Live just like a king on the truly grand Grandi

WATCHING the sun set from our vantage point on an Anatolian hillside, I realised with a sudden shock that as far as the eye could see there was no sign of human life.

Not a house, farm, anima1, car or even a road. Only our boat in the bay below broke the vast panorama of deep blue water, curving inlets and pine-clad coastal hilIs stretching to the shadowy outline of the island of Kos 20 miles distant. Only by sea can one somewhere so remote. My companion John and I had joined the sailing cruise round the coast of Turkey run by the Dutch firm Tussock, on boats carrying between six and eighteen passengers.
On ours, Grandi I, ten mahogany-panelled double cabins with tiled shower rooms next door, a central lounge- cum-galley-cum-wheelhouse and an afterdeck neatly fitted into her 27m length. To look after the l4 of us was a crew of five, of which only the captain and the cook failed to join the frenzied few minutes of activity that saw her four square metres of sail hoisted up masts of 2lm and 24m respectively.
Grandi I was made almost entirely of wood, from mahogany and pine to the teak deck, warm and absolutely smooth, on which going barefoot was not only enjoyable but compulsory.
‘We came knowing what to expect,’ said radiographer Alison Maw, there with her company director husband Brian, from Clitheroe, Lancashire. ‘Brian’s very into sailing.’
But you don’t have to be a sailor to enjoy life on board. Another of our group, Brian Beaumand, a former Merchant Navy officer and then director of an engineering company, decided to come at the last minute. ‘I thought it would be something different,’ he said.
It took no time at all to sink into a sybaritic life of constant attention, delicious food and idle lolling in the sunshine — average daily temperature 32c — with a glass of wine to hand whenever one wanted it.
AFTER our first breakfast —filter coffee, sliced melon, oranges, tomatoes, cheese and hard-boiled eggs, bread bought fresh that morning, yoghurt and honey — Captain Ümit brought out his chart to explain where we would be going that morning.
‘The first one-and-a-half hours will be by motor,’ he told us, ‘to save lengthy tacking. Then — after we turn here — we go by sail.’ It was clearly a morning for stretching out on the bright blue sun mattresses on the sun deck above. Most days we anchored in a small bay, climbing down a ladder attached to the boat’s side to swim in the clear water.
Meals were eaten at a long refectory table running sideways across deck at the back, under a bright blue awning pulled back later for sunning. In the evenings, we would sometimes sit in the central glazed cabin — half- seating area, half-galley kitchen and wheelhouse. One morning we went to a market where, apart from fruit and vegetables, the best buy was spices of all sorts and, surprisingly, shorts and cotton trousers. We lunched afterwards at a little restaurant nearby, which was festooned with morning glory and bougainvillea.

We ate delicious Turkish hors d’oeuvres of stewed aubergines, courgettes cooked in pureed tomato, followed by a beef stew served on cracked wheat. Another day we went on an expedition to an archeological site, driving up olive-planted hills where small black goats leaped out of our path. Down in the fertile valleys, peasant women in white headscarves tended wheat, tobacco and cotton, their donkeys tethered under trees. In the villages, old men in shirtsleeves sat on chairs in circles in the shade.

In lasso, a small narrow bay like a finger, with fishing boats moored around it and eucalyptus and oleanders flanking the shore, the ruins of a major temple of Zeus lie in a grove, swallows swooping among taIl columns and tumbled masonry.
Another day brought an expedition to Heraklia, the source of the legend of Endymion and Selene — the story of the shepherd boy with whom the moon goddess fell in love to see the 5th-century BC temple of Artemis set in groves of olives.

ONE evening we anchored in the secluded bay of Colentme. Driving up past pale, blonde, feathery wild oats and low stone walls that fenced in rocky fields studded with pale blue beehives or olive groves, we came to a hilltop viIlage of whitewashed houses where mules picked their way down steep, stony paths.

Here, we ate in a house belonging to the family of one of our crew, sitting cross-legged on a flower-strewn verandah. There was a fuIl moon glinting through a tracery of leaves as stewed aubergines, spinach and ricotta pancakes, chicken salad and chips were brought out by the children of the house. After dinner there was dancing to a violin, mandolin and a toadstool-like drum, held between the knees, played by three of the village men. Next day we sailed to another little bay - deserted except for one other boat - tying up to one of the pines so that we could spend an hour swimming before lunch. Stuffed peppers and aubergines with a yoghurt and garlic sauce were served as we glided gently away under sail.
As the days passed, board games after dinner became increasingly popular. A regular Scrabble scool quickly formed; others played Articulate and the steady-handed went in for Jenga, a game which is played with lengths of wood that gradually build up into a tower. My favourite was Rummykub, known in Turkey as Okey, played with numbered counters to build up sequences and three or four of a kind that link together in a complicated pattern until, eventually, someone is able to win by discarding all their counters.
So what about the downside to such a holiday? If there is a good breeze, anyone susceptible to seasickness could feel queasy (the stablest place, incidentally, is at the back of the boat above the motor). Be careful, also, not to take too much with you. In cabins measuring a mere two metres square, storage space is at a premium.
But then, with most days spent in a swimsuit, all you need in addition is a hat, one pair each of shorts and trousers, some T-shirts, underwear, a cardigan for occasional cooler evenings and a long-sleeved shirt to protect you from the fierce sun during expeditions. Itineraries are flexible depending on wind and passengers' preferences; in all, there are 11 different routes over a sailing area of 310 nautical miles.
On the last day, instead of Captain Ümit's briefing, we looked at the visitors' book, with its ecstatic letters from children. One heartfelt comment struck home. 'I felt like a king this week - never heard "no" or "not possible".' How different, alas, from the real world.