In search of the Great Mother Goddess

"I have seen the Hanging Gardens of ancient Babylon," wrote a traveller, Philon of Byzantium, "the statue of Olympian Zeus, the Colossus of Rhodes, the mighty work of the Pyramids and the tomb of Mausolus. But when I saw the temple of Artemis at Ephesus rising to the clouds, all these other wonders were put in the shade."

If you go today to the site of the temple of Artemis, it’s impossible to conjure up how it looked when it was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.  In a field on the outskirts of Selcuk a single reconstructed column rises out of a swampy reed-bed. It can only hint at the colossal size of the Artemision, a temple more than three times larger than the Parthenon and the first monumental building to be entirely constructed of marble.

We pick our way through a few battered marble fragments lying among the reeds, keeping a keen lookout for snakes. Water has submerged the rectangular excavation pit containing the temple’s foundation stones to create a pond inhabited by terrapins and a handful of white geese.  Despite the glaring midsummer sun a desolate atmosphere hangs over the site. Even the cicadas are silent. All that happened here has faded into obscurity, the generations of worshippers long gone.

Storks nesting at the top of the column

A few Turkish blokes lounging in the shade of a eucalyptus grove exhort us to buy a plastic model of the goddess Artemis.  The Ephesus version of Artemis is a strange figure with many breast-like protuberances (some experts say they’re actually bull’s testicles on her chest), quite unlike the great huntress worshipped in Greece. It’s obvious she’s a goddess of fertility.

Thankfully British archaeologists didn't find this statue or it'd be in the British Museum. Instead it's travelled one mile to the Selcuk museum which annoyingly is closed for refurbishment so we couldn't see her there in all her buxom glory.  We had to settle for this picture of her instead.

Artemis is the direct descendant of Cybele, the great Phrygian fertility goddess of Anatolia. Legend has it Cybele was the daughter of Gaia, the primordial Earth Mother.  The cult of Cybele was celebrated with festivals of orgiastic fertility rites which date from at least 1,000BC. So when wealthy King Croesus of Lydia decided to build a new temple on the site in 550BC, he was reluctant to break with tradition and rededicated the existing shrine to an Artemis that had all the characteristics of Cybele. 

Christianity finally brought an end to several centuries of Artemis worship when the temple was destroyed. Pondering on how these pagan goddesses evolved to suit new belief systems, it isn’t a stretch to imagine that the early Christians captured the old familiar pagan gods and reinvented them as saints. So the veneration of the Virgin Mary replaced the worship of Artemis. 

Historian John Freely thinks so. “Thus Ephesus is once again the site of a world famous shrine, with the Blessed Virgin now the object of veneration instead of Artemis, who herself replaced Cybele, the Phrygian deity who in turn developed from the far more ancient Anatolian fertility-goddess, the Great Earth-Mother, whose worship goes back to the beginning of civilization in Asia Minor.”

As we head back to the main road to catch the bus we think how sad it is that all this has gone. What is really depressing is the thought that the only goddesses we worship these days are the likes of Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian........what does that say about us?

Fridge Watch

A couple of days ago we were jolted from our afternoon torpor induced by the 36 degree heat by a loud bang. A yoghurt pot had blown its top off in the fridge when the carbon dioxide build-up inside got too much for it to hold. The temperature in the fridge hovers at a balmy 18 degrees. Regular visitors to Makarma know all about our obsession with the temperature in the fridge, known as 'fridge watch.'  The fridge compressor only works when the engine's on, not much use in a marina, despite plentiful supplies of electricity which could run a conventional compressor. The supercool backup maintains a 10 degree difference between the ambient temperature in the bilge (a cool 28 degrees) and inside the fridge. Not much use frankly in this heat.

Since then, we've been hiding 1.5litre bottles of water behind the frozen pizzas in the freezer cabinet of the local Migros supermarket. Go back 12 hours later to retrieve them and they're frozen solid. Perfect. The checkout girl raises an eyebrow or two but the barcode tells her to charge us the usual price. Putting them in the fridge works a treat. We don't have to start the engine, we get fresh cold water, a bit of ice for the G&T and the fridge stays below 15 degrees - and we haven't had any more explosions.

Except a phantom shopper thinks they're a good idea too and keeps buying them before us. Leighton refuses to be beaten. Last night he topped up the freezer just before Migros closed and this morning he went back again at 9am when it opened. Moments later he returned with three ice bottles and a triumphant smile on his face. 'We've beaten the water thief to it this morning - yay!'

A week of land cruising - Stage 2 to Turkey's Lake District

Catching a long distance bus is a great way to see the interior of Turkey. They're comfortable, cool and cheap. Our whole trip for the two of us there and back cost less than a single train ticket from Exeter to Bristol.

On the way to Pamukkale (see blogpost just before this one) we drove up the fertile Meander river valley past peach orchards, market gardens, fields of wheat and maize.  Now we're climbing 900 metres out of the valley floor into the mountains towards the Lake District. The first lake we reach is Aci Gol, Turkish for bitter lake. It's a brackish marsh edged with salt flats shimmering in the sun. This doesn't look promising. But when we come over the pass and wind our way down to Egirdir beside its eponymous lake, we smile with relief.

The view is amaaazing. The air is clear and the lake sparkles in the sun against the backdrop of mountains.  The small town of Egirdir lies in the shadow of Needle Mountain on a peninsular fortified by an old castle. A narrow causeway links the peninsular to Yesilada island to form a two kilometre long promontory that juts right out into the lake.

Trees are growing in the breakwater of the fishing harbour!

We've booked to stay at Charly's Pension which you reach by going through the gateway of this ruined castle on the peninsular. It turns out to be a great choice. It's an old Greek house beside the lake with loads of character and five fairly basic bedrooms.

Charly's Pension

The pension terrace has this magnificent view overlooking the lake with steps down to a small pebble beach.

Wow! The view from the terrace

Our bedroom has old oak panelling and a little balcony with this same view. Another stroke of good luck is the pension is sheltered from the breeze that got up every afternoon we were there.

The lake is 488 square kilometres in size. Crayfish, perch and carp are plentiful. Anywhere else it would be teeming with pleasure boats and its shores would be lined with watersports centres, apartments and hotels. Although it's conveniently placed half way between Cappadocia and Pamukkale, few tourists stop here and it's remarkably unspoiled.

Ripe for development?

A fishing boat is all there is to take these newlyweds out on the lake

We take dips in the lake, stroll round the island and generally enjoy the laidback atmostphere and comfortable temperatures.  It's a pleasant surprise to find that we need a duvet at night. One day we exert ourselves to go for a walk round a nearby national park with fellow guest Neesh, a Sri Lankan born civil engineer from Australia.

Neesh and Cathy lead the way through the woods

We sample the freshwater perch and on our last night, we make short work of a huge plate of crayfish.

Before.....

.......and after

The sun sets on another glorious day

We wanted to go up to Sagalossos, an impressive Psidian site in the mountains 75km away, but we didn't make it as there was no-one willing to share the trip cost with us. Never mind. When finally it's time to board the bus for the seven hour trip back to the boat in Kusadasi, we're sorry to leave but console ourselves with the thought that we'll be back one day.

Reluctant to drag ourselves away

A week of land cruising - Stage 1 to Pamukkale

We're taking a week's break from the boat and the heat on the coast to do some land cruising by bus. We've left the boat in the marina at Kusadasi and are going first to Pamukkale, then on to Egirdir in Turkey's Lake District. 

Seen from a distance Pamukkale (Cotton Castle in Turkish) looks like an unsightly scar of quarried rock set in the hillside. Get closer and an extraordinary sight unfolds. Layer upon layer of freshwater pools formed by the accumulation of white travertine limestone climb up the hill. Alkaline-rich warm water trickles down the hillside out of underground thermal springs and over thousands of years has deposited the limestone on the slopes to form these iconic pools.

The Romans discovered the place first. To enjoy the healthgiving waters here they built the spa city of Hierapolis, the remains of which can still be seen.

Entering Roman Hierapolis

Leighton inspects the Roman latrines

Tomb submerged in limestone

Pamukkale, now a World Heritage site, is still attracting visitors today - along with the Blue Mosque and Ephesus it's a must-see on most tourist intineraries.  These days they come by the coachload to swim in the constant 38 degrees of what's known as Cleopatra's pool, and paddle in the warm alka-seltzer water on the hillside.

Cleopatra's Pool

On advice from the people at the delightful Venus pension where we stayed, we arrived at the site late in the afternoon after most of the coaches have left. We started at the top of the hill to explore the extensive ruins of Hieropolis. Then it was off with our sandals at the crest of the hill to walk down among the travertine pools laid out below us.


Walking barefoot down the hill is a curious experience. The limestone is rough and ridged like the hard sand exposed on the beach at low tide.

In the pools, the water is like warm tea and sludgy grey mud squelches between your toes.

Leighton cools off in one of the pools

Everyone's supposed to walk down the same way to limit erosion from the hordes of visitors. Half way down, Cathy ignored the notices to keep to the path and took off up a slope to look at a formation of stalagtites she remembered from her last visit here in the 70s until an irate policeman whistled her back down.

This distant figure is Cathy going off-piste

The next day we took the dolmus to Karahayik, determined to see what Alison our friend from Finike described as a giant turd. Here it is.

Leighton holds his nose beside the giant 'turd'

The greenish brown mud here is supposed to be good for pretty much any ailment you can think of. Steaming hot water bubbles out of this revolting looking orifice and flows down into the mud baths. Bathers cover themselves in mud and leave it until it's caked dry before sluicing themselves down to get clean.



Somehow the idea of a mud bath didn't appeal - must be something to do with the sweltering sun.....or the disgusting sulphur smell.  We wimped out and cooled down in the pension swimming pool instead.

Honor visits and it blows like stink

The meltemi arrived the same day Honor landed at Izmir airport for a week’s holiday onboard.  No chance of the gentle day sails with a lunch stop at anchor we’d planned when the forecast is showing northerly force 6&7 all week, day and night.  Luckily Honor’s not an ultra keen sailor so she doesn’t mind that the boat’s staying firmly tied up in Teos marina.


Party time - we’re invited to join fellow boat owners at a marina concert celebrating the start of summer.


Sigacik (with Seferihisar) is proud to be the only slow food town in Turkey. The snail, emblem of citta slow, is a must-see landmark.  But why is it bright pink?

After a couple of days sitting by the pool, or at the local beach getting a sand facial in the wind, we hired a car and did a circuit up the little Meander valley and back to Selcuk returning along the coast road to Teos.

Our locally produced guidebook recommended visiting Tire, a village in the little Meander valley. It turned out to be nondescript warren of alleys lined with stalls selling tin buckets, shoes and garish jewellery - with no sign of the ‘cultural assets’ and local handicrafts of felt, clogs and quilts promised in the guide’s effusive description.


After sampling the local grape sherbet and watching a weaver on his loom in an old hamam, we pressed on for lunch at Sirince, a hilltown perched above Selcuk. Much better.

Lunch on shady terrace at Sirince

Sirince

Another day saw us cooling off at Ramo beach, close to Cesme. Although it faced south away from the wind, loads of whitecaps surfed past offshore.

Our unreliable guidebook suggested visiting Urla on the way. The town is allegedly the oldest olive oil workshop in the world with ‘a very Aegean ambience’. But somehow we couldn’t quite bring ourselves to stop and see if it was true or not. We went to Alacati instead and watched hundreds of windsurfers blasting back and forth across the lagoon before heading back home. The wind’s still howling in the rigging - oh dear.

Enjoying a meal out on our last evening together

An easy downwind sail?

Our destination - Teos Marina, Sigacik

When people say that sailing in the Med is unrewarding, they probably have in mind a day like today. We started out from Cesme with a gentle northwesterly. That’s good, the wind’s behind the beam for a change. We hoist the mainsail and unroll the genoa and manage a few easy downhill miles until we reach the south end of the Chios channel where the wind dies. We roll up the genoa and turn on the engine to get round the corner. On the other side, we’re heading southeast along a pretty beach on the south side of the Cesme peninsula. In the lee of the land, the wind’s now a pretty lacklustre affair, sometimes puffing up, sometimes dying. We motor on. At least the tillerpilot is doing the steering for us.

After ten miles or so the wind gets up a bit from astern. We turn off the engine and unroll the genoa but it refuses to fill behind the main. We haul it over to the other side to see if it’ll fly there but that doesn’t work either. We don’t think it’s a good idea to pole it out as it’s a bitch to get back in when it starts to get gusty. We roll up the genoa and go on under the main alone. We fit the preventer to stop us gybing as we’re sailing dead downwind.  The tillerpilot can’t be relied on in these conditions, so we set up the Aries windvane. But the wind blowing off the land changes direction all the time and our course begins to look like a drunken spider’s. Not good when we’re trying to make Teke Burun, the next headland. Leighton takes the helm instead.

On the approach to Teke Burun we’re on a sleigh ride with 20 knots up our stern. It gets to be hard work hanging on to the tiller. Not worth setting the Aries again as we’re almost there. We undo the preventer and gybe round the point. After that it’s just 10 miles to go to Teos across Sigacik Korfezi. Past the point the wind dies. On goes the engine again. Take out the windvane and set the tillerpilot again.

Half way across the bay, a fresh breeze pipes up at 60 degrees off the bow. I pop my head out of the companionway and seeing the strength of the wind, I ease the mainsheet, prompting the tillerpilot to seize up.  Leighton, who’s been finessing the thing to steer properly since the point goes below in a huff. I hand steer. It’s a good sailing breeze, but it takes two to unroll the genny, and I don’t dare ask Leighton for his help.

As we near Teos, the GPS log registers 5000 nautical miles. We can’t remember if that’s since we set out from Plymouth, or since we left Ayamonte. Given that today we’ve only managed 34 miles in 8 hours, it represents many hundreds of hours of slow travel out on the water. What an achievement!

Cooling off by the marina swimming pool

Cherries in season at Seferihisar market

Leighton on the trail of old artefacts at the temple of Dionysus at ancient Teos

Ayvalik - Greek ghost town

After a week at anchor and still no sign of the southerly wind abating, we head for the Setur Ayvalik marina for the weekend to top up the water tanks and have a much needed shower before heading off to explore the town of Ayvalik.  

Smart waterfront properties on the way to Ayvalik

Before the establishment of the Turkish republic, the market town of Ayvalik was a prosperous place of tanneries, mills and factories. In its heyday 20,000 people, mostly Greeks, lived here, working in 22 olive oil factories, 30 soap factories and 80 mills. 600 ships docked at its little port every year. All this commerce came to a grinding halt when the forced population exchange of the 1920’s sent the town's Greek residents to live in Crete, and Turks from Crete, Lesvos and Macedonia arrived to settle in Ayvalik.



The town has never recaptured its former importance although much of the old architecture of the town still remains. The streets behind the quay are lined with boarded up stone warehouses and factories, some with faded Greek lettering still visible over the door. The newly arrived Turks added a minaret to the Greek Orthodox churches to convert them to mosques.

The cobbled streets are steep and narrow, overlooked by typical Greek and ottoman style houses, now decaying gently, many of them empty. There’s very little sign of the sort of gentrification and development that’s taken place in Alacati. We liked the fact that it’s still a working town with very few airs and graces.


We didn't want to disturb this guy's siesta so we lug our bags of fresh provisions back to the marina on foot instead.  When we head back to our anchorage on Monday, we think - just maybe  - we can head south on Thursday.