Interview with Charlotte Dashiell and Atakan Vadim
By Chris Karlsen
I sipped the last of my Kavaklidere wine, enjoying the view my favorite sidewalk café, The Panorama, offered of the harbor. I’d stopped off in the Mediterranean seaside town of Bozburun on my way to Kusadasi, another lovely seaside Turkish town but on the Aegean.
Arif, the server who’d waited on me every day brought another glass of the robust red wine. He set the glass down and joined me. As was our ritual, he broke out his Turkish-English dictionary and I brought out my English-Turkish one. I visited the country often enough to want to learn some basic conversational language skills. During the season, the area drew many American and British tourists and Arif wanted to improve his conversational skills. I have to admit to my ability to being far less than his. Conjugation was killing me.
I mentioned I’d read about all the shipwrecks off the Turkish coast and would like to write an article on the subject. To my great surprise and delight, he said two of his customers were knowledgeable on the topic. One was Atakan Vadim, an agent with the Ministry of Culture. “One of their representatives is present at all legitimate archaeological sites,” Arif said.
The other was an American nautical archaeologist, Charlotte Dashiell. According to Arif, the two had just finished participating in a recovery project not far from Bozburun—a Bronze Age shipwreck. With the dive season over, they were in the village for the weekend before they returned to Istanbul.
“They come every evening. I will introduce you,” he said.
I spent the afternoon writing down questions. When dusk came, I gathered my legal pad as I always take notes in longhand, and went back to The Panorama.
I picked the attractive couple out straight away as they came down the promenade. They were dressed like locals, not tourists. She was American tall, very tan, and wore her dark hair in a ponytail. He was medium tall, tan, with blue-black hair swept back in a fashionable European style. His face was a sculpted genetic mix of Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, and a hint of Central Russian.
Arif led them to my table, where I introduced myself. Over wine and appetizers we talked.
“I’ve never dived. Tell me, what’s it like?” I asked.
“There’s a quiet beauty. A world filled with shades of blue you don’t find on a color chart. Flecks of marine life sparkle like sugar, depending on the amount of sunlight coming through. For me, the ship had a haunted quality, often shrouded in a veil of swirling sand from the currents,” Charlotte said.
“I agree to a ghost-like quality. We’d find bits and pieces of the sailor’s world, an oil lamp, a good luck talisman, a cook pot. Reminders the ship once teemed with life,” Atakan added.
“With so many wrecks in these waters, why choose this shipwreck project?” I asked Charlotte.
“It held the possible proof of a theory I have about Troy—the Trojan War, to be specific,” Charlotte said.
The two exchanged an intimate smile.
“She has a romantic theory about the characters from the Iliad having truly existed,” Atakan added.
“He thinks my theory silly,” she said.
“Silly? No. It’s you. You have crafted an ideal that is charmingly unrealistic,” he said, flashing her another smile.
She leaned in. “What do you think?”
I thought for a moment of Hektor and Achilles, heroes of the Iliad. “I think finding proof of them would be most remarkable.” I meant it.
She searched my eyes for sarcasm. Seeing none, she sat back.
“Is the work ever dangerous?” I asked.
Her expression darkened briefly. “This turned out to be.”
“My friend was murdered by artifact smugglers after a particular relic from the ship. Their plan put Charlotte’s life at risk.”
“Were you assigned to the project because the murder left an opening?” I asked him.
“No, I was assigned to investigate Charlotte for possible involvement in the murder.”
I hadn’t expected that. I turned to her. “You must’ve been terrified between the investigation and the smuggler’s threat to you.”
“I had my moments,” she said.
Atakan stood and gave her his hand. “We must leave now. We’ve a ferry to catch,” he said.
I thanked them and watched the couple head for the dock. I knew if they weren’t lovers now, they would be. Private smiles, the brushing of fingers, the look in his eyes when he spoke of her theory, gave them away.
I also knew that I had more than an article. I had a book and a hero and heroine. I’m going to call it, Golden Chariot, in honor of Troy’s heroes.