Full fathoms five thy secrets lie
Turkey may have changed but the sea recalls its history, writes Paul Ash.
This is the sound of a Turkish dawn: the cry of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer, dogs barking and the thud of a mechanical digger breaking rock in a new housing development. The Sultan A, a 28m gulet of distinctly Turkish provenance, swings sweetly on anchor. The bay is called Gündogan, not particularly noteworthy as a historic port — or even as a modern one, for that matter — but it is typical of the Turkish west coast. Slightly dishevelled, cows grazing in plots between the houses, cats prowling the waterfront for handouts from the fishing boats, and new developments sprawling up the hillsides. The rock breaker aside, it felt like little had changed for a thousand years.
The Turkish coast belongs to the sailors and merchantmen of history. Some of the harbours, like Bodrum, once known as Halicarnassus and the Sultan A’s home port, have had Roman galleys and Persian warships moor in their bays.
The thudding of feet on the deck above suggests that the crew are preparing the Sultan A for departure. Indeed, the sun is barely over the hills before the decks begin to quiver beneath our feet as the engines turn over. As we eat breakfast, the anchor is weighed and skipper Bekir Karakus takes the Sultan A to sea. We round the headland into a sea the colour of lapis lazuli, appropriate since the stone was greatly prized among the early traders on this coast.
Today we will motor slowly up the coast, anchor in some quiet bay for lunch and a swim and maybe go ashore in the afternoon to see the remains of a lost city.

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