A force five wind sharply heeled our yacht almost 30 degrees as we raced across the huge, choppy expanse of the Skopea Limani cruising grounds off the coast of Turkey.

As I strained every muscle to maintain balance and turn the starboard helm wheel to keep our 37ft Oceanis on the optimum track, I got a nonchalant thumbs-up from skipper Mehmet Dokuzoglu perched high on the port side.

That really meant something, because the 32-year-old, from the Turkish marina town of Marmaris on the Mediterranean Turquoise Coast, knows the area’s winds, waters and anchorages like the back of his hand.

The last sailing I did was on a tiny dinghy as part of a crew in UK estuary waters, many years ago, so to control the graceful £100,000 Oceanis 40 in testing conditions was an exhilarating moment.

I found the confidence to helm the Zynobia three days into our week-long learn-to-sail holiday, partly because Mehmet assured me the yacht would not capsize, even with its mast in the deep waters of Skopea Limani – a six-mile stretch of water sheltered by towering hills from high winds.

Gradually the skipper passed on his knowledge of sailing by setting me tasks to build my grasp of boat control and making the best of the winds.

However, there was no steep learning curve.

This was also a holiday in truly idyllic surroundings true to the brochure – blazing sunshine, warm winds, deep blue waters and a beautiful coast. We sunbathed, swam and lunched in coves and anchorages along the coast, where pine and olive tree-dotted hills plunge steeply into incredibly clear waters – welcoming, even in mid-October.

If you wished, you could simply lie back and admire the view while Mehmet happily sailed on, but as a complete novice, I wanted to learn how to sail this three-cabin craft – one of a flotilla of eight.

So, Mehmet carefully explained the sheets, lines, winches and fittings, got me hauling up the mainsail and helping to tack the Zynobia to get the best of the winds.

Generally, the winds were light, and there were few other craft around.

If the wind died, Zynobia motored along, and I could spot sealife – dolphins, a huge turtle a few feet away from the hull, and flying fish flashing across the surface of the water.

As Mehmet explained: “If you do not know much about sailing, you learn as you go along. With water over 100 metres deep and light winds, it is a good area to learn.”

The flotilla format means that at the end of the day, all crews gather for a traditional Turkish meal to discuss the day’s sailing, at the spot on a spectacular coast where they stopped for lunch and a swim.

Crucial to the progress of the flotilla was the lead boat skippered by Ipek Ozen, with engineer Silar Keskin and hostess Francesca Evans – to provide the daily briefing about the mooring destination, wind, tide and social arrangements.

The lead boat crew was also always on hand on land or at sea to give help, mooring advice or directions by radio or phone – reassuring in unfamiliar waters.

Only the 2007-built Zynobia had a skipper provided, while clients who skippered the others were recommended to have an International Certificate of Competence or Day Skipper qualification.

Those with limited sailing experience can skipper after taking a pre-flotilla or RYA training course.

My flotilla voyage began from lively Marmaris, transformed by tourism, with each yacht going its own way to that day’s tie-up spot.

After motoring and sailing in light winds, Mehmet picked a tiny, wooded cove for lunch from our fridge, filled with provisions before we left Marmaris.

The pure white Zynobia lazily swung on her anchor in deep water about 20 yards from the steep rocky shore, where pines and olives crowded the waterline. Perfect for a long swim in beautifully clear, deep waters while local fishlife played around me.

We tied up for the night at the wooden jetty at Ekincik, where a punch party was thrown for the flotilla on the dockside before dinner in a woods-surrounded open-air restaurant. I also picked local fish from a selection brought to the table.

Locally caught fresh fish, including sea bass and red snapper, was a big feature of our menus, with various shishkebabs, and abundant meze – vegetable starter dishes shared by all – and delicious local bread.

The next day – after another lazy lunch-in-a-cove stopover – we motored through a narrow gap between two steep hillsides into the vast Skopea Limanis.

We cruised in the sunshine to tie up at the far end, with seven other boats, at beautiful Wall Bay, set under towering, wooded cliffs. It had just a couple of wooden jetties and a simple, rustic, open-air, water’s edge restaurant.

After a late-night chat at our table over raki with one of the owners, Yuksel Yorulmaz, I was allowed to spend a magical night nearby in a tiny, windowless, thatched Turkish-carpeted cabin on stilts a few feet out into the water – a welcome change from my cramped berth in Zynobia’s forepeak.

Light winds meant Mehmet had time to give basic Turkish lessons as we motored to the big marina in Fethiye – I can now order a white coffee without sugar – where we dined that night in a bustling square under a canopy of lantern-lit vines.

In Fethiye’s narrow streets, some places promise you will be “reborn”, with a traditional hamam massage.

At the end of next day’s sailing, we squeezed into the pretty Kapi Creek restaurant, with candlelit tables laid under the stars, as chefs produced a traditional meal for the crews of about 20 yachts on a simple wood fire range.

The mood was so relaxed that some restaurant staff even found time to sit down for a raki and a talk.

Our last day was a short hop into the sailing port of Gocek. Mehmet reckoned that I was capable of motoring the Oceanis out into open water, sailing her and bringing her back to the marina.

As long as he was aboard, I really believed I could...