Bodrum is always a few degrees hotter than Yalıkavak as it’s partially protected from the prevailing north winds by a south-facing aspect and a natural amplitheatre of low hills. It’s the price we pay for our stone-built Bohemian idyll. The searing heat is mercifully moderated by the dry summer Meltemi Wind that blows down from the Balkans and sweeps across the entire Aegean basin. Providing a welcome respite from the soaking humidity, the wind lasts for days and can gust to gale force, scuppering sailors, sand blasting beach bathers and fanning forest fires. Well, fancy that.
Month: June 2011
Murder, He Wrote
I’m encouraging a vine to tumble over the railings of our first floor balcony. To my dismay the leading tips were infested with aphids. I could hardly see the delicate green shoots for the fat clusters of writhing black bugs. Along came an army of ants to harvest the honeydew that blackfly excrete from their nether regions. I was up close and personal to watch the toxic bugs raise their backsides to let the ants feed. Yuk! The intimate, symbiotic relationship that exists between these creatures is a wonder of nature. Well I was having none of it. I sprayed them all with copious quantities of soapy water. It was bit like watching a disco full of drugged-up ravers being drowned at a foam party. Murder, he wrote.
On the whole I rather admire ants and their ability to clean up the litter of dead bugs that regularly fall to earth. As I was sipping my morning cuppa I observed a platoon of tiny ants (a different breed from the aphid arse-lickers) slowly tug a dead fly the comparative size of a jumbo jet across the patio. Their collective iron grip was momentarily loosened and their prey tumbled into the gap between the floor tiles. It must have seemed like lunch had fallen into a monsoon drain. Unperturbed, the industrious insects hauled the fly carcass from the depths and continued their mammoth trek back to the nest. Marvellous.
Closets are for Clothes
We met a couple of new people who ride on our dolly. Firstly, there is Bayram a 25 year old Istanbuler. He is from a well-heeled family with a house in Bodrum. He flies down every few weeks during the season. We met him for drinks and lunch. He’s an urbane and well educated young chap with impeccable English. His father has warned him against visiting England, ‘full of homosexuals’ he cautioned. This statement has only hardened Bayram’s resolve to do so. He liked to talk about sex a lot but then so did I when I was 25.
Then there is Joseph, 61, a semi-retired accounts manager from Manchester. He’d only realised he was gay when he was 57 after thirty-five years of marriage (God, why bother?) and talked disparagingly about the poor woman who put up with him for all that time. Joseph has fallen in love with a younger Scouse divorcee. Unfortunately the Scouser has buggered off to Australia. John misses him terribly and plans to visit. I fear a tepid welcome when he gets there as I feel sure that the boyfriend is now banging a different secret drum. They both occupy the same small IKEA wardrobe firmly locked from the inside.
You and Whose Army?
We dined al fresco in the courtyard to celebrate the good life and take advantage of a yet another blessed, balmy evening. Liam’s gastronomic ambitions have reached such a pinnacle that we have less and less reason to eat out. We reminisced about our London days when, at the slightest hint of fine weather, we’d rush home early from work to grab the rare opportunity of dining out in the garden.
As we were engrossed in well-oiled conversation, I noticed a rat run across the living room floor and disappear behind the TV unit. Up we leapt to hunt down the errant rodent. This was not a simple task. Agile and cunning, the clever creature ran us ragged, joyfully defecating as it darted hither and thither. Eventually coming to rest by vaulting onto the top of a four foot speaker, he sneered at us with a yer, you and whose army? defiant expression. Superior tactics supported by a broom and a barrier of cushions finally won the day. The beast took flight out of the French windows. We returned to our drinks and resumed our happy banter.
Tabatha the rat catcher was conspicuous by her absence. She had deserted her post to seek out nocturnal activities of a carnal kind. If she continues to fail in her duties her welcome will be short lived.
Sizzling Bodrum
Old Bodrum Town has hit the season running. In the heat of the day people slowly amble along the promenade, gorge on gossip in the cafés, browse and graze in the posh shops or relax under cooling shade of a tall palm tree. By night the prom sizzles to the heavy beat of Turkopop and a madding crowd of the weird, the wonderful and the well-to-do. This is my rapid round up of what’s hot and what’s not along Bodrum’s celebrated promenade.
Lonely Heart
We received a serious and more distressing message on Gaydar. It came from a young Turkish man and read in broken, but serviceable English:
‘heello guys ım living close to bodrum .in Milas.ım 23 yearsold.wannameet.talk conversation if u want.ı really need talk’
I glanced at his profile. There is no picture and he states that he’s from Barnstable in England. I doubt he’s even heard of Barnstable. He wrote in his personal description:
IM honest.married.ım an secret gay.has hairy body:)
Cry for help or just a come on? We didn’t know either. I lost sleep over it.
The Knickers Nicker
Apparently we’ve got a knickers nicker in the vicinity according to Funlife on the Turkish Living Forum (to nick is to steal in British English parlance). Someone has been skulking around the Türkuyusu area of old Bodrum Town pilfering from washing lines. Well, to be exact only one confirmed line has been plundered at this stage of the game. Who is the miscreant I wonder? Is it some impoverished itinerant worker who left his meagre belongings in a black bin liner on the bus as it sped off back east? Or perhaps it was some panties pinching perv who gets his kicks from wearing freshly laundered women’s undies. My preferred explanation is that some secret paramour was caught in the act with his knickers down, fled naked from the scene of his undoing and improvised with whatever he could find hanging around. There’s always someone’s washing flapping in the wind around here so he’d be spoilt for choice. Does my bum look big in this? Of course it does, you fool. Everyone’s bum looks big in baggy floral pantaloons. I’m keeping my Calvin Kleins under constant surveillance from now on – the genuine article, not the market-bought fakes that fall apart after a couple of cold rinses. He’s welcome to them.
That’s me in the picture, obviously.
So You Think You Can Dance?
We decided on a diverting night of fun and frolics in Bodrum to celebrate vetpat Charlotte’s birthday. Nancy was back in town, continuing the ebb and flow of her frequent sojourns and combining her twin roles as best friend and chief concubine. Leaving Alan convalescing at home, Charlotte and Nancy arrived dressed to impress, replete with f*ck me heels and bountiful bouncing breasts shimmering in the twilight like overripe waxed melons. As we promenaded along the marina, men of all ages fixed their gaze at cleavage level and jaws hit the newly renewed paving. We dined at Tango, an Argentine-themed steakhouse where meals are served on bloodied breadboards and the price of run of the mill French wine is stratospheric.
After the meal, Charlotte escorted us to a bar of her long acquaintance called Seyfi, famous for ethnic entertainment and décor of manufactured authenticity. Charlotte, Nancy and Liam danced the night away in true local style. I eyed up the talent. Liam’s dance technique, woefully inadequate to the hard beat of the Freemasons was strangely adept at indigenous rhythms.
Our girl’s night of carefree flirtation was cut short by the drunken arrival of Sultan Irfan, the philanderer. Charlotte had unwisely texted him our location and he’d come in search of Nancy, his troublesome and tempestuous paramour. Irfan bounced in a like a giant pinball, finally coming to rest at an adjacent table. Nancy faked outrage at his intrusion but grabbed Liam for a seductive boogie in a brazen attempt to incite his jealousy. I observed from the wings. It was a pretty futile exercise as Liam hadn’t slept with anyone of the fairer sex since the early eighties and these days would need an instruction manual and a road map. Even though Irfan knows Liam’s inclinations, Nancy’s strategy worked. Clearly, I have completely underestimated the any port in a storm mentality of the average Turkish male.
Needless to say, Irfan and Nancy ended the game cooing like adolescent love birds. Irfan escorted the girls home, determined to nibble on Nancy’s savoury titbits. Liam and I retired to the house to watch the sun rise and contemplate the destructive tango of these two middle-aged, lustful teenagers.
Are You Up For It?
Now that the season is in full swing we’re receiving messages from across the World through Gaydar. Gaydar is a rare British internet success story – a social networking site with global reach. The site is banned here in Turkey but, of course, there are easy ways to circumvent this. We’re asked about Bodrum life with the occasional implied offers of comfort. I’m flattered that some people out there still think there’s life in these old dogs. However, I’m mightily relieved that I’ve locked away my stall. I’m happy at home.
I have prepared a stock response which I cut and paste into a reply. It goes:
Hi there,
There aren’t any gay bars as such at the moment. It hardly matters as Bodrum is a laid back, gay friendly kind of place, and you will be made to feel welcome wherever you go. We live in the heart of town and I assume the people around us have got our number. We never get any bad attitude. So enjoy.
We rarely hear from the enquirers again.
Stand Up and Be Counted
I’m going a bit off message to share a touching video that my friend David stumbled on and posted on his Facebook page. It brought a small tear to my eye, something which is quite hard to do in this cynical old goat these days. Makes me proud to be (half) Irish. I think this should be shown in all schools. Any teachers out there? Check out the Stand Up – In Schools campaign.
Alas, Hell will probably freeze over before this ever happens in Turkey.
You might also like:
Perking the Pansies 
