It has been a blessing to spend part of 2020 on a sailboat instead of in quarantine–or worse, in a COVID-19 hospital ward. More than a million people are dead of the virus. To have been able to isolate onboard Flying Fish during this health crisis was a privilege that I did not take for granted. Flying Fish is grounded for now. My Turkish visa expired, requiring that I leave the country. The European Union, which controls most of the remaining Mediterranean coastline, is closed to visitors with U.S. passports. I cannot sail onward to Greece, Italy, France, or Spain until the virus is under control. Going forward during this time of politics and pandemic will require creative navigation at a date unknown. For now, it provides solace to look back at 2020 aboard Flying Fish.
Coastline
Isolation during the time of COVID was essential. Often, this quiet time alone was also euphoric. As I sailed along the Türk Rivierası, also known as the Turquoise Coast, it was my personal objective each day to seek out something positive. There was joy in the simplicity of a quiet anchorage. Where mountains met the sea I was utterly absorbed by the power of the Mediterranean landscape. Isolation in nature, I learned, has its own healing efficacy.
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Ruins
At every anchorage on the Turkish Mediterranean coastline there is evidence of ancient civilization. The ruins are a reflection of the greatness, the fallibility, the faith, and the arrogance of the human species. In 334 BC, Alexander the Great, at age 30, rampaged through what is now modern-day Turkey conquering the Persians and creating one of the largest empires of the ancient world stretching from Greece to northwestern India. Mark Antony is said to have chosen the entire Turkish Riviera as a wedding gift for his beloved Cleopatra. The volcanic mountains near Dalyan, are believed to have been the inspiration for the mythical Chimera — a fire-breathing monster that the heroic Bellerophon slew while riding into battle on the winged back of Pegasus. The ruins of Turkey were a constant reminder to me, coming from a nation less than 250 years old, of the fragility of great civilizations.
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Underwater
On this journey around the world, the keel of Flying Fish has passed over some of the most remarkable underwater landscapes imaginable. But along the Turkish Mediterranean the subsurface is in many ways understated. Instead of delicate tendrils of live coral and a multitude of colorful tropical fish, the Turkish Mediterranean sea bottom is often, like its shoreline, rugged and raw. Still, to a careful observer, there is life and color among the rocks. There is also history below the surface of the water. In a remote area of the Datça Peninsula I made a free dive to check that the anchor of Flying Fish was secure and I discovered nearby a mound of ancient pottery including pieces of amphora and several unbroken clay cooking pots. In the seaside village of Gümüşlük I dove over the ruins of ancient Myndos with its submerged roads, jetties, and walls made of interlocking stones perfectly cut and each weighing several tons. I wonder if future generations will see these same underwater treasures.
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On Shore
The Turkish people welcomed me as if I were a part of their family, despite the fact I could not master the language with its distinctive characteristics of vowel harmony and extensive tongue-twisting agglutination. Usually a smile was the only translation necessary. The food is savory and fresh, often prepared and served only hours after being harvested from the garden or sea. Turkish wines are spectacular. The history of the Turks covers a time frame of more than 4,000 years. They endured invasions by the Mongols and Huns and Crusaders. Modern-day Turkey shares borders with Russia, Iran, Iraq, Syria, and parts of the Balkans. Yet, when it came to confronting a major global enemy–the infection of COVID-19–the Turkish government controlled the virus with early lockdowns and prudent precautions. Virus numbers never spiked in Turkey as they did elsewhere in Europe, Asia, and the Americas. The Turks are as resilient as they are resourceful.
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The route of Flying Fish in the Summer of 2020
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In the dramatic recorded history of the Aegean Sea, nothing of note happened on this island. There is no record of wars being fought here. It has not been written that this is where Cleopatra seduced Marc Antony. There are no ruins of Byzantine basilicas or tombs indicating that the island was once a place of pilgramage. It is just a rock rising from the floor of the sea that has given root to a single wind-bent olive tree. The island simply exists. That is what gives distinction to this understated place. In an increasingly complicated world there is solace in a place like this anonymous island.
My passage along the Turkish Mediterranean coastline aboard Flying Fish has been one of quiet introspection during this summer of COVID. I feel an increasing need to seek isolated anchorages, to find music in the sound of wind on the water, to fill my lungs with clean air. Like the solo tree, I am content to just quietly exist.
During most of my travels in the Eastern Mediterranean this summer, history was everywhere I looked. All around me was evidence of great empires that thrived and then crumbled. Armies raged. There were acts of heroism and treachery. Natural disasters buried entire civilizations. As I lay at anchor in the lee of this tiny anonymous island I wonder if there are parallels in the history of these ancients that apply to our modern world?
In the current environment of pandemic and politics it is a particularly vulnerable time for the United States of America. Like many others, I sense a coming storm. I will soon be forced to leave the sanctuary of Flying Fish for an undetermined period of time. COVID restrictions prevent me from sailing onward. Visa restrictions prevent me from staying aboard Flying Fish. I love my country but it is clear that when I return it will be to a divided America that is at a tipping point in its own history.
How does one prepare for the uncertainty exacerbated by a continuing viral epidemic, racial hatred, climate crisis, and a vicious political cycle? There is no easy answer. The ancients could not figure it out and their civilizations vanished. I will have to remind myself of the good in this world. I will remind myself that there are places that still exist without confrontation. I will think back to these days on an anonymous island where nothing happened.
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Market Day is the most festive day of the week in many parts of Turkey. Streets are closed to traffic. Vendors arrive in the early morning darkness to claim prime locations for showing their wares. It is a day to celebrate the abundance of summertime.
Top: Two sisters restock the the cherry bin. The t-shirt on the older sister might say, “Nope” but her smile says, Hoşgeldiniz–Welcome!
Above: A young girl selling fruit and vegetables, and dutifully wearing her COVID mask, cannot hide her amusement and curiosity when a foreigner tries to buy limes.
Right: An olive vendor adds fresh flowers to enhance the sartorial style of her traditional headscarf.
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Sailing along the Turkish Mediterranean coast is a continual voyage through antiquity. Ruins rise from the sea at nearly every headland to meet the mariner. At Knidos, there are the remains of a temple dedicated to Aphrodite and among its detritus is the essence of a goddess. In the history of classical art the sculpture of Aphrodite of Knidos may be the first example–it is certainly the most celebrated–of a woman portrayed entirely nude. I quickly furl the mainsail aboard Flying Fish and go ashore to ancient Knidos.
The Temple of AphroditeEuploia (Aphrodite, Sea Goddess of Safe Voyages) has drawn sailors to this shoreline for more than 2,300 years. Knidos became prominent in the ancient world for hosting this sublimely erotic statue of the goddess, sculpted by Praxiteles in 365 BC. The structure housing it, now in ruins, was a circular Doric temple surrounded with colonnades. The goddess graced the center of the temple; her statue made of Parian marble. Aphrodite teased with a shy smile. Nothing hides her beauty other than a furtive hand veiling her modesty. The statue of Aphrodite was not traditionally placed in the end of the hall of the temple’s cella. Instead, it was sited in the middle of the circular foundation making it possible for visitors to admire the statue from all angles. The statue of the goddess was said to have a particularly attractive backside.
Aphrodite of Cnidus, a Roman marble copy of the Greek statue by Praxiteles, c. 350 BC, Vatican Museum. –Public Domain
Knidos, or Cnidus in the 4th century BC, was a Hellenic city in southwestern Asia Minor, now on the Datça peninsula in modern-day Turkey. Because of this strategic geographical location the Knidians acquired considerable wealth in trade and commerce. The city was less than a mile long, and the entire area remains covered with architectural artifacts. In addition to the spectacular Corinthian temples on Knidos there was an acropolis, an odeum, and numerous marbled terraces and theaters. The ancient city was said to even have its own medical school.
Knidos is now a ruin and deserted, except for tourists and mariners who come to pay homage to its heritage. In ancient times, however, it was at the center of the world on the trade routes from Alexandria to Athens. Its harbor sheltered sailors from the violent meltemi winds. Scorched and bleached by the sun and surrounded by the turquoise Mediterranean Sea, Knidos is both harsh and idyllic. The walls of the ancient harbor still stand. Fragments of column and cornice and terracotta are scattered in the rocks and wind-sculpted bushes of the maquis. In summer the ground releases the fragrance of wild sage growing among shards of ancient earthenware.
Knidos remained somewhat isolated from the western world until The Society of Dilettanti, a group of British noblemen and scholars (and, ultimately, plunderers) sponsoring the study of ancient Greek and Roman art sent an exploratory mission there in 1812. Additional excavations were executed by Sir Charles Newton in 1857–1858 and the great treasures–including the colossal Lion of Knidos–were taken (by battleship) back to England. Missing, however, was the statue of Aphrodite.
Aphrodite was an ancient Greek goddess associated with love, beauty, pleasure, and passion. She was syncretized with the Roman goddess Venus. In the Iliad she was the child of Zeus and Dione. She also had some well-known siblings including Apollo, Athena, Heracles, Helen of Troy, and the Cyclopes. Aphrodite was the surrogate mother and lover of the mortal shepherd Adonis, who was attacked by a wild boar and died in Aphrodite’s arms. With Athena and Hera, Aphrodite was one of the three goddesses whose feud resulted in the beginning of the Trojan War. But what history remembers most of Aphrodite, and what likely encouraged Praxiteles to bring her image to life, was her erotic beauty.
According to an account by Pliny the Elder, Praxiteles created two statues of Aphrodite (which were offered at the same price): one fully clothed and the other naked. The Greek town of Kos was horrified at the depiction of Aphrodite nude so they purchased the draped statue. Knidos bought the remaining Aphrodite and it was installed in a temple to the goddess where it gained a widespread cult-like following for its beauty. Coins issued in Knidos were minted in her honor. Later, King Nicomedes of Kos tried to buy naked Aphrodite from the Knidians promising to discharge their enormous state debt. The Knidians resolutely kept Praxiteles’ naked Aphrodite.
The statue became so widely known that epigrams were written of it. One anecdote has the goddess Aphrodite herself coming to Knidos to see the sculpture. Acknowledging her perfect likeness she says: “Paris,Adonis, andAnchisessaw me naked. Those are all I know of. So how did Praxiteles contrive it?” A similar epigram is attributed to Plato: When Aphrodite saw her sculpture at Knidos she said, “Alas! Where did Praxiteles see me naked?”
The Knidos Aphrodite was different, in a decidedly erotic way. It is one of the first life-sized representations of the nude female form in Greek history, displaying an alternative idea to maleheroic nudity. Praxiteles’ Aphrodite is shown reaching for a bath towel while covering her pubis, which, in turn leaves her breasts exposed. Up until this point, Greek sculpture had been dominated by male nude figures. Author Mary Beard writes in her book, How Do We Look: “The hands alone are a giveaway here. Are they modestly trying to cover her up? Are they pointing in the direction of what the viewer wants to see most? Or are they simply a tease? Whatever the answer, Praxiteles has established that edgy relationship between a statue of a woman and an assumed male viewer that has never been lost from the history of European art.”
Men were driven mad with desire for this image of Aphrodite. Pliny observed that some visitors to Knidos were “overcome with love for the statue.” The statue was so lifelike that it was said to “arouse viewers sexually as if she were a woman in flesh and blood.” In Erotes, an explicit essay written around AD 300 attributed to author Lucian of Samosata, a young man was once so overwhelmed by the image of Aphrodite that he broke into the temple at night and attempted to copulate with the statue. Upon being discovered by a custodian, he was so ashamed that he hurled himself over a cliff near the edge of the temple.
Sadly, Aphrodite of Knidos is no longer in existence. One theory is that the statue was removed to Constantinople (modern Istanbul), where it was housed in the Palace of Lausus in AD 475. When the palace burned the statue was lost. That was not the end, however, of the obsession with Aphrodite of Knidos.
Enter the curious appearance of American socialite archeologist Iris Cornelia Love.
Love claimed to be a direct descendant of both the explorer Captain James Cook and American founding father Alexander Hamilton, as well as the maternal great great granddaughter of Meyer Guggenheim. In 1969, with the Turkish archeologist Askidil Akarca, a granddaughter of the last sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Love sailed from Bodrum (ancient Halicarnassus) down the coast of Asia Minor to excavate the ruins of Knidos. On July 20, 1969, the day Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon, Love uncovered a circular marble platform at the Knidos site. Additional finds included the foundation of a circular building with eighteen columns, a life-sized human hand of Parian marble comparable in size to copies of the statue of Aphrodite of Knidos, numerous votive offerings dating from the archaic through Hellenistic periods, and an inscription in marble beginning: “Prax…” The team of young archeologists believed they had found the site of the temple that once housed perhaps the most famous statue of the ancient world and one of Pliny’s Seven Wonders–Praxiteles’ Aphrodite.
The discovery propelled Iris Cornelia Love to the kind of fame very few archaeologists achieve. She found herself on the front page of The New York Times, on prime-time national television interviewed by Barbara Walters, photographed by Harry Benson, partying with Andy Warhol. Tabloids ran headlines such as “Love Finds Temple of Love” and referred to her as “the mini-skirted archaeologist”. The discovery attracted intense international media attention when it was presented at the annual meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America. It also attracted many famous guests to the excavation site, including Mick and Bianca Jagger.
This fanfare called Love’s interpretation of the discovery into question. Critics accused her of converting the excavation into an exclusive holiday spot. Noted Turkish archaeologists disputed her conclusions. The Turkish government revoked her research license for Knidos. Love subsequently retired from archeology, devoted herself to breeding dachshunds (for which she won several prizes), and lived in Greece, Italy, and New York with her partner of many years, tabloid journalist Liz Smith. Iris Cornelia Love died this year at age 86, after being diagnosed with Covid-19.
I sit atop the jagged cliff overlooking the ruin of the Temple of AphroditeEuploia and reflect upon myth and reality. (Could this be the same ledge where the besotted youth plunged to his death after being caught in flagrante delicto with the marble statue?) There is heat emanating from the rock and the quintessence of being in a rare place. I often wonder what it is that drives my ship. On this day it is the mythology of Aphrodite that puts fresh wind in my sails.
SOURCES
Erotes: “A Dialogue Comparing Male and Female Love,” attributed to Lucian of Samosata, 2nd century AD
The Venus Pudica: “Uncovering Art History’s Hidden Agenda’ and Pernicious Pedigrees,” Generations and Geographies in the Visual Arts.
Aphrodite of Knidos: Joukowsky Institute for Archaeology & the Ancient World, Brown University
Pliny the Elder: Natural History XXXVI.4.20-I
Iris Love, Archaeologist who Discovered the Temple of Aphrodite: The Telegraph Obituaries, May 5, 2020
Love Among the Ruins: Departures, Martin Filler, March 30, 2010
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I mention in an earlier post that 130,000 years of human civilization in the Eastern Mediterranean might be a factor in explaining why I have seen so few fish underwater during my first month of exploring this coastline in Flying Fish.
In fact, the species loss here has been exacerbated in only the past decade and a single predatory fish may bear some of the responsibility. The first lionfish in the Mediterranean was officially reported in 2012. Other divers have seen them even earlier. Still, these fish originating from the Indian Ocean are newcomers to the neighborhood. Now biologists fear the population of this predator with virtually no natural enemies may be out of control in the Mediterranean as it is elsewhere in the world.
Marine biologists with the Cypriot Enalia Physis Environmental Research Centre say lionfish first appeared in the waters off Cyprus in 2012. Since then the number of lionfish has exponentially increased not only in Cyprus but now also in Turkey and around some of the southern Greek islands. “Wherever you dive you can now see the lionfish in masses,” reported Louis Hadjioannou, research director at Enalia.
The Mediterranean invasion of lionfish resembles that of the western Atlantic Ocean. Lionfish were first recorded off the coast of Florida in 1994, but only 20 years later it was estimated that there were up to 1,000 lionfish per acre of coastline. A female lionfish can produce two million eggs a year. Marine biologists say they could be reducing Atlantic reef species diversity by up to 80%.
The lionfish’s “exponential rise” in the Eastern Mediterranean was facilitated by the widening of the Suez Canal—completed in 2014—and warming regional water temperatures, according to Jason Hall-Spencer, a marine biology professor at Britain’s University of Plymouth. The cooler waters of the western Mediterranean, he reported, have largely been spared of lionfish for the moment.
Culling lionfish for food has helped reduce their numbers in other parts of the world. I have yet to see a lionfish in a Turkish fish market but stranger things make their way to the dinner table here–Koc Yumurtasi (ram’s testicles), for example. I look forward one day soon to preparing whole fried lionfish to my new Turkish friends.
Whole fried lionfish prepared by the Miami restaurant Fish Fish. Credit: foodrepublic.com
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Stella Maris Sail 