Rhodes to Symi: Neoclassical Harbor
SYMI [QR-462]
Coordinates: 36°37'N, 27°51'E
Anchorage: Symi Town (Gialos), limited harbor space
Berth Cost: €40-60/night or anchor in bay
Character: Neoclassical mansions in pastel colors, sponge-diving history, stunning harbor
One of the Dodecanese's most beautiful harbors—neoclassical houses in ochre, pink, and cream cascade down the hillside to the water.
Gialos (Harbor) - Waterfront cafés, tavernas, watch the sunset
Chorio (Upper Town) - Climb 500 steps (Kali Strata), panoramic views, quieter
Panormitis Monastery [QR-463] - South of island, major pilgrimage site, stunning (accessible by boat)
Dining:
Trawler Tavern [QR-464] - Waterfront, fresh fish, €30-45
Manos Fish Restaurant [QR-465] - Family-run, excellent seafood, €35-50
Stay 1-2 nights
Sailing from Symi to Tilos: A View of Datça
As you leave Symi's colorful harbor, heading southeast toward Tilos, look to your east. There, across the narrow strait—the Turkish coast. The Datça Peninsula rises in the distance, pine-covered hills descending to turquoise water.
Turkey.
For some of us, this view carries weight. Birthplace. Homeland. A country of immense beauty and profound contradictions.
Can Yücel's Datça
The Turkish poet Can Yücel (1926-1999) spent his final decade in Datça—a self-imposed exile from Istanbul's chaos. Known for his irreverent, passionate poetry and translations of Homer and Shakespeare, Yücel retreated to this quiet peninsula overlooking the Aegean.
He wrote about many things, but one of his most powerful poems remembers a young man whose name itself means "sea": Deniz Gezmiş.
Deniz Gezmiş was a student revolutionary leader, executed by hanging in 1972 along with his friends. They were idealists who fought for Turkey's independence and social justice. They didn't harm anyone. They were executed anyway.
Deniz means "sea" in Turkish.
Yücel's poem, titled "Bizim Deniz – Mare Nostrum" (the same phrase that opens this section—"Our Sea"), merges the revolutionary and the sea into one meditation on youth, sacrifice, and lost potential.
Bizim Deniz – Mare Nostrum
Can Yücel
En uzun koşuysa elbet
Türkiye'de de Devrim
O, onun en güzel yüz metresini koştu
En sekmez luverin namlusundan fırlayarak…
En hızlısıydı hepimizin,
En önce göğüsledi ipi…
Acıyorsam sana anam avradım olsun
Ama aşk olsun sana çocuk, Aşk olsun…
[Note: This poem appears in the Turkish edition only. It works best in its original language and is deeply connected to Turkish history and emotion. The title "Mare Nostrum" echoes the opening of this section—both claiming the Mediterranean as "our sea," both refusing to let borders define belonging.]
The poem carries double meaning in its title:
- "Bizim Deniz" - "Our Sea" (as in Mare Nostrum—the Mediterranean)
- "Bizim Deniz" - "Our Deniz" (Deniz Gezmiş—the young revolutionary)
Yücel, living his final years overlooking the Aegean, merged these meanings. The revolutionary becomes the sea—restless, necessary, impossible to contain. Both demand freedom. Both refuse boundaries.
From the deck, sailing past Datça:
You see the coast where Yücel wrote, where he sought peace after decades of tumult. You think of Deniz Gezmiş and his friends, young idealists who chose sacrifice over submission. You think of a country that has, too often, silenced its brightest voices—poets, thinkers, those who dared to imagine different futures.
The feelings are bittersweet.
Love for the land. Grief for what it became. Anger at waste—human potential discarded, lives cut short, voices drowned.
You wave at Datça from a distance. You don't stop. Not this time.
The sea connects us. But some shores carry more than beauty—they carry memory, loss, and the quiet question: What might have been?
Bizim deniz. Our sea.
The wind fills your sails. You continue south.