular narrow fiord at Vathi.  It's easy visualise Greek, Roman, or Turkish galleys rowing into the fiord for a well protected overnight stop. It's a good overnight stop for us, too. At Poppy's Taverna a bouzouki band plays and the food and wine flows endlessly. Everyone gets into a dancing mood led by Mama Sylvie who teaches us how to dance Greek style, although few can remember the steps when tested at later events. An amazing woman, Mama Sylvie spent all day preparing the dinner, served it to a full house, then danced until 3 a.m.

We then race back to the Turkish coast and into the regional centre of Bodrum with its 700 berth marina complete with water, power, showers, laundry facilities - now badly needed - and a swanky yacht club owned by the Maserati Company, no less. In town there is a famous ‘Haman' (Turkish bath), and a bazaar: "Genuine fake watches for your genuine fake friends," is one wag's sales pitch. Numerous restaurants and boom-boom bars but more educationally, the home, in 484bc, of Herodotus - the father of written history - and the spectacular St. Peter's Castle still dominates the harbour, built by the Knights of St. John after they were ejected from Jerusalem.

There are some surprisingly good Turkish wines here and we manage the transition from Greek to Turkish cuisine, which is not such a big leap: a similar treatment of lamb and fish, but more vegetable varieties here, chilli peppers and greater use of Asian spices such as cardamom, cumin and cinnamon. There is also a spiced, rice pudding for which I develop a taste - it's a staple dessert on most restaurant menus.

We continue the rally in fine weather to Knidos, Palimut and the picturesque fishing port of Datça where, on arrival, we are entertained by a troupe of school boys, in elaborately embroidered national dress. With very serious looks on their faces, they dance a traditional Turkish dance for us which seems to be done in slow motion. The serious looks soon vanish after they invite us to join in and they see the extent of our dancing skills.

That afternoon we cruise alone to a deserted bay on the western tip of the Datça Peninsula. There is nothing at all here except one taverna, but it's a good one. A superb selection of Turkish food and good wines puts us all in a party mood.

There's this old guy eating alone over in one corner, hat pulled down, grim face, looking like a serious member of Corleone family. I ask the manager about him and get taken over to be introduced. He's the owner of the business, still grimfaced until the manager - his son - tells him I'm from Australia. His face lights up in a big smile and he says "Gallipoli". Through his son he tells me his father was at Gallipoli and when I tell him mine was too, it was like I'd found a friend for life. Clearly, Gallipoli holds a similar place in Turkish legend to our own.

Now we are on the last lap, racing east along the south coast of Turkey with Rhodes in view on the horizon to starboard.

The final race is a good one around the buoys in Marmaris Harbour in light winds. There is one last fantastic "Sultan" costume party - so that's why the girls were buying all that harem gear - in the marina restaurant, complete with Turkish band and belly dancer. Here, the girls get to wear their very fetching costumes, although their belly dancing needs more practice.

We then spent a few days in Istanbul. Here you spend hours wandering around sumptuous palaces and museums full of wonderful Turkish carpets and jewellery, sights which send the average woman into a state approaching Nirvana. Only THEN do they take you to the Grand Bazaar which is, need I say it, overflowing with the aforementioned carpets and jewellery all at bargain prices, naturally.

Here you will be worked over by experts with two thousand years practice at separating unwary husbands from their money in collusion with wives who are, by now, in total shopping hysteria. Did I mention the silk harem pants and leather coats trimmed with Astrakhan? There is probably no need to tell you what happens next: your holiday budget ends up looking like the Australian national debt.

Excerpts from the story written by John Brooks who travelled with Mariner Boating Holidays on the Aegean Rally.

The 2010 Aegean Rally is from May 15th to 29th

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