Wonderful morning, but a thoroughly grim start for Elaine, who had yet to get her sea-legs. I had tried to get her up on deck in time for the gulet weighing anchor at 06.00 and setting sail. Didn’t happen, so she was more or less trapped downstairs in a hot cabin and with smell of diesel coming through porthole – and was profoundly seasick and disoriented. Not much I could do, except drop now in and offer words of comfort.
On deck, all was considerably calmer, with Kati wrapped in her duvet on the cushions in the stern – and I watched the captain and other members of the crew trail a long line astern, adorned with various lures in the shape of fish and tentacled and tentacled organisms like squid. But they came up empty-handed.
Things improved for her when we docked in Kaş – and went in pursuit of the ancient Greek theatre and a very special tomb. Last time we were there, the tomb was in a dreadful mess despite being supervised by an old woman who sat nearby. This time it was much cleaner – and Elaine found a tortoise in the vegetation behind it. Later we walked back through the town, before heading back to the boat for dinner. The food is wonderful, perfect for we pesky, piscatorial vegetarians – and we are also beginning to run up a modest bar bill, with Efes beer and Angora red wine.
Am beginning to work through the truckload of books I brought with me, including Martin Wolf’s brilliant new book, The Shifts and the Shocks. A bracing reminder, despite Francis Fukuyama’s earlier book The End of History and the Last Man, of just how the historical the times are that we are now living through. [NOTE on 11 October: I have just bought Fukuyama’s new book, Political Order and Political Decay, and am looking forward to seeing how his thinking has evolved.]
And then, at some point, I had one of those moments of panic that have been such a regular feature of my life. When we got back to the docked boat I found that I had left my haversack somewhere, with binoculars and, critically, my passport.
A slightly tense evening as we tried to work out where I could have left the bag: in museums, taxis or restaurants. But I guessed that I might have tucked it under the seat in front on the minibus. It is black and probably faded into the shadows.
In Andrew’s shore-leave absence, dear Kati helped by getting the crew to call the minibus firm, but the driver was home for the night. Next morning, though, the minibus, its driver and the knapsack all returned, to pick up for the next leg of the journey.