A Mile Down (6 page)

I stayed in the engine room with the mechanic and helped him drain thick white soup from the oil pan. Then we removed the injectors and cranked each engine with a bar on the flywheel to pump out white froth at high pressure. It went all over the engine room. I didn't even care about the mess. Saltwater in the engines was the worst possible thing we could do to them, and I'd need to rely on these engines for years. I was aware that I had behaved like a child, screaming like that, but I was so afraid. I had borrowed so much money for this boat. I had no safety net.

For the next twelve days, I was at the boat from 7
A.M.
until midnight. We finished the bathrooms with white and green tile, household-style toilets, and even a bit of varnished trim on the cabinet doors. I was pleased with how they turned out.

For the floors in the staterooms and hallways, Seref found some cheap wood laminate. He didn't consult with me beforehand. I came up on deck one afternoon, after working in the engine room, and found a huge pile of the stuff already brought onboard. I didn't have time to fight for anything else.

Seref and I didn't exactly make peace after the incident with the engines. We just moved on. There was too much to do. We spent a lot of time with the young guy who was building the air-conditioning units. We weren't going to have them for the first charter, but he would meet us in Gocek and install them in the twenty-four hours between charters.

The ceilings took more time than I would have thought. Seref had shallow grooves cut in cheap, quarter-inch ply to mimic planking. This was inserted between braces in each ceiling section, then painted white, and it actually looked good. The contrast between the dark varnished mahogany beams and the white planked spaces looked rich. No one would ever know.

The compass I had shipped from the States was broken, and because it was specialized, with magnetic arms to compensate for the steel hull, I was unable to find a replacement. I would have to order another one, which meant I would have no compass for this twenty-four-hour trip to Antalya and the first few charters, perhaps even the entire summer. The Turkish crew was nervous about this. They had never been underway at night, or for twenty-four hours non-stop, and now they would have to do it without a compass. They told me it couldn't be done.

“Relax,” I told them. “It sucks, but a compass isn't necessary.”

At the end of our twelve days in Bodrum harbor, we had a long list of unfinished items. Seref would bring a construction crew to Gocek. But for now, at least we were seaworthy and the systems were running.

When we cast off, the other crews in the fleet were happy to see us go. We had been an inconvenience, and everyone knew we weren't Turkish-flagged, either, and shouldn't have been allowed here. We left feeling remarkably relieved. The worst part was behind us.

THE MEDITERRANEAN WAS like a lake, almost flat calm, the moonlight reflected in thousands of tiny crescents. And it was warm. No other boats whatsoever. Not one other boat sailing or motoring at night on that entire coast.

As daybreak neared so did the land, and with first light we could see mountains. The Turkish crew were able to steer again. I tried to point out that, in terms of a visual reference, having a mountain off the port bow was really no different than having the moon or stars off the port bow, but they weren't convinced. They resented not having a compass.

The sunrise was spectacular, coming up pink and orange just as we passed between tall cliffs on the port side and a jagged island to starboard, with pinnacles before and after. The gap was narrow, only about a hundred feet. I woke Nancy and she came up to see. We went to the bow, to the teak platform above the bowsprit. We were gliding above glassy, pink water, the cliffs and island pink rock dotted with olive trees, the air warm. This was paradise.

We arrived in a harbor outside Antalya at about 9
A.M.
By the time my lone passenger arrived in his taxi, we had the boarding ladder down and the salt washed off the boat, everything clean and ready. Our first charter. It felt so disappointing to run the first charter for one person, but I couldn't cancel because it was a new course for Stanford Summer Session, offering undergraduate units, and at least Kevin was a former student of mine and completely likeable. He was extremely bright, charming, and well-traveled for a twenty-year-old. He had spent a lot of time in Yemen, and as we sailed back along the coast toward our first anchorage, he told great stories about the tall, skinny houses and the drug that everyone smokes. Apparently the entire country is hooked on a local drug that the rest of the world isn't interested in. So nothing ever really gets done in Yemen, and the land is still divided into tribal territories. To cross the country, you have to meet with each local tribal chief to pass through his land.

Nancy and I were excited because this was a new part of the coast for us. We were going to anchor in a tiny bay we'd heard about just west of the ruins of Olympos. We went forward to the bow with Kevin while Ercan steered and Muhsin and Baresh prepared lunch. We chatted and laughed, and it felt as if the good part of the summer were beginning, the good part, even, of our lives. We had many years in beautiful places to look forward to, with smart and interesting guests.

Our anchorage was magnificent. Steep mountains on either side, two small islands at the narrow entrance, and a low saddle beyond the inside shore, leading to another lovely bay. No habitations, no other boats, just this beautiful place all to ourselves. We dropped anchor in the center and I backed within about thirty feet of a white cliff, then Baresh jumped into the water with our stern line tied around his waist. He climbed to an outcropping, tied us off, and dove back in. It all went very smoothly.

Because of Kevin's good company, the ease of running a charter for one guest, and the spectacular coves and ruins, this charter was almost entirely a pleasure. There were some problems developing with the boat, however. The caulking on deck was coming loose, for instance. Within a week, there was one section on the starboard side, near the boarding ladder, that I could actually pull out for almost a foot.

Grendel's
deck caulking had been twenty years old and showed no signs of this. One afternoon Ercan and I inspected the deck thoroughly and found loose seams from the bow all the way back to the poop deck on the stern. It was all coming up.

I waited until Nancy and Kevin went for a paddle in the kayaks and called Seref on Ercan's cell phone.

Seref didn't want to believe it. “This cannot be true,” he said. “There is some other problem. The Cekomastik does not come up like this.”

I asked Seref to replace the seams in Gocek, between charters, and this became a daily fight over the phone, without progress. He had the advantage of time. If he delayed long enough on anything he didn't want to do or didn't want to do my way, I'd have to accept his solution in the end, because I had these charters to run and then I was leaving for Mexico.

We arrived in Gocek at the end of our first charter, said goodbye to Kevin, and greeted Seref and the construction crew. They had brought a lot of materials and equipment with them, including the AC units, the roller-furling and sail, and the marine plywood and mahogany, but they hadn't brought anything to recaulk the deck.

I pulled Seref aside to walk down the dock while the men unloaded everything. The waterfront in Gocek is lovely, the small town tucked into the head of a large bay with dozens of forested islands and a mountain rising directly behind it. The late morning was sunny and hot.

“You must understand, David,” Seref said. “I don't make any money on this boat. I take nothing. When it is all finished, you give me some commission, what you think is right. But I don't take any money now. All is for the boat.”

I listened to this and knew it was crap. He was getting a commission every time I bought a nail or a piece of wood.

“I don't make any money on this boat,” he said. “I build it like it is my boat. I try to do everything right.”

“I appreciate your efforts,” I said. “But the deck caulking should last at least twenty years. This deck caulking lasted about a week. So it has to be replaced. And I'm not going to pay. I already paid for caulking the deck.”

“David, really you push too much. I cannot do this. Where do I get the money for this?”

“I don't care,” I said. “Just do it.”

We walked on without speaking for a while, then Seref said, “You do not know me.”

I didn't respond. I actually liked Seref, and this was difficult for me. I didn't like to push, but I had to answer to my lenders. It didn't make sense to pay for the deck twice on a new boat. Seref was going to have to fix it.

Talvi, the poet who would be teaching the writing workshop during this charter, arrived in the evening, followed by Steve, a friend I had invited on the trip for free. As long as the trips were nearly empty and still had to be run, I could easily invite a friend.

The two of them were thrilled to be in Turkey. They had dinner with Nancy while I kept working on the boat.

In the morning, we had just enough time to clean up from the construction projects, unload all of the workmen and their tools, and finish provisioning. We had only two paying guests: a friend of mine named Cristal and her friend Jen. Both were getting discounts, so there were no guests paying full fare.

Just before we left, I called Amber in California. I was actually pulling in some new loans despite everything, but I wasn't keeping up with my bills. The loans were only $10,000 to $20,000 at a time now. It was a week into August, and so far I had accumulated about $450,000 in private loans, far more than I had thought I would need for the entire project. That didn't count the $125,000 I owed on just my one Stanford American Express card, which would soon shut down because even with a 120-day grace period and juggling my three other AmEx cards, I wouldn't be able to pay enough of the balance.

I had to survive until the middle of October, two months away, for John's loan. On my last round of bill-paying the week before, I'd had long phone conversations with AmEx reps, explaining the situation regarding the balance on my Stanford AmEx card. I was running trips for Stanford Continuing Studies, and yes, I would be able to repay the amounts, but no, I didn't have the funds yet. I was running this whole travel program, and I needed to have the cash to keep the trips going. What I told them was true, but I also didn't emphasize that I was on my own in this business—that if things went bad, Stanford wasn't going to bail me out. These were my own losses I was taking, not Stanford's.

In addition to being behind on AmEx bills and behind on money for construction, I was also running short on cash for operating the charters. I needed more diesel, but I didn't have the money. I would probably run out before the end of this charter, so I needed to come up with a solution soon.

We motored into the bay and anchored at Cleopatra's Baths. It was sunny and bright, pine trees reaching down to where ruins lay submerged in about ten feet of water. We snorkeled and swam around the ruins. I enjoyed it but felt preoccupied.

I found some solace hanging out with my friend Steve. He played harmonica and had interesting tales from his few days in Turkey. He had been told by a taxi driver, for instance, that the current tomato glut was Monica Lewinsky's fault. “I know, I know,” he said. “It sounds strange. But here's how it works.” He was doing these exaggerated gestures with his hands, cutting them up and down through the air, clearing the way for a story, holding his harmonica in one hand. It was late in the day, before dinner, and we had the forward deck to ourselves. “Clinton's embarrassed about the whole Monica Lewinsky thing, so to divert attention, he flies to Kosovo. This makes Americans think more about Kosovo, so they decide not to travel to places like Turkey, so no one is eating in the tourist restaurants, and the restaurants stop buying tomatoes. So now there's a giant tomato glut and the price has fallen and farmers are going out of business. It's all Monica's fault.”

I also found solace with Nancy. We went kayaking in the evenings.

“I could ask my dad,” she said. “He might give you a loan.”

“No,” I said. “It would be better to avoid that, don't you think?”

“I'll just ask,” she said. “It can't hurt.”

I thought it was a terrible idea, but I didn't say no again. I was that desperate. I had to at least consider any possibility.

Our next stop was Fethiye, where we toured local ruins. We climbed two hundred stone steps to a Lycian cliff tomb overlooking the harbor, and as we stood in the shade of this ancient monument, our guide told us that Alexander the Great had wanted to take this town but couldn't. Something about the narrow harbor or the prowess of the local militia. So one of Alexander's generals, Amyntas, sent a bunch of soldiers into town disguised as musicians, their weapons hidden in their instruments. Once inside, the soldiers played a memorable little ditty and opened the city to Alexander, who left Amyntas behind to govern.

I liked these tales. It was always hard to know how much was truth and how much was local myth, fabricated over time, like the stories Seref was telling me, but they were certainly entertaining.

We drove in a minivan through town and then along a highway through a great valley, chatting and enjoying the landscape. We crossed into another valley and climbed, finally, into foothills and stopped at Tlos, which became my favorite site that summer.

Tlos sits on a rocky bluff rising from the Xanthos valley. It has Lycian tombs carved on its lower faces, including one with Bellerophon riding Pegasus, probably a tomb for royalty, some of whom claimed descent from Bellerophon. Above these are house tombs cut deep into the rock and a few sarcophagi standing on the more level area. The acropolis at the top of the bluff is mostly Ottoman, from as late as the nineteenth century. The view from here is idyllic. High mountains behind, snowcapped even in summer, forested foothills, and a broad, fertile valley leading to the sea, holding the ruins of Xanthos, Patara, and Letoon. Truly one of the most beautiful places any of us had ever seen.