Most places know me as Rüzgar Samet Samyeli. Rüzgar, Turkish for wind, is not actually my name, but it has stuck so well that I can no longer separate myself from it. My surname really is a wind: Samyeli, the sam yeli, the hot wind off the desert, Scirocco in Italian. And the first sailing boat I ever stepped into, at six, on Lake Eğirdir, was called Rüzgar. Looking back, it was all settled then. I have been following the wind ever since: under sail, then under the surface, on mountains and, lately, in the sky. Years later I named my company after a wind too: Lodos, the warm southwesterly that blows across Türkiye. Most of what I know about patience, decisions and mistakes, the wind taught me.
- Sailing since: 2002, aged six
- Club: Eğirdir Sailing Club, Lake Eğirdir, Isparta
- Classes: Optimist, then ILCA (the Laser)
- Best result: Mediterranean ILCA champion
- Medals: 13 medals and 2 cups
Sailing#
I started in 2002 at the Eğirdir Sailing Club, on Lake Eğirdir, one of the largest lakes in Türkiye. Like almost every racer, I began in the Optimist: a small, square-bowed boat, one child and one sail. From there I moved up to ILCA, the Laser, the single-handed Olympic dinghy. In an ILCA you are alone with the wind. There is no crew to share a mistake with, and no one to blame for a bad start but yourself.
I became Mediterranean ILCA champion, and over my racing years I collected 13 medals and 2 cups.
What racing taught me, and still does:
- See the wind before it reaches you. A gust shows on the water as a dark patch a few seconds ahead. Whoever reads it first gets there first.
- A race is a hundred small decisions. You rarely win with one brilliant move; you win by making fewer mistakes than everyone else.
- Capsizing is part of it. Everyone ends up in the water. What sets people apart is how fast they get back on the boat.
On the water#
If it happens on water, I do it. Windsurfing is the same wind on a different board, with nothing between you and the sail but your hands. Canoeing is the slow way across. Swimming is where all of it starts. And scuba diving is the opposite of a race: quiet, slow and entirely about breathing.
Mountains and sky#
On land, it is mountaineering and camping: long climbs, nights in a tent, mornings that start before the sun. In the air, it is paragliding. After years of reading the wind from the water, reading it from above is strange and wonderful: a thermal does what a gust does on a lake. And there is skiing, where I am still a beginner, which is a good thing to be now and then.
The road#
And there is a cruiser motorcycle. It is not a powerful machine, and I did not buy it for speed, but it looks like me. Anyone who has seen my music knows the type: a round headlamp, a low seat, an empty road at sundown and a classic rock song inside the helmet. The wind is in my face here too, just without a sail.
Hunting#
I am a licensed hunter, for hare and game birds. The licence comes with rules, seasons and limits, and with them a habit of reading the land, the weather and the animals that live there, much as sailing does with wind and water.
I learned to hunt from my father. My father is a fisherman at heart, and all his life he has hunted on land and on the water. He is the one who taught me to wait, to stay quiet and to watch for the light. My favourite mornings out are still the ones at his side.
I do the same thing at a desk: read the wind, then make the next small decision.