[The Old Groaner] What shall we do with a drunken sailor?

An Italian family were very regular customers of Achmet and practically owned the boat. Whenever Achmet needed spares or equipment he would write to the Italians and beg the funds, which were always forthcoming. One day, sitting in the cafe he asked us to write to his Italian sponsors begging money for a new engine! If I remember well we are talking about something like the Turkish equivalent of 5,000 pounds. Perhaps it was a reconditioned machine, I don’t know.

Slightly embarrassed on his behalf, we wrote the letter, explaining that the old engine was on its way out and that the new one would benefit the Italian family in giving a much quieter and marginally faster daytrip about twice during their annual two-week holiday. After we had finished the letter, he signed it, folded it and slipped it into an already addressed envelope. While he was doing, so I noticed another piece of paper in the envelope, I was curious as to what it was, so I asked him. Achmet took it out and showed us. It was his first attempt at the letter we had just written. This one had been written by one of the waiters who had very good English. Very good mind you, but a long way off perfect. We gave our deserving praise for the effort but indicated that it was now redundant. Not a bit of it; it was refolded and added to our effort. Achmet then sealed the envelope and departed for the post office. Three months later he proudly announced that his boat now had a new engine. I don’t know if it made the boat any faster but it surely was not a decibel quieter!

One of the only two times that we actually went on a daytrip with Achmet turned out to be most enjoyable for about 10 of us, but was obviously a nightmare for one.

We gathered together a group of seven or eight tourists, all of whom were guests in several cottages rented by the premier alternative holiday company at the time. Frau and I would be joint hosts and the company rep Jackie would also come along. Now we knew that Achmet drank a fair amount of alcohol in the cafe, but we had not thought that he would also do so while captaining a daytrip. He did.

As the outbound trip was under way he drank enough to be tipsy by the time we stopped for lunch, but we didn’t hit anything, not boats, swimmers nor Asia Minor or Greece and we arrived safe and sound in a small sheltered bay where our captain prepared what was to be an excellent fish lunch whilst the guests swam and did touristy things. After lunch, which we all washed down with drinks, we set off again for a couple more bays, and at about 4 p.m., we set off for home. By the last leg of the journey, our intrepid captain was profoundly drunk.

As we weaved our way back to port, Achmet was extravagantly waving at every other boat, all the captains of whom seemed to know and like him, and again he missed the same hazards as he had avoided on our outward passage. The majority of us were thoroughly enjoying the fun but poor Jackie was worried sick. She was very much still in rep mode and was imagining the possible disaster which would so horribly reflect on the holiday company and, of course, on her. I swear that poor girl aged a decade that afternoon.

Suffice to say that we arrived back in port in one piece, and we, the guests, stumbled ashore leaving our captain slouched at the wheel with a huge grin on his face. Jackie’s feet were on terra firma she too was smiling, more broadly than the rest of us actually.

So yes, on Tuesday, Achmet came to visit us. He had long ago sold his boat, and after some serious illness, he had given up drink. As we sat drinking coffee, I was beginning to think that a sober and civilian Achmet was going to be something of a bore; that turned out not to be the case.

With the money Achmet had gotten for the boat, he had bought a couple of camels and some fancy gear for them. He was now the “captain” of a couple of tourist camels. He told us his fees for short walks with the tourists, and we estimated that he was making far more money than he had with the "Concorde." Even when tourists posed for photographs with the beasts, he would hold out his hand and seldom was he given less than TL 5.

Achmet then went on to entertain us with his impersonation of the usually overweight tourist ladies perched precariously on the camels as those animals rose, stern first, from their sitting positions. Achmet’s “Whoops” and “Ahhhs” soon had the neighbors investigating, and we opened just one beer and several colas and settled down for a full hour of fine fun.