Turkey – Preparation and Arrival

One day in January when the temperature was hovering around zero and icy rain was lashing at the windows my daughter Sally called me with a travel proposal.  She had booked a holiday and the arrangements had fallen through which meant there was a spare place available that needed filling and crucially – paying for and I was being called up as first reserve.

“You will enjoy it dad, you can spend time with the grandchildren and it’s only for a week.”  I gave in quickly and asked the obvious questions of where, when and how much? “May, Torquay, only £900”. Actually I thought £900 for a week in Torquay in May was rather expensive but I agreed to it all the same and the deal was done and I started to research what there might be to do with three very young children in south Devon in early summer.

A couple of weeks or so later Sally phoned me again and said that she was applying for a passport for her new son William and although I appreciate that we are from the north I wasn’t yet aware that there were visa requirements for British citizens who wanted to travel south within the United Kingdom.  I telephoned her. “Why do we need a passport for William? I asked, “For the holiday, obviously”, she replied, “But we don’t need a passport for Torquay”, I smugly informed her, “Torquay? Torquay?”, she said, “who said anything about Torquay? We are going to TURKEY!”

TURKEY!

Well, after the news had sunk in – that I would be in Asia with three young grand children I began to immediately get used to the idea and began to look forward to it, after all, I went to Bodrum the year before and really enjoyed it so I was sure that this would be just as good and then in a subsequent conversation Sally dropped another bombshell – we were going to an ALL INCLUSIVE resort in Sarigerme near Dalaman.

ALL INCLUSIVE! – I have always vowed never to go ALL INCLUSIVE!

I was committed by now of course and I told myself that if I want to call myself a traveller then I have to open my mind and try everything – at least once, so I set about preparing for the experience.  Normally before travelling I would carry out research by reading books, consulting maps and catching up on the history of the area but I quickly realised that in this case this was completely pointless so instead I watched a boxed set of DVDs of the comedy series Benidorm instead.

On the day of travel we booked in for an early morning flight from East Midlands Airport and by midday the pilot of the Thomson Airlines plane announced that we were beginning our descent into Dalaman.  There was some turbulence and thick towering storm clouds to negotiate on the way down but as we broke through these below us was a blue sea as calm as a mountain lake with just the occasional gullet carving its way through the surf and leaving just a faint trail of disturbed vapour in its wake.  A gnarled rocky landscape and grey cliffs, corrugated like cardboard were rising from the sea and a crescent of golden sand swept out into the water like a Saracen’s sword and as we dropped towards the airport we caught our first glimpse of Sarigerme baking in the sunshine below.

The plane landed and taxied to a standstill and after everyone had barged their way off the aircraft there was passport control to negotiate but before we could pass we had to acquire an entry visa which cost £10 each.  They called this a visa procedure but there were no forms to complete and no checks to establish our suitability for visiting the country because this is not a formal visa in any way whatsoever but rather a crude Robin Hood tourist tax and the uniformed official might as well have held a pistol to our heads as we handed over and he added our cash to a wad of money in his hairy hands and nicotine stained fingers and then he let us proceed to passport control where they checked the rip-off visa and stamped it with an authorative thump which I interpreted rather loosely as ‘Welcome to Turkey’.

Now we had to find our transport to the Suntopia Topical Hotel and we dutifully made our way to the transport coach and it was at that point that I first realised that this would not really be my first choice type of holiday as I walked down the aisle looking for a seat past tattooed bodies, football shirts and Geordie facelifts. Towards the back I was then forced to settle in just in front of a family of gypsies who had no manners, no awareness of other people and were clearly exactly the sort of people that we didn’t want to find as next door neighbours at the hotel.  Fortunately I didn’t have to deal with his issue because after arrival and the check-in procedure we were allocated a room well away from them and after we had been branded with our All Inclusive wrist band and rushed to the bar for our first drink we set about the process of making ourselves at home!

Kos, Diamond Deluxe and Final days

It was almost immediately obvious that booking into the Diamond Deluxe Hotel was a big mistake.  It was miles out of town in a desolate area of dusty wind-blown grass and littered verges called Lambi.  I hated it as soon as we checked in.  I preferred the scruffy little Aphrodite Studios that we had just left behind where the owner required no credit card swipe and who let us stay in our room way after check out time.

The Diamond Deluxe is one of those modern ubiquitous hotels that could be anywhere, Cancun, Taiwan, Sydney because there are no concessions to being in Greece at all.  If I had arrived blindfolded I would not have known where in the world I was.  As it is, I seriously doubt of many of the guests knew that they were in Greece, but then again, show them a map of the world and they probably wouldn’t be able to point it out anyway.  They weren’t here to be in Greece they were here to sit basting in the sun, turning their sunbeds and watching their skin progress through various shades of red in between the occasional dip in the pool and the twenty metre walk to the overpriced cocktail bar.

I had booked the place at a bargain rate but there was a price to pay for that because the ‘best offer’ rooms also happen to be the worst.  It was well appointed and had all the facilities that a five star hotel room should have but it was designed for Hobbits at below ground level and all that we could see from our sun starved balcony were people’s sunburnt legs walking by and it was expensive with prices tripled at the hotel shop which meant that I had to walk two kilometres to a minimarket to buy some Mythos.  It was a mistake to come here, a very big mistake – for two weeks the sights and sounds had been a delight and an inspiration but there was nothing here to get excited about.

There was a whole day to endure here and I couldn’t bear the thought of staying within the hotel complex so first I walked one way along the scruffy, dirty beach and then I walked the other.  At one point there was a blue flag fluttering but it couldn’t possibly be official given the condition of the water and the heavily littered beach.  Somehow this passed the day away and thankfully soon it was evening and in the morning it would all be over.

For people who like this sort of thing, I am sure it was wonderful, the facilities were good and the food was excellent but quite honestly my advice is don’t go there, go somewhere authentic, go somewhere Greek, go somewhere that supports the Greek people and the Greek economy and not the shareholders of a corporate hotel chain.

On the final day we were ejected from our room at exactly the contracted check out time, there was no flexibility or hospitality here.  We paid the bill in a business like transaction, there were no fond farewells, no philoxenia, no invitations to return and no reciprocal promises.  We were happy to leave and where we arrived in a taxi we left by bus for a return to Kos town for a final drink, last minute shopping, a meal at our favourite taverna and a couple of hours to flush the Diamond Deluxe from the memory.

The airport bus left the town at four o’clock and as we left Kos town I reflected on this year’s Greek travels.  I had enjoyed the places that we had visited and had a good time but it was not the best Greek experience which I personally find comes only with visiting the Cyclades.  I liked Kos but wouldn’t rush back, Turkey was a revelation and a definite must return to country and if I could arrange a trip to Kalymnos whilst bypassing Kos I would like to spend a little more time there and perhaps spend a day or two on tiny Telendros.

Kalymnos, The Islet of Telendros and a Departure

There was more trouble with the room in the night, this time with the air conditioning unit which refused to respond to the battered and sellotaped together controller and was permanently set to sub-zero arctic temperature and so cold that it would have tested the endurance of a polar expedition team.  On the positive side this did prevent the fridge from constantly going on and off which cut down on the noise and there was no trouble with mosquitoes!

I thought it would be a good idea to let the sunshine in but after twelve days of blue skies and continuous sunshine it was a shock this morning to open the shutters and to come face to face with a hanging mist and the top of the mountain disappearing into a battleship grey cloud.

Gradually the sun found a way through all these vapour obstacles and as we breakfasted on the terrace the weather began to return to normal and we made plans to use our last morning here to visit the nearby islet of Telendros for no particular reason other than it was there.

The taxi boats left the harbour every thirty minutes so we arrived in good time for the ten minute crossing and sat waiting in the sunshine on the open deck of the boat for it to begin the short crossing to what is little more than a stranded mountain top, a giant grey peak pitted with fissures and caves and thrusting magnificently out of the sea.

All along the lazy harbour there was a ribbon of tiny shops and tavernas.  This was a unique and improbable sort of place where the shops left local souvenirs out on shelves with an honesty box to pay for purchases.  It was like stepping back in time, a sort of cheesecloth and denim 1960s hippy commune that progress had forgotten to release and left it behind in a nostalgic time warp that everyone here seemed happy about.

The shops offered hand-made souvenirs made from driftwood and sea debris, wood, sticks and shells and the dusty shelves displayed herbs and spices and hand-made soaps and cosmetics.  The tavernas were stirring into life and one displayed a recommendation from an English newspaper from twenty years ago.  It was wonderful and we walked along the seafront as far as we could before the path petered out into stones and dust and then we returned through the sleepy back alleys to wait for the return crossing at a harbour side taverna where we agreed that if we were to return to Kalymnos sometime then this would be a good place to isolate ourselves for a couple of days.

The taxi boat returned and took us back to Myrties where we packed our bags and spent a final hour on the terrace before saying goodbye and reluctantly leaving the Aphrodite Studios. Our plan now was to take the local bus to Pothia in time to catch the ferry back to Kos and we lined up with several other people and we became collectively nervous as the minutes passed by with no sign of the transport at the scheduled time and wondered about alternatives.  We shouldn’t have worried of course because the driver was using GMT, that’s Greek Maybe Time and he eventually arrived about twenty minutes late.

There was quite a long wait now for the ferry so we made our way to the pavement bar that we had found yesterday and settled down in the shade for an hour. As Kim read I watched the man working the pavement because he was a genius and a master of his trade.  He had an infectious smile that he probably practiced to perfection every morning in a mirror and he had the ability to make people stop and sit at a table and order drinks when they had no intention of doing so.  He stood back in the shadows waiting for his opportunity and then with a predatory sixth sense and a perfect awareness of potential customers as they passed he stepped forward and pounced and was almost always successful.  It was a pleasure to watch him work and when we left I told him so and congratulated him on his skills.

At the port we sat waiting for the ferry and reflected on two short days on Kalymnos.  Despite a shaky start I liked it, it won’t get into my top five Greek islands but it is close and I for one would definitely return. And then the ferry arrived and took us back to Kos.

After two weeks of travelling, using public transport and staying in mid-budget accommodation I thought it might be nice to stay the final two nights in an up-market spa hotel especially as I had found a good rate on an internet booking site.  I didn’t think it was appropriate to pitch up at a five star hotel on the bus, dust-streaked and sweating so I broke one of my golden rules of travelling and hopped into an air-conditioned taxi and fifteen minutes later we were booking in to the promising sounding Diamond Deluxe Hotel.

Kalymnos, Sponges and a Monastery

The coast road to Vathi wasn’t the most attractive I have ever driven but it swooped around the sides of the hills and gave good views out to sea and the neighbouring island of Pserimos until suddenly and without warning it turned inland and after climbing for a while we emerged into an unexpected fertile green valley full of citrus trees in neat rows in carefully cultivated fields which was in complete contrast to the barren appearance that we had become accustomed to. The road suddenly turned back on itself until it reached the village of Rena and reached the sea and could go no further.

Rena was a delightful place, quiet and unspoilt with a narrow natural harbour where a few boats were tied to the jetty, fishermen were fussing with their nets and rich yacht owners were sitting under the shade on their polished decks checking their emails with one eye and watching the girls with the other.  After walking along the harbour we turned and strolled down the single road lined with houses and a few shops and we stopped to examine the sponges.

Kalymnos is famous for sponges.  This was once the centre of the Aegean sponge fishing industry but it has all but gone now as a result of over fishing and synthetic competition but there were some genuine sea water sponges here so we bought  a few and the shop owner seemed grateful for the trade.

I didn’t know this but sponges are living animals whereas I had always assumed that they were plants and sometimes you just have to marvel at man’s inventive nature because I have to seriously wonder who first came up with the idea of scooping an unpromising little black creature off the seabed and turning it into something really useful!

My guess is that the first inclination was to cook it and try and eat it because like the French, the Greeks will eat anything that swims, slips or slithers through the sea.  It probably tasted awful (you never see sponge on a menu) but as they were about to throw them back in the sea I can see one man saying, “hang on a minute fellas, I’ve got another idea, if we leave it in the sun for a few days so the flesh rots off and then we rinse it several times in seawater to remove all the excrement, and then we tenderise it with a rock and then we bleach it and then we rinse it several times in fresh water and then we hang it out to dry and then dye it yellow, I think we could find a use for it”, and that’s possibly how a piece of aquatic life becomes a bathroom  essential.

Actually, sponges have been used for all sorts of different things over the years, washing with, painting, for drinking from, medicine and under armour padding.  The Romans used them for wiping their bottoms in the public lavatories and ancient Greek prostitutes began their use as a contraceptive pessary and hence the term ‘sponge’ as a derogatory term for a woman of ill repute!

There was a relaxed and informal restaurant by the side of the harbour and although we only intended to have a drink the food looked so good that we stayed longer than planned and had an excellent lunch and then we left the charming village of Rena and headed back to Pothia.  We didn’t stop this time but drove straight through and out the other side on the way to a mountain top monastery with commanding vies over all of the island.  We stayed there for a while and looked inside the dazzling white churches and the bell towers and then continued to the tiny beach resort of Vlihadia Bay where we swam in the clear warm water and I managed to get stung on the ankle by a jellyfish!

It was getting late so we drove back now the way that we had come and took the main road back to Myrties but on the way I had to stop for some fuel.  Being a self-confessed skinflint I didn’t want to put more petrol in than I needed to so at a garage I put an optimistically small amount in the tank and drove on.  To my horror the needle on the gauge barely moved so I was obliged to find a second garage to top it up.  This time I put too much in and then sulked all the way back on account of the fact that by trying to be too smart I swindled myself out of €5.

After returning the jeep to the car hire office we spent the rest of the daylight sitting on the balcony and waiting for another sunset moment.  It was nice here, it was relaxing and quiet and we had both enjoyed it despite Kim’s wobbly start.  Our plan for tomorrow was to take the late afternoon ferry back to Kos for the final time but with a morning to spare, over dinner, we made plans to visit the neighbouring islet of Telendos.

Kalymnos, Pothia and the Greco-Turkish War

During the night we experienced the downside of having a cheap and rustic studio apartment – it was incredibly loud!  The air conditioning chattered like a cicada, the fridge kept switching on and off with an ancient motor mechanism that sounded like a battering ram and every so often the shower head in the bathroom filled with water and discharged with a splash into the tray.  This was bad enough but worst of all were the beds, Kim’s croaked like a frog every time she turned over and mine quacked like a duck every time I moved and eventually we were very glad that it was morning.

It was a cool start today because it took the sun some time to peek above the five hundred metre high grey splintered and pitted mountain that towered up directly behind the small resort of Myrties and the Aphrodite Apartments and the place remained in shade while villagers in the best suits hurried to the nearby church and morning worship until well after breakfast.

After a week or so it was time for a shave and I mention this not because I think you might be interested in my ablutions but because I have noticed a curious thing about bathroom wash basins in Greek hotels.  In almost every one there is a notice on the wall explaining how precious water is and requesting guests not to waste it – so curious then that there is hardly ever a basin plug and if there is then it more than likely will not fit and the water just pours away into the u bend and beyond.  Surely if they are serious about being careful with water then it would be sensible to provide a simple piece of rubber on a chain to make sure that to take a shave or to wash your hands you don’t have to keep the tap running continuously!

It was time to collect the car from the rental office down the road and after I had completed the necessary paperwork and jointly inspected the vehicle with the Swedish clerk we took possession of a flame red Suzuki jeep for the day and set off immediately to the capital Pothia stopping briefly on the way at a ruined castle which overlooked the town.

We parked the car near the harbour and walked around the quayside and I am sorry to say but I think it looks better from a distance than right up close and the colourful pastel coloured buildings arranged in boxes one on top of another that I imagined looked like those in Symi were not nearly as photogenic.

Suddenly the traffic in the town came to a sudden halt from all directions and the reason for this was a remembrance service that was taking place by the side of the harbour and which required a fifteen minute road closure while a beardy priest in rusty black robes led a service and one by one people were called forward to lay a wreath on a memorial statue.  Intrigued to know what it was all about we waited for it to finish and then enquired and were told that it was to commemorate the ninetieth anniversary of the Greco-Turkish war of 1919-22.

This was interesting.  A core concept in Greek Nationalism is the Megali, or Great Idea which envisages a greater Greece and occupation of parts of what is now modern Turkey.  It is summed up most appropriately by the words of Greek politician Ioannis Kolettis in 1844: ‘There are two great centres of Hellenism. Athens is the capital of the Kingdom. Constantinople is the great capital, the City, the dream and hope of all Greeks.’

Deeply rooted in the religious consciousnesses of Greece, the Great Idea gained momentum as a consequence of nineteenth century nationalism. It aspired to the recovery of Constantinople for Christendom and the reestablishment of the Christian Byzantine Empire which had fallen in 1453 and was/is seen as the rightful destiny of the Greek Orthodox Church.

As well as Constantinople, the Megali included most traditional lands of the Greeks including Crete, Thessaly, Epirus, Macedonia, Thrace, the Aegean Islands, Cyprus, the coastlands of Asia Minor and Pontus on the Black Sea.  Asia Minor was considered an essential part of the Greek world and an area of enduring Greek cultural dominance.

The last time Greece came close to achieving this aspiration was during the Greco-Turkish War  which was the result of uncharacteristic aggression and ultimately ended in Greek defeat and is still referred to today as the ‘Great Catastrophe’.

Life can sometimes throw up an amazing coincidence and what made this even more interesting was that purely by chance Kim was at this very time reading a historical novel which was based on this very event.

After the service ended we continued our walk around the waterfront and through the adjacent streets and as the temperature continued to rise towards the high thirties we retraced our steps and stopped for a short while in a pavement café to enjoy the shade and a cold drink and then suitably refreshed we returned to the jeep and set off around the coast road to explore some more of the island.

Kos to Kalymnos

In the morning we took a stroll along the harbour to watch the last of the fishing fleet return one by one where family were waiting to take the catch, clean and gut, grade and sort and put out on iced beds under the shade of umbrellas for sale whilst keeping vigil and waiting for customers.  Out all night but there was no immediate rest for the fishermen because whilst this was going on there was more work yet to be done untangling, repairing and storing the nets, cleaning the pots and clearing down the decks.

We were booked on the eleven o’clock ferry to Kalymnos so after a desperately disappointing breakfast at the otherwise excellent hotel Kosta Palace we took our bags and walked all the way around the harbour again to the ferry port.  The modern featureless hydrofoil arrived and left on time and we made our way to the open top deck for the short journey.  As the island of Kos started to fade into the distance I noticed how it resembled a resting crocodile with its central mountain peaks for a jagged spine and a long tail disappearing into the heat haze to the south and on its flanks brown fields divided into neat squares for scales.

Out on deck the wind rushed through my shirt, tugging at the sleeves and clawing at the buttons and it was most exhilarating even though I prefer the older slower Greek ferries which due to a combination of age and economics are becoming increasingly scarce as one by one they are removed from service and replaced with a modern fleet of ferries which sadly lack the romance and the adventure of the old boats.

After a while Kalymnos came into view and as we approached the harbour town of Pothia I thought it looked rather like Symi with Venetian mansions clinging to the sides of the hills and I could make out delicate arches, iron balustrades and bright pastel shades and I imagined that this is how Kos may have looked before the calamity of the 1933 earthquake.  As we got closer I could see that it lacked the charm and grace of Symi but it was nice enough and I was glad we were here.

It was larger than I expected as well and the hotel was farther away than I had imagined so, slightly disorientated and weighed down with bags we broke the no taxi rule and climbed into a cab which surprisingly turned out to be good value, a pleasant journey and a helpful and informative driver, he told us proudly that Kalymnos ‘is not touristic’ and that we were sure to enjoy our short stay.

Lawrence Durrell described Kalymnos thus: “The hills are shaven as smooth as a turtle’s back, the bare rock has the slightly bluish terracotta tinge of volcanic rock. There is nothing much to see except the fine harbour” and on the drive across the island to our accommodation I was beginning to understand what he meant.  Kim would have agreed with him because on arrival I could tell that she wasn’t particularly thrilled with this choice of location or the studio room which could only really be described as basic.  On the other hand I liked it immediately, it was Cycladic blue with a large tiled balcony and there was an old-fashioned mini-market close by.

After a walk to the seashore and along the sand we choose a bar and once again a couple of Mythos provided a whole new perspective and we located a bus timetable and established that there was a service to the port and Kim began to cheer up and agree with me that this was a perfect place for two days of relaxation and I was pleased that she came to reassess the place in a positive way because it suited me perfectly and I looked forward to two days in a simple room, swimming in the crystal clear sea, salt streaked sunbathing, long afternoons with a book and a beer and then an evening meal and an ouzo or a metaxa to finish.  This year’s adventure needed a beach break and this was it.

On the balcony the ferocious heat of the late afternoon sun chased us inside but we ventured back outside as the sun began to drop over the adjacent island of Telendros and I felt a sunset moment coming on so grabbed a camera and dashed to the seafront to capture it.  On the way back I re-examined the bus schedule and discovered that there was only a reduced service on a Sunday so there was only one thing for it – I stopped and arranged a car hire instead.

Bodrum and Return to Kos

Today we were returning to Greece and our preference would have been to go via Kos straight to Kalymnos but inconveniently the ferry schedules didn’t reconcile to our plans so we had to go to Kos for one night before making the onward journey to our next island stop over.

Passport control in Turkey was even more thorough than it had been leaving Kos four days previously and our passports were checked at three separate points and our bags had to be scanned as though we were at an airport.  We placed them on the conveyor and out the other side my backpack seemed to cause some excitement.  I had some difficulty getting through the body scanner without setting it off so this left Kim by herself to deal with the request to open it.  I think she suddenly remembered the film ‘Midnight Express’ when a stay in a Turkish prison was decidedly unpleasant and mindful of this she blurted out ‘It isn’t mine!’ and raising a finger and clearly identifying me as the owner said ‘It’s his, it’s his!’ 

The security guard was rather perplexed by my bag of driftwood and a few rusty nails but seemed to accept my explanation about the souvenir boat building project and he let us both pass without a detour to the cells.

It was a one hour journey across the narrow strait that separates Turkey from Greece and we arrived back in Kos shortly after eleven o’clock.  The hotel was only fifty metres away but it was on the opposite side of the harbour so we had to walk ten times that distance to present ourselves at the Kosta Palace.

The room wasn’t ready so we walked in a westerly direction along a thin stretch of beach horribly overcrowded with sun beds and garish parasols so we quickly abandoned it and found a bar instead.  We didn’t really want to be back in Kos town but it was unavoidable and we prepared ourselves for a nothing sort of day, a transfer sort of day, a not unpacking the luggage sort of day and we came to the conclusion that we would use it as a resting sort of day.

When it was time we returned to the hotel and were pleased with our room which suited our purpose perfectly, it was on the second floor and had a balcony in the sunshine with a wonderful view of the harbour, the castle and the town underneath a sky so blue that if the world were somehow turned upside down I could have jumped into it as though it were the sea.

The harbour was in a mid afternoon stupor, the metal fish stalls were washed down and empty, the fishing nets were repaired and neatly stacked and the men who would go out in the boats later were resting in their boats, some sleeping, some drinking coffee and some just idly chatting with fellow sailors.  I imagine this is a treadmill sort of life where every day follows the same pattern as the one before and the one that will follow.

We read our books and drank Mythos and wine and then we swam in the rooftop pool and then we read our books and drank more Mythos and wine and later as the shadows lengthened and the sun started to dip activity in the harbour started to steadily increase as the daily sail boats started to return and as it got later one by one the fishing boats started to leave the port on the way to the preferred fishing waters of the men on board.

And so the day drifted slowly away into evening until the lights came on around the harbour and the tavernas started to come to life.  It wasn’t very imaginative I confess but later we walked the short distance into the old town and made our way to our favourite taverna at the back of the cathedral and we enjoyed a simple meal before returning to the hotel for our one night stay before moving on to Kalymnos the next day.

Bodrum, A Lazy Day on a Boat

Bodrum Boat Trip…

When we booked the all day boat cruise around Bodrum Bay I suppose that we were hoping to reprise the boat trip day with Captain Ben at Antiparos the previous year because it had been a wonderful day and we rather liked the idea of doing it again.  The full day trip was very reasonably priced at only thirty Turkish Lira so we happily signed up and handed over our cash.

As it was end of season the boat wasn’t overcrowded and we selected our positions for the day on the top deck and waited for the time when the skipper was ready to raise the gang plank, started the engine and carefully manoeuvre the wooden boat out of the crowded harbour.  It slipped past the rows of swanky yachts, beneath the shadow of St. Peter’s castle and into the bay where the sun was dancing like dainty fairies on the water ballroom dance floor.

There were to be a number of stops for swimming and after thirty minutes or do the boat dropped anchor in a secluded bay where the water was crystal clear but so deep I could barely see the seabed.

I was ready for a swim and like Tom Daley from the ten metre Olympic diving platform I dived from the boat and like a kingfisher speared the water as though I was a stiletto dagger splintering the water like glass and sending silver shards splintering like a kaleidoscope.  Well that’s how it seemed to me but I am prepared to accept that for anyone watching it was all rather less elegant than I imagined.  The water was soft and warm and I fell through a shoal of small fish scattering them in all directions and then I stopped falling and started to rise up and surfaced in an explosion of white foam and bubbles.

It was an exhilarating experience so I did it several more times until I had jumped enough and it was time to swim to swim to the deserted shingle beach to look for driftwood.

At the next stop there was an invitation to jump for thrills from a twenty metre high cliff top into a pool of appropriately deep water.  Miles from home and unsure of standards of medical care in a non-EU country or even if my travel insurance would cover me in the event of an accident this would have been a seriously crazy thing to do and nothing would have persuaded me to jump from that ledge.

Some young people on another boat however had no such cares and a couple of them leapt from the top and pierced the water at what looked to me like a terrifying speed and impact.  A third member of the group, a young girl, was not so confident and took several looks over the precipice and was clearly having doubts but cheered on and encouraged by those who had already taken the plunge she stood back and finally ran for the edge and the jump.  At the last moment she had second thoughts and tried to stop but it was far too late and although she decelerated her momentum carried over the edge but was now insufficient for her to clear the cliff face below and she landed heavily on her bottom and slid and bounced into the sea.  Suddenly everything went quiet as everyone feared a serious accident but she returned to the surface and I am willing to wager that she was now minus several layers of skin on her legs and back.  No one else seemed to have the inclination to attempt the jump after that!

After a good lunch which was worth the cost of the trip by itself the next stop was Cleopatra’s cave, so called because the Egyptian Queen is said to have hidden there at some time and had discovered a cave with hot springs and warm copper coloured mud that she used for bathing because she discovered that it had a range of medicinal benefits including keeping her skin soft and youth like.  Some people were trying it for themselves but I thought it all looked a bit messy and there was an entrance fee which put me off.  Actually, I have done this sort of thing before on Santorini in 2003 and I am convinced that you only need to do this thing once to achieve everlasting good looks so I declined to do it again here.

There was still a full afternoon ahead but this trip was clearly not going to be as much fun as Captain Ben’s the previous year because almost all of our travelling companions on the top deck slept throughout most of the voyage and we guessed that they were most likely clubbers sleeping off the previous night’s excesses.  Only Kim, me and Paul from Fort Lauderdale in the USA stayed awake and I even have a suspicion that Kim dropped off for a short while behind her dark glasses.

It had been a good day but after seven hours I was ready for a return to dry land and was pleased when we returned to the harbour and were entertained by a forest fire on the hills above the city that was being tackled by helicopters scooping up water and dropping it on the flames.  Very efficiently as it happened because it was all over very quickly once the water started to drop out of the sky.

This was our last evening and night in Turkey and we had enjoyed it, so much in fact that we thought we might like to return and see some more of the country and after a meal and a walk and some time watching live music on the harbour as part of the annual Bodrum Festival on the walk back to the hotel we debated potential itineraries for next year.

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Some more of my boat journeys recorded in the journal:

Malta Tony-Oki-Koki

Corfu-1984 Georges Boat

Motorboat Ride from Kalami to Corfu Town

Rowing Boat on Lake Bled in Slovenia

A Boat Ride with Dolphins in Croatia

A Boat Ride with Dolphins in Wales

Gondola Ride in Venice

boat trip day with Captain Ben at Antiparos

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Bodrum, A Bus Ride and Souvenir Shopping

““Do you like that?” I’ll say in surprise since it doesn’t seem like her type of thing, and she’ll look at me as if I’m mad.  That!?” She’ll say, “No, it’s hideous” “Then why on earth,” I always want to say, “did you walk all the way over there to touch it?”  but of course…I have learned to say nothing when shopping because no matter what you say…  it doesn’t pay, so I say nothing.”  Bill Bryson – ‘Notes From a Small Island’

After the previous day spent in the streets of Bodrum we decided today to see just a little more of Turkey and take a bus to the town of Yalikavak on the northern coast of the Bodrum Peninsular.

The central bus station was busy and we needed to have our wits about us as coaches and vans sped about in a disorganised and undisciplined way but we quickly found the Yalikavak terminus and the minibus driver told us he was leaving right away and he ushered us quickly on board and true to his word he followed us inside, took our fares, started the engine and edged his way through the crowds of people.

It was slow going at first as the driver negotiated the congested one-way system and he sighed dramatically every time the traffic lights halted his progress or he had to stop to pick up more passengers but gradually we left the city and he began to pick up speed.  A little too much speed in my opinion because as we climbed the tyres squealed through hairpin bends and at times we seemed to be dangerously adjacent to a sheer drop with no barrier to stop us going over the side if the brakes failed. I imagined one of those BBC news items which reported a bus crash overseas with British casualties – the family are being informed, Foreign Office staff are helping etc. etc…

Eventually we arrived at our destination and from the bus station it was only a short walk to the sea front and a paved promenade that disappeared into the distance around the bay next to an assortment of small fishing boats, holiday yachts and charter vessels and we followed the path towards the town through the main shopping street and past the bars and seafront restaurants which were still preparing for the day ahead.

On the other side we came to the beaches but I have to say they were not especially thrilling or inviting.  A display board and a flag proudly declared them to be ‘blue flag’ but quite honestly I found this rather difficult to believe unless the assessors had overlooked the ‘no dog poop’ criteria because there were large deposits every few metres!  This wasn’t altogether surprising because all along the harbour side there were large scruffy dogs lying about and making the place untidy (and for me of course – scary).

At the end of a path was a boat repair yard and that was out signal to turn around and walk back the way that we had came and as we walked we compared beer prices and eventually found the best deal that we could and sat down by the water’s edge in a bar with Cycladic blue tables and chairs, Mediterranean lounge music and next to colourful boats resting and reflecting on the water and close to this statue:

I am not entirely certain that the translation board explaining what it is about has quite managed to capture the spirit of the story…

 “Leaving Çökertme I felt safe and sound, oh my Halil,                                                But before reaching the Bitez shore all hell broke loose at sea                                  My Friend Ibrahim Çavu, washed overboard, now rests with God                      This is not Aspat, oh my Halil, it’s the Bitez shore;                                                          My heart is afire, deep are the wounds of the bullets…”

but the statue tells the local tale of two lovers who tried to escape from feuding families and corrupt officials in Turkey to the Greek island of Kos but were betrayed in an ambush and were shot and died together.  It’s not quite ‘Romeo and Juliet’ but it’s just as tragic.

After a couple of gassy Turkish Efes beers (in my opinion, not as nice as Greek Mythos) it was time to return to the bus station so with plenty of time to get there before the scheduled departure we sauntered through the shopping streets and then through the gardens of a startling white Mosque with slender minarets thrusting needle like into the perfect blue sky.  In a side street of shops and bars Turkish men were sitting at outside tables drinking coffee and playing the game of Okey which is played with numbered tiles with the objective it seemed of making pairs to win points.  One man offered to teach me but I didn’t have time and I feared money might be involved so I graciously declined and moved on.

Eventually we arrived in perfect time for the return journey to Bodrum and the bus set off and drove through the buff sun-scorched hills with rocks fashioned by the wind, trees planted randomly by nature and an asphalt road laid by man.

In the afternoon and the evening we did the same things as the day before, enjoyed a kebab lunch, smuggled beer into the hotel and sat in the sunshine by the pool reading our chosen travel literature.  In the evening we had our main meal and then, there was no putting it off any longer, we went shopping.  This was only fair, Kim had walked all around the historical sites with me so now it was her turn to call the shots and she led the way as we slipped into the tangle of bazaar like shopping streets in the commercial centre of Bodrum.

I don’t want to generalise here but in my experience men and women have two distinct shopping styles.  Women browse and compare and ponder and take their time and men prefer the direct approach.  Women get pulled into shops by a sort of invisible tractor beam to admire shoes and drool over sparkly things but men, thankfully, are unaffected by this phenomenon and walk right by, women surf and men are purposeful and the two styles are completely irreconcilable.

After half an hour or so of indecision it was time to act.  In a perfume bazaar Kim tested and compared and found her favourite but was finding it difficult to commit to the purchase.  The salesman lowered the price twice, Kim said she think about it and come back later which set my alarm bells ringing so I stepped in and handed over the cash and we took possession of a bottle of genuine fake ‘Angel’ perfume.

A few doors along was a shop selling silk pashmina scarves, genuinely genuine this time, so we selected several different colours and bought them all and we were on a spending roll now so we called in to the next shop and bought some coloured glassware as our souvenir of a few days in Turkey.  The wallet was empty and Kim was stunned by my conversion from reluctant to enthusiastic shopper and we took our new possessions and walked back along the side streets to our hotel and a last drink of smuggled lager.

I hoped that that was the end of the shopping!

Bodrum, Shopping, Saunas and Sightseeing

There was a perfect blue sky when I was woken by shafts of sunlight creeping into the room through the gaps in the curtains and I lay still for awhile contemplating being in a new country and I began to think of the most obvious things that I associated with Turkey – Turkish Delight, Turkish Baths, Turkish Tea, Turkish Wrestling, Constantinople, Magic Carpets, Kebabs and Belly Dancers and when my mind was quite cluttered up with all of these items I got up and opened the window and was greeted with a powerful aroma that reminded me of one more thing – Turkish Coffee!

Today was market day in Bodrum and Kim was looking forward to this so after an early start and a good breakfast we set off towards the seafront.  It would have been a good idea to take a moment or two to make enquiries because by the time we reached the harbour we had seen no sign of it and at the Tourist Information Office they corrected us and sent us practically all the way back to the hotel to a huge building next to the bus station.

Threading our way inside we came across a scene of madness, complete madness, where thousands of shoppers were pushing, shouting, bartering and negotiating with stallholders who were imploring, insisting, pleading and exaggerating.  It reminded me of the Moroccan souk in Meknes full of local people, tourists and traders, a seething mass of people, like a barrel of writhing snakes, being pushed involuntarily along the narrow aisles with no option but to go with the flow – miss a stall, bad luck, there was no going back!

I am not a good shopper – Kim knows this and that she will enjoy the morning much more if I am not there to complain and she therefore didn’t try to dissuade me when after a few minutes I made my excuses and allowed myself to be squeezed out of an unofficial exit (a gap in the wall) and I was pleased to be back on the outside.

My preference is to visit the historical sites and now that Kim has clearly explained to me exactly where she stands on the issue of ruins I thought it would be better to visit the castle by myself.

St Peter’s castle was built by the Knights of Saint John in the fifteenth century as a defensive stronghold in Asia Minor and today remains in much better shape than its neighbour on Kos.  Old photographs from the 1960s reveal that there has been a lot of reconstruction but a good job has been done because there is a lot of castle to explore here with several towers, fortified walls and high rampart walks as well as gardens, historical interpretations and the museum of underwater archaeology.

It took me two hours to walk around the whole site and I could have stayed longer but for some unexplained reason, at the busiest time of the day,  the exhibits all closed for lunch.  We were due to meet at twelve-thirty in a seafront bar advertising cheap beer so I left in good time and walked the short distance back.  I arrived first and five minutes later Kim arrived, to my surprise, completely empty-handed from her market shopping experience!  We stayed for a couple of drinks but it was obvious that the restaurant would rather have the table occupied by diners so we settled up and left and looked for a kebab experience.

It didn’t take long to be invited and convinced to sit at a pavement table and soon we were tucking in to a delicious lunch of spiced beef kebab with roasted vegetables and playing Russian roulette with a jar of chillies because just one injudicious selection meant a fiery eruption on the tongue!

Kim had promised herself a visit to a hamam so after lunch and a stroll through the streets of Bodrum to walk off the calories she went to a Turkish bath for an exfoliation and a massage.  I declined to join her because if truth be told I am quite attached to my dead skin and by this time I was seven days into a self-cleansing experiment and a good scrubbing down would have ruined it.

Instead, I decided to take the opportunity to seek out more ruins and set off to find the site of the Mausoleum of Mausolus, the origin of the word mausoleum and one of the original Wonders of the Ancient World.  This was once a magnificent forty-five metre high marble tomb, decorated with statues and friezes and built in the third century BC as a burial chamber for King Mausolus of Caria.

I found the site but all that remains now are a few toppled columns and splintered stones and a hole in the ground where the burial chamber once was because all of the usable stones had been previously carted away by, you’ve probably guessed, the Knights of St John who, just as in Kos, needed a convenient supply of stone to build their castle.  The Knights of St John have quite a lot of lost architectural heritage to answer for it would seem and if the World Heritage Organization had existed in the fifteenth century I think they may have had a great deal of explaining to do to the Director-General of UNESCO!

And so to the British for that matter because what the Knights left behind the British took away to the British Museum after it was excavated by English archaeologists in the nineteenth century.  Even more bizarre is the fact that the British removed the remaining stones and, following the destiny of the Knights, shipped then to Malta where they were used in the construction of the Royal Navy dockyards.

After a late afternoon around the swimming pool and another above average evening meal and as darkness descended we made our way back into the brightly lit streets and while Kim browsed I practised my ‘no thank-you’ response to invitations to spend unnecessary money.

I had enjoyed my first day in Turkey!