The Full Turkish Riviera: Bodrum to Göcek

The week starts at Yalıkavak. Twenty-five minutes by road from Milas-Bodrum airport, on the western tip of the Bodrum peninsula, the marina runs along a kilometer of restaurant-lined quay. Your crew meets you at the slip with cold drinks and the chart briefing. Welcome lunch on board, the steward settling your luggage into cabins, the chef walking you through the welcome plate.

By mid-afternoon the captain is slipping lines. A thirty-four-nautical-mile run south and west to Knidos at the western tip of the Datça peninsula — the longest day-one of the three Turkish itineraries, but the right move for a one-way week: it puts you at one of the marquee anchorages by sundown. Knidos has no road; the only way in is by sea. Charter yachts anchor in the larger of the two ancient harbors (the commercial harbor on the east) in eight to fifteen meters of clear water with the Aphrodite Euploia temple visible on the headland above. Dinner at anchor. There is no taverna at Knidos — the night silence is the point.

A slow morning at Knidos: a swim in the ancient harbor, a walk through the temple ruins and the smaller five-thousand-seat theater, lunch on board. By early afternoon the captain points the bow east for the fifteen-nautical-mile hop along the Datça peninsula's south coast to Datça itself — a quiet port town largely off the cruise circuit, mostly Turkish rather than tour-flavored.

The captain ties up at the quay or anchors offshore depending on space. Datça's calling card is its olives — the same trees the Carians planted, the oil pressed at the village mill, the small-family meyhanes along the harbor that have served the same families for forty years. Dinner is ashore at one of the quayside places the captains book. Mezze in flat dishes across a long table, grilled day-boat fish dressed in nothing but lemon and salt, raki served with cold water that turns the glass milky as the night goes.

Twenty-five nautical miles east-southeast across the mouth of the Hisarönü gulf to Bozburun, the working fishing town on the eponymous peninsula. The Bozburun peninsula is shielded on both sides — the Hisarönü gulf to its north, the Gokova gulf to its west — and the wind-shadow geography keeps both coasts flat even on August afternoons when the meltemi runs in the open channel. The captain anchors offshore at Bozburun harbor or ties up at the small quay depending on space.

Bozburun's character is half-fishing-village, half-yacht-builder — the town is the historic heart of Turkey's gulet shipyards, and many of the modern luxury gulets in the Turkish charter fleet were hand-built at the local yards. Lunch is on board at anchor, the chef working through a slow afternoon. Dinner ashore at one of the wooden-jetty fish restaurants — the captain books the table on arrival, mezze and grilled day-boat fish, the family welcoming the captain by name.

A short twelve-nautical-mile hop north and east across the inner Hisarönü gulf to Selimiye — one of the more sheltered overnight anchorages on the peninsula, the harbor lined with low whitewashed houses, the quay running about a half-kilometer along the inner bay. The captain anchors offshore in eight to twelve meters of sand or ties up at the village quay; both work.

Selimiye is a slow day. The water is glass-flat inside the harbor, the swimming is some of the warmest along this stretch of coast, and the village runs at a pace that makes Bozburun look bustling. Long swim before lunch, an afternoon walk through the back streets to one of the small shops above the harbor, dinner ashore at a quay-side meyhane the captain knows — the sort of place where the menu doesn't exist and the order is set the moment you sit down.

Twenty-two nautical miles east across the mouth of the Köyceğiz gulf to Ekincik, the protected anchorage at the mouth of the Dalyan river. This is the marquee day of the connector itinerary, and the only-by-yacht excursion that no Greek or Croatian charter ground can match. Yachts cannot enter the Dalyan — the river mouth is shallow mud flats, and the upper river runs through reed beds that local flat-bottom river boats have navigated for generations. The pattern is anchor at Ekincik in eight to twelve meters of sand, then transfer to the local river-boat fleet for the day.

The river boats motor up the Dalyan past the Lycian rock-tombs cut into the cliff face above the river — fourth-century BC tomb facades carved into the rock, temple-front architecture visible from the river boat as you pass. Dock at the Caunos amphitheater for the morning: a Carian-Roman city site with a theater, an agora, and the foundations of a small basilica. Then back on the river boats and on to the Sultaniye thermal mud baths — twelve kilometers from Ekincik, sulfurous-mud spring fed from the volcanic ridge above the Köyceğiz lake. You walk into the mud, sit, walk out, rinse off in the spring water that runs alongside.

The river boats return you to your yacht at Ekincik by late afternoon. The captain books the river boats as part of the standard charter setup; you don't lift a finger. Dinner is on board at anchor at Ekincik — the chef working on the Dalyan-day plate, the river boats moored back at the Dalyan dock, your yacht's lights the only ones in the bay.

Twenty-five nautical miles east-southeast to the twelve islands at the mouth of Fethiye Gulf — the standard day-one of the round-trip Turquoise Coast itinerary, and the standard last-night-of-the-week stop on the connector. The captain picks the anchorage by traffic: Tersane Island for the Byzantine shipyard ruins on its inland side, Yassıca Adaları for the cluster-of-five-islands lagoon, Bedri Rahmi Bay for the wooden-jetty grill named after the Turkish painter who put a fish on a rock there in 1973.

Long swim through the afternoon, the chef preparing the farewell plate. Dinner ashore at Bedri Rahmi or back on board at anchor. The night is calm — building heights at Göcek and the surrounding gulf are regulated, no shore-side noise, the lights of a few other yachts in the next bay over the only lights you can see.

A last slow breakfast on deck in the twelve islands, a final swim off the swim platform, and the captain slips lines for the short eight-nautical-mile run into Göcek itself. Lunch on board through the leg, the chef's farewell plate, a final glass of the cellar's best, and the silhouette of Göcek's marinas growing on the bow.

Disembarkation at Skopea or D-Marin by mid-afternoon. The crew has the transfer arranged: direct to DLM for guests flying out the same day, or to a hotel in Göcek for guests adding a night ashore. Many groups extend with a private-driver day to Letoon (a UNESCO Lycian sanctuary site, an hour by road) or to Patara's beach on the Lycian shore. Your captain and chef will step off the boat already talking about when you're coming back, which is usually how the good ones end.