Our local supermarket, Tansaş, is a short stroll from the house along the narrow ancient street that Alexander the Great once minced down in 334 BCE. Like many ancient Anatolian thoroughfares, the road is just wide enough for two camels to pass each other unhindered. It wasn’t built for a speeding motorcade of Nissan tanks flanked by Vespas on amphetamines. It’s a one way street but we look in both directions to keep body and soul together. It’s just as well the Green Cross Code was hard-wired into my brain as a child.
Three or four times a week, we pass a two storey building containing a shop unit on the ground floor. In the short time we’ve lived in Bodrum, the unit has changed hands several times – variously reincarnated as a small market, café, kuaför (hairdressers) and now a market again. The current proprietor is a smiling middle-aged man with a kind face, balding on top with side strands stretched back and fashioned into a trendy pony tail. He spends his days sitting on a plastic patio chair, chain smoking and chatting amiably to passers-by. We’ve not once seen a customer cross his threshold. Alas, like the predecessors, his business seems doomed to fail. It occurs to me that in Blighty, a prospective buyer would check the books before parting with the readies. In Turkey I assume there are no books to cook.
Perking the Pansies – Jack and Liam Move to Turkey