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Why Turkey suits two
From The Sunday Times, June 24, 2007, By Anthony
Sher
WE’RE BOTH equally thrilled by the next stage: a private
cruise along Turkey’s Mediterranean coast aboard a gleaming
vessel called Serenity 70, a cross between a modern
motorised yacht and a traditional sail-driven gulet.
It could sleep eight guests, but it’s entirely ours
for the next week. There’s a crew of three: Adam the
captain, Mehmet the chef, and Ozgur the deckhand.
On the first morning, crossing the Gulf of Fethiye,
we see dolphins. At first they seem to lay on a little
display, leaping close to the yacht, then they suddenly
swim right under the prow where we stand, rolling upside
down in the translucent water, changing what was dark,
solid and familiar – their arched spines and dorsal
fins – into something pale, fluid and magical. “That’s
a sign of luck,” Adam calls from the wheel. “I’ve never
seen them here before.” I think: “Yeah, sure, bet you
say that to all the tourists.” But later I believe it
was true, for we don’t see dolphins again, and it certainly
was a lucky thing to book this cruise.
The daily routine consists of sailing for a few hours
in the morning before Adam anchors in some beautiful,
unspoilt bay, lowers a flight of steps into the gorgeous
green-blue water, and we bathe, calling to one another,
as we did yesterday: “This is definitely the best swim
of my life!” Then we lunch on another of Mehmet’s huge
and delicious meals, which often include freshly caught
fish, prawns and lobster. We’ve brought along our own
stock of French wines, having discovered that Turkish
wine is bizarrely expensive (an ordinary chardonnay
costs £30). In the afternoon, we sail on, then moor
in another bay for the night, where we swim again, and
feast again, and ask again whether such luxury is not
indecent.
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