Lightning forks into the sea, rain buckets down and a Force 6 wind whips up the water. A good time to find my first internet in 5 days and hide in the only bar on this harbour I'm camped at. Although I'm soon to leave Turkey I'm looking forward to being back here as this journey reaches it's end - such fine people!
Vaylak is about 40km from the Greek border. Been an interesting few days since I paddled off from Anzac Cove on 26/4. That was a blowy day too and obviously a somewhat emotional day. Both for my leaving but in the imagining of the arrival of the Anzacs on this same beach 99 years ago. After packing (everything fitted - yay!), photos, a last few calls including of course to the gorgeous and incomparable Wendy, and enjoying the company of a group of Kiwi kayakers on a Anzac week tour, I gave Marco and Elena one last big hug and set off;
mediterr année had begun! Elena presented me with a little shell from the beach, instructing me to put it back when I returned in 12 months. Those 2 are such beautiful people and a key part of the project. I hope to see them again in 69 days for Elena's 40th - in Croatia perhaps?
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| return this shell next year......... |
Geez it felt good to be paddling! Many people enquire how I train for such a trip? Here's a little secret. This was my first paddle for over 4 months. Well you know; other stuff sort of gets in the way! On the job training is always best eh?
The first few days were interesting to say the least. After a couple of hours I rounded a headland to face a strong nor'easter full in the face. Struggled on for a couple of hours before camping on the rocky beach with a patch of grass just large enough for my tent. The Nemo Obi tent, home for the next year, went up and the all important first brew of the journey was poured into the faithful mug (see Blog entry below). I stayed put here for the next 40 hours or so. Day 2 presented strong headwinds which would have seen me unlikely to move. However during that first night I woke with an unbearable need to pee. When it did it was like doing it through the proverbial razor blades; Bloody painful! And on it went all night, along with chills and shivering. I assumed a Urinary Tract Infection and texted (Dr) Trevor, a good mate of mine (who'd recently been in Sicily with me) for advice. Got straight onto the antibiotics and then lay utterly wasted for the next 24 hours. Even getting to a kneeling position outside the tent for a razor pee took 30 mins of build up!
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| Camp 1 (and 2!!) |
Day 3, 28/4 felt a bit better, still weak, but the wind had dropped so, like an old man, I packed slowly and headed along a beautiful coast in grey conditions with heavy rain at times. Wind, sickness, rain - nothing like getting some contrary doses early on! Apart from a few fishing shacks it was just cliffs and a couple of beaches. Not wanting to overdo it, I pulled up to camp at 4-30pm or so, beneath an old concrete sentry box; another reminder of the battleground this whole peninsula was 100 years ago. I had no appetite but forced a small amount of pasta down and a cup of tea, knowing I needed some energy.
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| 'I'm paddling in the rain.....' |
Day 4, 29/4 and the sea was calm, the sun was out and, as I popped my head out of the tent, a pod of a dozen or so porpoises frolicked offshore. I took it as a good omen and, despite having no weather forecast, decided to beeline it straight across to the north side of the Gulf of Saroz - some 12km - rather than go deeper into the gulf; a move that would save me some 50km or so. Fortune (sometimes) favours the brave and I did my first open crossing of the trip in good conditions only to see a strong wind (Force 5) whistle up within an hour of my crossing. Now I continued paddling in choppy waves amongst impressive cliffs interspersed with long beaches peppered with clusters of deserted holiday homes. Ghost towns for 8 months of the year. But there were enough people around......I'd spoken to no-one in the past 3 days but now, like the earlier rains, there came a deluge.
Yusuf, town planner at the local government, called me in from the jetty he was supervising building at Erikli. With black trenchcoat 2 sizes too small he cut an interesting figure in the wind and sand. Soon a small crowd had gathered, each wanted a photo, each proffered help in some way. The most useful was the weather forecast. Finally they pushed me back off the beach but I'd only gone half and hour when I heard a horn beeping madly. I looked over my shoulder to see a car bouncing down a dirt track, the driver hanging out of the window beckoning me in.
At first I thought it was the Turkish Police, caught up to me before I paddle across the border. So you cross a border in a kayak; you are not a registered craft like a yacht, nor are you using normal channels of entry. In the hotel at Cannakale one guy enquired whether I heard about the guy shot by Greek police for trying to cross in a 'small boat' recently; they thought he was a refugee or some such like.... Following this I did make some calls to Greek police and they are waiting for me to arrive in Alexandopoulos!
The car pulled up, a young man ran onto the beach followed by his father. As I hit the sand, the young man tried deftly to hand me a large glass jar whilst trying to keep his shoes dry. I climbed out to greet them and the 1kg of honey that was their gift. The father, Erhmet, explained in mixed Turkish, Italian and German that they'd seen me paddle by earlier and chased me down to wish me well and provide a gift. He had a tear in his eye; perhaps it was the wind....
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| Random acts of kindness |
So I now have enough honey for the rest of the paddle (Danien/Dennis - I hope you'll perform a random act of kindness with some Bundanoon Bush Honey......) and I'm going to need more space than my kayak has if it goes on like this. As I type away, Yildiray, the owner of this bar has taken to Google Translate to show me messages 'If ever you need help; call us' 'If you are cold in the tent tonight, you are welcome to sleep here' and finally 'you will always remember us' accompanied by a Seahorse shell to take with me!
I certainly sense the strong bond between the Turks and Australians, expressed to me a number of times and borne out of that time as enemies at Gallipoli when respect for each nation grew amongst the carnage. I wonder how well they know their flags? I'd forgotten to pick an Aussie one up but thought, with stories of border insecurity etc, showing my colours seemed not a bad thing. So, in the ANZAC spirit of cooperation, one of the Kiwi paddlers gifted me his flag. So a Kiwi flag now flutters on the back of the kayak. So when I say I'm from Oz who will be first to ask why I've a NZ flag?!
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| The ANZAC spirit of cooperation |
The forecast is better tomorrow but now....... bira clock......
