Turquoise delight

A week at sea with a bunch of strangers could be some people's idea of hell. But how bad can it be when you're sailing the Turquoise Coast with a cooler crammed full of booze and a chef who feeds you like royalty? Andrew Gilchrist rides the crest of a wave.

We were about two miles out of Fethiye harbour when the captain stuck his head out of the bridge, felt the seawind whistle past his ears and, as the morning sun poured down like silver across the tips of the waves, gave the order we had all been waiting for: "Sail!"

He cut the engine and Mustafa and Mehmet, the youngest and most energetic members of the Grandi I's four-man crew, jumped up on to the sundeck and leapt into the air, grabbing the ropes above our heads and yanking them down, each new thud hoisting the giant middle sail a yard further up the mast.

Within minutes the sails were all up - 400sq m of brilliant white tarpaulin that caught first the sunlight then the wind. Jibs were secured, knots were tied, loose crockery was put away, drinks were finished and then suddenly, as if rousing herself from a deep sleep, the Grandi I gave one last lazy pitch forward - and took off across the waves.

This was the fifth day of our week-long cruise around the Turquoise Coast, the sun-baked southwestern shores of Turkey that once housed the ancient independent kingdom of Lycia, and it wasn't the first time Captain Ümit had raised the sails. But we'd never had a wind as fast as this.

The Grandi I - a sleek, 29m, 100-ton yacht - swayed from side to side like a drunk as she ploughed through the waves at an exhilarating 10 knots, turning passengers into human pinballs as we tried to serve ourselves lunch or raced to nab the best seat in the house: the bowsprit, or beam overhanging the front, where every movement of the boat was magnified, every spray-lashed second breathtaking.

I was one of nine passengers who had come aboard the Grandi I, one of a fleet of seven yachts, at a quiet cove near Marmaris, a large developed resort whose intricate, bazaar-strewn backstreets have been all but eclipsed by the sprawl of concrete. After dumping our bags in the mahogany-lined cabins belowships, it was shoes and socks off and up on to the aftdeck for champagne with the captain, who spread out a well-worn map of the waters we would be navigating, and the ports we would visit.

Spending a week in a confined space with a handful of strangers might be some people's idea of hell. Cynics may find it hard to believe but Tussock, the people who organise these cruises, insist their groups always get along, as they take great care in ensuring a good mix: singles, couples, whatever, whoever, so long as they're likely to gel. They even take pop stars, and have performed weddings at sea. Our group, a not-exactly-shy bunch of twenty-, thirty- and fortysomethings, seemed to hit it off right away; but maybe it's not that hard to break the ice when the needle's nearing 90, the cooler's crammed with booze, everyone's on holiday, the Med's your oyster and there's a daily excursion to look forward to.

Despite the occasional burst of speed with the sails hoisted, mornings and early afternoons were mostly given over to taking it easy. We'd rise whenever we wanted, tease whoever had overdone it the most the previous night, help each other smear on the factor 16, then ooh and aah over what new treat Selahattin, our cook, had prepared for breakfast. One day it was chopped apple in light yogurt, another day banana slices doused with dark honey still dripping from the comb - always fresh, always delicious, always different and always served up with feta cheese, eggs, olives, nuts, sliced tomatoes and Turkish coffee so thick you could barely get the spoon in.

No one, we were told, loses weight on these cruises, despite the fact that the moment the Grandi I dropped anchor anywhere we'd cool off with a plunge into the clear blue waters, and the crew would look out the ship's canoeing, windsurfing and snorkelling equipment for us to go up and down quiet coves making noisy nuisances of ourselves.

Selahattin used to be a fisherman, in the days when these waters still had plenty of fish. But now, as we discovered on a shopping excursion to Fethiye, tourists are the main catch. "My friend, my friend," we heard constantly as we strolled past the bars, cafés, restaurants, carpet stores and sweet shops that make up this pleasant town. "Come in, yes please. Where you from?"

I stopped off at a simple store for a box of Turkish delight - not the jellied variety dusted with sugar, but the rolls of curled-over candy steeped in rose water and dotted with pistachio nuts that come in flavours like banana, fig or chocolate, and have to be snipped into slices with scissors. "Glasgow?" said the shopkeeper when I told him where I was from. "See you, Jimmy!" he growled, then named some pubs in the city centre before pulling a cross-eyed face and saying: "Get oot ma road ya wee bampot!"

If it was a gimmick, it was a pretty good one and, before I knew it, I was sitting on a chair in the middle of the shop, drinking apple tea and being introduced to his family. Fifteen minutes later, I left laden with four boxes of Turkish delight, five pots of crushed-nut honey, a cup with the tail of a fish for a handle, a bright blue-and-yellow ashtray, a stone turtle, and a huge, elaborately hand-painted plate. He named a price and I paid it, lacking the strength and the nous to haggle, as is expected. It was still early evening when I headed back to the boat, but over my shoulder I could see him excitably shutting up shop, possibly for the rest of the month.

Our first big excursion had, by contrast, been to ancient ruins in Letoon and Xanthos, the heartland of ancient Lycia. Situated near the southern port of Kas, both sites are a great introduction to the rich history that ancient Lycia and its environs boast (despite the fact that much of what was uncovered here in the 1800s was plundered for Britain). For thousands of years, these Turkish shores were the stage for invading armies and ancient civilisations: Luwians, Hurians, Ionians, Trojans, Carians, Lycians and Persians.

In 540BC, the people of Xanthos, finding their city surrounded by Persian troops, gathered up all their belongings and formed them into a giant funeral pyre. The women and children died in the flames, the men perished fighting. Only eight families, who had been away, survived. Then in 42BC, during the Roman civil war, Brutus besieged Xanthos and the citizens put their city to the torch all over again.

My favourite character, however, was the Persian King Xerxes, who had plenty of style but little luck. In 479BC, he followed the progress of his army at the sea battle of Salamis from a throne of gold placed on a hilltop. His forces were four times more powerful than their Greek opponents but still he watched helpless as his ships sank one by one. "My men have fought as women," he said, "and my women have fought as men."

Then, half a century later, there was King Mausoleus who, to keep power in his family, married his sister, Artemisia II. And so happy was she in this union that, every day after his death, she drank a glass of wine containing a sprinkling of his ashes.

The daily excursions are all voluntary but there was one trip everyone signed up for: the hamam, or Turkish bath. Off we went, towels round our middles, legs like lava lamps thanks to badly applied suncream, each emerging into the humidity of the rounded marble bath chamber.

At the centre of the hamam is the naval stone, a raised platform heated from below. On this we lay, as a masseur scrubbed us up and down with a kese (abrasive mitt), sloshed us with hot water, then produced a large white cotton bag into which he popped six bars of soap. This was dipped in warm water, blown into, then held tightly shut and pushed down over whoever was on the slab, causing an explosion of lather that was then massaged in. Just as I was getting the treatment, a Turkish bloke in the corner began a chant so low and penetrating it seemed to come from the marble itself. As the tiny bubbles of lather popped in my ears, it felt like I was drifting off on a magic carpet.

We had eaten ashore the day before, at an attractive little port called Kalkan, taking the biggest table in a seafood restaurant overlooking the white walls of the harbour reddenning in the twilight. But, after the hamam, we ate back onboard the Grandi I, skin still tingling as Selahattin fried up the sea bream we'd seen him descaling that afternoon, and served it with the usual 1001 delicacies - cous cous, bulgur wheat, fried pancake rolls stuffed with cheese and parsley, goulash, carrot yogurt, artichokes with garlic - dishes that were probably as mundane and everyday to him as a cheese-and-pickle sandwich is to us. But we fell upon them and felt like royalty.

In true Mediterranean fashion, it was over the food and drink that our group really came together. By day we'd split up into smaller groups; then, later, we'd reassemble around the long table on the aftdeck of the Grandi I, experiencing the richness of Turkey through the dishes before us. And, as the wine flowed and the captain put on Turkish music or let us play our own, we would open up to each other more and more.

We had started the week as strangers. But now - after excursions up the labyrinthine Dalyan River to the tombs of the Lycian kings engraved in a cliff; after smearing ourselves in the skin-cleansing, grey-green mud from a warm sulphurous spring; after being tossed about in the waves at Patara Beach, one of the Med's longest; after sitting up talking, drinking and laughing around the dinner table till the small hours, then staggering off to sleep on the sundeck beneath the stars - we were as easy in each other's company as old friends.

And beneath us, on that last night on the Turquoise Coast, was our other new friend - that giant timber cradle gently rocking us to sleep, the Grandi I.

The practicals

Tussock cruising (www.tussockcruising.com) offers one week's cruising starting from £331, including breakfast, lunch, dinner (four dinners in the course of the week) and all drinks. Flights not included. Passengers can book individually or charter a yacht with a group of friends, for one, two or three weeks. Themed cruises are available (eg. nature, archaeology). IN May, June and October, four can travel for the price of three. For a brochure call 020 8510 9292 or email tussockcruisinguk@compuserve.com.