The Monk Seal Conspiracy
11. Seitani
In the late afternoon we set sail for Kusadasi – Tom Goedicke, his two crew members, his twelve cats and I. An exuberant meltemi propelled us through the narrow straits of Mykalis, the vulnerable Samos coastline on one side, its beaches deserted, its rusting signs warning of minefields, and on the other, the steep and forested slopes of Anatolia.
At nightfall, the sky became emblazoned with stars, and it was the most tranquil and mellifluous sensation to hear the creaking of the old yacht and its sails, and to watch the tall mast swinging pendulum-like across the firmament. Even Tom, vainly scanning the horizon for the lights of Kusadasi through his battered telescope, could not diminish a sense of profound well-being, a certainty of spirit, an empathy with the living swell of the sea and the lucid summer night. A few hours later we did indeed find our way into Kusadasi marina, without even ensnaring ourselves in a fishing net or anchor line.
The following day we went to see Professor Geldiay at Izmir University, with its blood-red graffiti scrawled over the buildings by rioting students and the campus grounds patrolled by soldiers with armoured cars and machine-guns. The diminutive Geldiay himself gave the impression of being under siege, so perplexed and disconcerted that he could scarcely say a word about the seals of Turkey.
We then trudged off to the hospital with a reluctant and fearful deck-hand tagging along behind us. But at the sight of the overcrowded wards, the families camped out in the corridors, the doctors and orderlies smoking over their patients, the food trolleys being wheeled through the crowds carrying plates of swill, she quite understandably burst into tears and the next day fled back to Germany by plane. ‘Damn!’ said Tom, cursing his luck on losing yet another of his crew, the umpteenth to pack up and desert him that season. ‘As soon as I have a deck-hand who’s learnt the ropes, they vanish, leaving me high and dry. I can’t fathom it.’
Returning to Kusadasi that night, we were astonished to find Professor Ronald and his wife in the marina, on board Guelph University’s own beautifully restored caique, Triton Five. Its permanent berth was on Rhodes but the Canadian professor often used it during his holidays to ply the eastern Aegean with a professional captain at the helm. It seemed mysterious that the IUCN/WWF international co-ordinator should be travelling virtually incognito, and he was no less startled than we were by this chance encounter. He was taking a well-earned rest, he told us, and trying to dream up ways to restore the momentum of the International Marine Parks plan, now stalled by a suspicious bureaucracy in Athens. Now that we had discovered him, he said, he would pay us a visit on Samos a few days later.
It was probably sheer coincidence that the flagship of Turkey’s small seismic survey fleet was anchored in Kusadasi harbour at the time. Tom and I were invited aboard and were given a tour of the sparkling new vessel by a young and earnest oceanographer. Its impressive array of instruments were primed to search the hotly disputed seabed for oil and minerals. So this was the ship the Greeks threatened to sink, I murmured to myself, while Tom, green with envy, was telling the scientist about his own research vessel, the flagship of the Inner Space Research Foundation, neglecting to mention that it also doubled as a home for stray cats. It was then that it finally dawned upon me that we were standing on a ship that represented the front line of Turkey’s battle for territorial rights in the eastern Aegean; I cursed our foolishness and prayed that there were no KYP or YPEA agents about to record our indiscretion.
In the meantime, Rita was holding the fort at the now rather pretentious-sounding IUCN/WWF Monk Seal Project Centre, aided and abetted by several volunteers and the children of the village, who used to come in to draw and paint and watch films. Summoned to the Ayios police station, she was badgered with questions, all demanding to know where I had vanished to, and insisting that they be informed immediately upon my return. She was also obliged to complete an application for a visa which had already expired three days earlier. If she refused to comply, she would be expelled on 24 September. She then began the arduous task of filling out yet another visa application in triplicate which was supposed to extend until the end of November. She promised to return within the next few days with a batch of passport photographs of herself.
Two days later, on the spur of the moment, she decided to demand a meeting with Kyrios Drumpis at police headquarters. She wanted a candid explanation, direct from the horse’s mouth: why were the police confronting us with every frustrating and time-consuming bureaucratic obstacle they could think of to render our work impossible? It was a hot and lazy afternoon and the office was almost deserted. She found the police chief in a curiously relaxed and non-belligerent frame of mind. Plucking up her courage, she demanded to know why the police were wasting her time on applications for visas, since she had only recently re-entered Greece from Switzerland, thereby receiving an automatic three months’ visa at passport control. Drumpis examined her passport but found only an exit and entry stamp of Greek origin.
‘But you have no stamp to say you have been in Switzerland,’ he eyed her sceptically.
‘I don’t need a stamp,’ she retorted, ‘I’m Swiss.’
Kyrios Drumpis found this very hard to believe and merely stared at her quizzically. ‘Everyone needs a stamp,’ he said at last. He opened Rita’s by now very thick police file in which there were several passport-size photographs of her from her litany of visa applications. He sighed. ‘You know, Rita-mu, you’re a good-looking girl and we’d like you to stay on Samos. But what’s this mystery you’re involved in? There are no seals on Samos.’
Rita shut her eyes in sheer exasperation. ‘There are,’ she protested firmly. ‘If you don’t believe me, why not telephone Dr Vamvakas at the Institute of Oceanographic and Fisheries Research?’ Kyrios Drumpis snorted derisively, as if Vamvakas was even less believable than she was, as though he could even be the ring-leader of this strange conspiracy over seals which, any fool knows, only live in cold and thankfully remote seas. ‘So many troubles you’re making for us,’ she protested, ‘and only because we discovered that it was the police that broke into our houses
’
‘No, no, not the police,’ Drumpis interrupted her sharply, as though her words had insulted the force he was proud of, ‘but a government service. Now go back to Konstantinos and we’ll see if you need a visa or not.’
Returning to Ayios on the 26th, I dutifully informed the local police of my return from Turkey. They eyed me maliciously as though I had obviously betrayed Greece to the barbarians. Only Hondro seemed nonchalant about the whole affair, but when he spied Rita waiting for me outside, he remembered that she had still not brought the passport photographs of herself for the latest visa application. Not the brightest of the three village policemen, he called out to her, through the open window, ‘If you don’t bring the photos, I’ll have to report you to the police.’
Two days later I was summoned to Vathi once again. Kyrios Tsimbris, the deputy chief of police, examined my passport meticulously. He then began shouting, as Greek policemen are often prone to do if they suspect that they are being tricked, ‘You have not been to England and Switzerland! It is a lie! You only have stamp from Greek police!’ Rather patiently we informed him that no entry or exit stamp is given in most western European countries to bearers of EEC passports. Tsimbris found this extremely unlikely. ‘Greek police always give stamp,’ he retorted, flustered by uncertainty. He eyed me suspiciously with narrow, squinting eyes, perhaps imagining that I was commuting secretly between Samos and Turkey, and, as I was in league with the barbarians, the Turks had deliberately neglected to stamp the passport more than once, during my shamelessly overt trip to Kusadasi. He strode purposefully out of the office in search of a second opinion. When he came back, somewhat humiliated, he began shouting again, this time more vehemently than ever. ‘You only went to England and Switzerland so you need no visa from Samos police!’ He handed back the passport in disgust and said, ‘Go now. Stay on Samos until we tell you otherwise.’
Later on in the afternoon, Rita was informed by the police in Konstantinos that her visa had arrived from Vathi, which would expire on 19 November. ‘Here is your visa,’ the superior officer told her contemptuously, ‘and you won’t get any more.’ From the background, Hondro, lolling back on his chair in the afternoon sun, called out amicably, ‘And when it’s finished we’ll get you some more.’ His superior shot him a scowl and, pointing at me, told her, ‘That one has to leave Samos very quickly and you have to stay until 19 November…’ A guffaw from Hondro made his face redden with indignation and he hurriedly corrected himself. ‘No, no, you don’t have to stay, but you can…’
On the 29th I received a personal letter from Penny Marinos. ‘I could kill Drumpis,’ she wrote. ‘Just as soon as we think everything has been settled he appears on the scene again and I get really worried. Yeroulanos is back today and I’ve sent him a note asking him to phone the superintendent of police in Athens.’ And indeed, guided by Yeroulanos and Vamvakas, the Ministry of Co-ordination decided to step up its support of the project. Encouraged by IUCN/WWF, the Council of Europe, the EEC and the United Nations Environment Programme, they were determined that sanctuaries for the monk seal should be established on Samos as soon as possible. Although YPEA was clearly unimpressed, a certain amount of international prestige was at stake for the government, since these would have become ‘the first biogenetic reserves of Europe’.
During the following week we continued our research on the south coast of Samos, focussing on the most promising areas revealed by the surveys of the university team in March. We were again using Tom’s Atoll II together with our Zodiac inflatable for shoreline reconnaissance. We visited a number of small settlements along the coast and spoke with fishermen. We mapped and photographed the area, pinpointing seal sightings and correlating them with the surveys that had already been conducted. There was no time for us to stake out the areas to look for seals ourselves. This could have taken weeks or even months, with still no guarantee that we would spot one of these shy and retiring creatures. From what we could gather from seal sightings by fishermen and, upon closer inspection, the location of seal caves and suitable, isolated beaches, two particular areas on the south coast seemed worthy of becoming sanctuaries, and these were to be proposed as Biogenetic Reserve Areas Two and Three. Both were virtually undisturbed and sparsely populated. One, in the south-east of the island, had also been included in Ronald’s International Marine Parks proposal, and was almost opposite the Turkish monk seal sanctuary at Dilek. The other was on the south-west corner of the island. Here, we had spotted what suspiciously appeared to be seal-hunters. Carrying rifles and accompanied by a dog, we spied three men scrambling down the steep rocky shore into a waiting dinghy; they had then sped off in the direction of the seal caves.
After we put into Marathokampos harbour, once again becoming entangled in other boats’ anchor lines, I left Rita and the crew to make my way up to Seitani, taking the Zodiac with me strapped to the car roof. Atoll II would sail around the west coast to Karlovassi where we would meet up again and complete, comprehensively, the surveys of Seitani, which would become Biogenetic Reserve Area One.
Two days later, Atoll II finally arrived in Limani, the port of Karlovassi, after encountering heavy seas off the west coast. A customs official, no doubt alerted by YPEA, quickly appeared on the scene, determined to investigate the boat’s suspicious appearance, and the way it anchored a few metres out from the quayside so that the cats wouldn’t escape. ‘What a vale of tears,’ Tom said glumly, surrounded by twelve inquisitive and evidently seasick cats, as he looked out across the drab harbour buildings, the derelict tanneries, the uninviting stony shore. The other crew members, too, looked decidedly queasy with pale, greenish complexions. After rowing over in the bucket, they were summarily ordered into the customs office to have their baggage searched and documents checked. ‘I’ve been sailing in the eastern Aegean for years,’ Tom complained with bruised dignity, ‘and I’ve never known anything like it. It’s scandalous.’ Driving to Potami for our pre-arranged rendezvous, Rita was tailed by a moped carrying a plump customs official and, riding pillion, an underling of the port police. The overloaded moped wobbled alarmingly down the rough track, its riders perched precariously on the tiny machine. Gathering speed and courage, they eventually drew level and waved the car to a halt, but they themselves sped on until, with a screaming engine, the customs official managed to find the brake. At this point both of them nearly fell over each other as they tried to dismount simultaneously on opposite sides. The customs official, after shouting some gruff rebuke, strode back to the car, brushing the dust of his clothes and repairing his dignity. He then demanded to examine the vehicle’s documents.
Finally arriving at Potami, Rita climbed up onto the stone headland to search for any sign of an approaching Zodiac, but back at Megalo Seitani, I was desperately trying to choke the engine back into life. She then settled down for a long wait on the stony beach below, interrupted only by the ludicrous spectacle of the customs official’s lackey crawling over the headland and spying on her.
For the following three days we conducted our final and comprehensive research of Seitani, again using Tom’s yacht and the Zodiac. Every cave and beach was checked, mapped and photographed for evidence of seal habitation, backed up with more interviews with local fishermen. On one occasion, Tom thought he spied the head of a seal through his binoculars, but before he could let us know, the apparition had vanished. ‘It must have dived,’ he said ruefully, ‘but I’m quite certain it was a seal.’
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Seitani, 1978.
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On 18 October, Penny Marinos arrived on Samos for the project’s joint environmental education programme. About 1,500 children from nine schools in Karlovassi, Marathokampos, Vathi and Pythagorion would be shown slides and films of the monk seals and their disappearing habitat. It was to be the first environmental education programme ever conducted in Greece, and the NCPPE felt proud that we had managed to bypass the stultifyingly conservative Ministry of Education and Religion. But was YPEA suddenly alarmed that we were convincing the local people that reserves would be good for their island? Although the educational programme had been officially arranged months earlier by the NCPPE, a police officer visited the school in Karlovassi and demanded to be given an explanation for their visit.
The following day, after returning to the port of Karlovassi from Seitani, Rita, Penny, Tom and I were all summoned to appear before the chief customs officer or telonis. Apparently there were now problems concerning the documents for the Zodiac, though the nature of these problems remained frustratingly obscure. His hour-long interview with Penny Marinos was more like an interrogation and he appeared to doubt her credentials. Penny was also furious at the telonis’s lewd glances and crudely suggestive remarks, which had been interspersed with legal problems over the use of the Zodiac. Rita had also experienced similar treatment during her own go-minute session with the telonis, and this convinced Penny to make an official complaint when she returned to Athens. The telonis had then demanded to examine the documents for the Zodiac again. Snatching them from her, he promptly decided to keep them, locking them away in his desk drawer. With a conceited smile on his alcohol-ruddy face he then declared that the Zodiac had been seized; it was under ‘official confiscation’. Furthermore, he announced with pompous authority, Atoll II could only leave port if it left Samos completely. No reasons were given.
Over the next few days, while Penny and Rita were visiting schools, and Tom was finishing the maps on board his yacht, still bemoaning this ‘vale of tears’ and the telonis’s extraordinary officiousness, I went into seclusion in my house in Ambelos to write up our final report.
A few days later, Tom set sail for the Cyclades, depressed and almost penniless. We had nothing left to give him for his valuable contribution to the project, but planned to meet again the following year after WWF had passed judgement on another budget. On condition that Tom set free his cats, we might even afford to charter Atoll II on a long-term basis. We thought we could use the old yacht for educational purposes, visiting isolated fishing villages and projecting our monk seal film onto the white sails, perhaps accompanied by traditional Greek musicians to bring the campaign into the hearts of the local people.
On 31 October Rita and I embarked on our long journey back to Switzerland, but it was almost as though Samos didn’t want us to leave. The day was blue and sparkling, but a tempestuous south wind was blasting down the mountainsides and sending white-crested waves scurrying frantically across the sea. The ferry due in from Pireus was already hours behind schedule and, when it finally appeared on the horizon, it was listing heavily as the gale buffeted it. Try as it might, the lumbering giant could not dock at Vathi’s windswept harbour and eventually had to tie up at an old jetty on the more sheltered side of the bay. The procession of trucks, cars and buses then raced each other through the town, their horns blaring, as if the ship would suddenly leave without them. Several hours later, the ferry rumbled out into the bay, heading back to Pireus. Plying close to the northern shores, the power of the down draught was incredible and on deck you literally had to hold on to the railings to prevent yourself from being blown away. But most wonderful of all were the great whirlwinds of sun-infused spray, almost as tall as the ship itself, like supernatural beings darting majestically across the sea to the sound of the moaning gusts through the ship’s wires.
During the winter, while planning the project for the new year, we received further support for the Samos reserves. Jean-Pierre Ribaut, head of the Environment and Natural Resources division of the Council of Europe, wrote: ‘My colleagues and I were very much encouraged to read of your proposals for the establishment of biogenetic reserves on Samos, a project for which we have great enthusiasm.’ At the same time, Ribaut was doing his utmost to persuade the Greek government to establish the sanctuaries as rapidly as possible, and a few weeks later I received Mr Yeroulanos’s reaction to these overtures: ‘We should like to indicate that our secretariat is taking all necessary steps for the establishment of reserve areas on the island of Samos. As part of the protection programme we are planning an environmental education project for the island. We deeply appreciate your help and look forward to further co-operation.’ In a personal message conveyed through Penny Marinos, Mr Yeroulanos assured us that the problems with military intelligence would be resolved before our return to Greece. It seemed that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had finally given unequivocal backing to the project in spite of continuing hostility from the Defence Ministry. ‘Ronald’s proposal for setting up international parks has not been approved by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,’ Penny wrote. ‘They want us to set up national reserves only – such as Seitani. The minister was really enthusiastic about it, so was Yeroulanos.’
On 31 January 1980, IUCN/WWF awarded the project US $23,000, upgrading our budget by almost 300 per cent. And a few days later a letter arrived from the Ministry of Co-ordination in Greek, requesting the full co-operation of the prefectures, police, port police and customs authorities throughout the eastern Aegean. It was the strongest pledge of support we had yet received, and seemed to reflect Yeroulanos’s growing confidence that the tug of war had finally been won.
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