Contiki Review: Turkish Sailing, or The girl who couldn’t swim and the sea that held her

It feels like the breakfast table on our Turkish gulet must still be warm from the mellow heat of our elaborate meals, conversations, boundless laughter, and indelible memories. Who would have thought that each one of us on the Turkish Sailing trip would turn out to be five single women in our twenties? As it turned out, the five of us—complete strangers to one another, had signed up for the May slot of the trip. Five women, one boat, and seven days of sailing on the azure waters of the Turkish Riviera. This was the beginning of my summer vacation in May 2025, and my very first trip with Contiki.

Fethiye

This year, on my birthday, I made a resolution to do things outside my comfort zone. A mountain girl at heart, this was the year I was determined to try new things. The Mediterranean felt like a good start. Not knowing how to swim, it seemed silly as well as deliciously exciting to embark on a sailing trip. So, after connecting three flights and staying up through a highly caffeinated layover, I landed in the coastal town of Fethiye in Turkey. I lounged in a limo and cruised right into the limits of the beach town. Powder-blue skies, Turkish music ebbing from the roundabouts; and as I approached the harbour, sailboats parked on the trembling waters of the Mediterranean gently pirouetted into the frame of my car window.

The silky smell of salt in the air, warm plates in cafés and restaurants being layered with freshly caught fish — smoked, limed, and herbed. Drinks and conversations flowed in the bars; tulip-shaped Turkish tea glasses with piping hot tea and Turkish delight dotted tables and sidewalks where sailors and friends met.

Strawberries, mulberries, avocado, peaches, and an inexhaustible variety of olives and cheese — or peynir — lined the local markets. A friendly merhaba or the smiling eyes of passersbys and shopkeepers welcomed me like an old friend.

At this juncture, I had no idea that the glistening world of Turkey’s coastline would leave me with memories that would swirl like a dervish in the corners of my mind long after the music had ceased and friends had disbanded. The inertia of night-long truth or dares on the boat, the quiet evening we hiked up to the tomb of St Nicholas, lazy strolls in Göcek, sharp drinks in Ölüdeniz, or the fuchsia of the dazzling club night on our last day — each memory would continue to buzz and cast its astonishing afterglow long after the trip was over.

This was one trip where the salt from the sea merged with the salty rim of my margarita glass, the chill of the Mediterranean reverberated through my being like the cool sting of exhilarating new experiences, and the balmy breeze that played with my hair blew away all my inhibitions.

Shy and awkward, I dragged my suitcase to the boat. Abi, Dexzina, Jade, Melanie, and I — five of us, five different worlds — converged on a boat. I was bright-eyed and eager, but my fast paced Indian accent sometimes made it hard for others to catch what I was saying. It wasn’t deliberate or unkind. It just took time for our ears to adjust to each other. As the days passed, moments of laughter and awe became my language of choice — one whose accent was dexterous and understandable even in silence. Before I knew it, I was sharing my deepest secrets with the gang, for it had dawned on me that some connections are truer than the blue of the seas and warmer than the soft May sun.

The trip begins

The trip kicked off with a generous spread of delectable Turkish snacks. What made the trip so much more memorable were the elaborate meals prepared fresh every day by the chef on board. From Turkish meatballs to tender roast chicken, lightly fried mackerel, mushroom-aubergine-and-cheese creations to spinach-in-yoghurt sides, and to surprise us, rice puddings for dessert. Three meals a day and the steady flow of coffee, tea, and the much-anticipated iced latte in the afternoon after a chilly swim, these were the threads that knit us close and knit us well.

As we started moving, we adjusted our sails towards Boncuklu Bay. What permeated this trip was the well-paced sequence of activities — never hurried, never too slow, it was just right. After initially shying away from hopping into the chilly waters of the sea, by Day 2 Melanie and Abi were helping me learn how to swim. Anointed by the inky blue sea, it was a surreal feeling to just float and later paddle in the vastness of the Mediterranean. The sun fell in sheets on the waters, which shone brilliantly like diamonds. Every morning, Mel would blast bangers on the stereo. After swimming, we would sunbathe on the deck, and occasionally, when the waters got choppy, sprinkles of the salty sea would splash on our faces, hair, and lips.

The next day, Abi, Dex, Mel, and I decided to hike up the ancient site of Myra, which housed the tomb of St Nicholas, perched high up on the cliff. Rocky, rugged, and unstructured, I hiked up the tomb in my slip-ons with small rocks of history intermittently pressing against my feet. Indeed, very bright of me to have ditched my sneakers for slip-ons.

The view from the top, the silences in between, the pauses we made along the way — time seemed to move differently in this pocket of the past. Exhausted, I paused along the way while Abi, Dex, and Mel hiked further up to the lighthouse. As I laid down my bag, I felt like I was the wanderer from Caspar David Friedrich’s painting. As we hiked up, the sun was shining a warm yellow. As we hiked down, it shone with orange elegance.

As our trip progressed, we were met with bad weather on our way to Antalya — one of the most anticipated stops on the itinerary. This is where the magic of the sea revealed itself to me. As the captain fiercely attempted to reroute and retrace our steps from Antalya, the waters grew increasingly choppy. I could feel the boat cruising from 5 a.m.. Curious, I woke up quickly and sat on the mast of the gulet in quiet reflection. The waters of the sea were frothing fiercely against the gulet, the winds were reckless, and the sun was weak. In the middle of all this, I was relishing the jumpy ride like a kid on a bouncy castle. The mountains in my heart parted and made way for the sea. I was beginning to lose all my fear and inhibitions. My heart was learning to tell itself that it loved the salty, wayward sea in all its glory.

With Antalya and Kaş off our list, we sailed towards Göcek and Ölüdeniz.

Ölüdeniz

I remember stepping off the gulet, the wind still warm even as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Ölüdeniz shimmered before me like something out of a dream with water so still and turquoise-blue, it felt unreal. The first thing I noticed was the smell: salt, pine, sunscreen, and a touch of grilled corn from a nearby vendor. And then the sound — quiet laughter, paragliders landing gently and emphatically on the sand, and the soft lapping of waves.

I walked along the promenade, my feet kicking up dust and tiny pebbles. To my left was the vast open sea, and to my right, the dramatic Babadağ Mountain rising like a silent guardian. I had seen photos of the Blue Lagoon, but nothing prepared me for how gently the water curved into the shore, like the coast was hugging it.

Later, I dipped my feet in — warm, crystal clear. Tiny fish darted between my toes. I sat there for a while, just breathing it all in, half in disbelief that a place like this even exists.

Göcek

Göcek was a surprise. We arrived by boat, the marina unfolding like a scene from a Mediterranean postcard with sleek yachts, cheerful white masts swaying slightly, and the smell of freshly baked simit wafting from a dockside café.

Compared to Ölüdeniz, Göcek felt quieter, more intimate. It was less about spectacle, more about soul. I wandered through cobbled lanes lined with bougainvillaea and orange trees. Everything moved more slowly here. I could hear conversations over çay, the clink of silver spoons, seagulls circling lazily.

Göcek was extremely restful. It felt like it knew how to be still, and it taught me that, too.

There’s something about life at sea that changes your pace, shifts your perspective, and softens the edges of your everyday mind. Over these eight days, I watched the sunrise from a gulet deck, swam in waters so blue they barely seemed real, and wandered through towns I hadn’t even heard of before. From the surreal beauty of Ölüdeniz to the stillness of the bays near Göcek, every moment felt untouched, unscripted, and entirely mine. I came for the adventure, but what I found was a new kind of calm, and a kind of wonder I didn’t even know I was missing.

What kept us warm was our company, the heat of our enlivened spirits, the balmy evenings that followed, and the cosy company of an extremely hospitable Contiki crew.

The Hamam Experience

On our last day we visited a Turkish bath in Fethiye. Getting scrubbed within an inch of my life at a Turkish hamam was not how I expected to find inner peace, but there I was. One minute, I was wrapped in steam like a sleepy dumpling, and the next, a no-nonsense attendant was exfoliating my soul through my skin. I’ve never been cleaner, slipperier, or more slightly violated in such a comforting way. I floated out smelling like soap, sweating like a boiled peach, and feeling weirdly healed and centred!

Later the same night, five of us headed to a nightclub in the Paspatur Old Town. We moved like we had nowhere else to be, hair damp from the sea and sweat, mascara smudged in all the right ways. Laughter cracked open the night as strangers became a bokeh of blurry memories. It felt like a slow, defiant refusal to say goodbye — to the trip, to each other, to that version of ourselves that only existed under Turkish stars and strobe lights.

Turkey gave me its bays, its myths, its dance floors, and gulet sails at sunset and sunset. . Most of all, it gave me a little piece of myself I had never met before. And I know now that that’s the best kind of souvenir I could take back.