Bodrum is getting busier by the day as the town warms up with the weather. Works continues apace to complete the classy new streetscape before the summer rush. Contrary to my initial cynicism, a spacious new civic square is being laid out along the bar street rat run revealing a spectacular view of the crusader castle. It will be a place of sanctuary from the relentless hassle to come from the imported hawkers with their spring-loaded libidos. Whole villages in the East are being drained of their young men as they start their annual migration in search of casual employment and easy lays. We have a bird’s eye view of the caravan of young totty as they scamper past the house dragging their humble belongings behind them. The testosterone is palpable.
Category: Bodrum
Blooming Bodrum
We’ve found a gem of a dwelling right in the heart of Old Bodrum Town where charming white washed buildings huddle together cheek by jowl. Our new gaff is a newly constructed stone cottage built in fake traditional style with fine wooden floors and beamed ceilings. The thick caramel coloured stone walls shimmer in the evening sunshine. The well-stocked walled garden is putting in a flourishing spring performance that wouldn’t disgrace the Chelsea Flower Show. Our new lodgings are smaller, thicker set and less exposed than the old. We expect our winter bills to plummet.
Our new landlady is a tough broad from old Bodrum stock and bartered hard. After some robust bargaining we sealed the deal. She is delighted to have yabancılar as tenants. Apparently she doesn’t trust her compatriots to pay the rent.
Bohemian Bodrum
I’m afraid overwintering in a minor Aegean resort can be a salutary lesson in benign boredom. My partner Liam and I have tired of the nosey over-familiarity of village life. We dodge past expat dives to avoid the sycophantic waiters and predictable punters who sulk if we don’t indulge them. We’ve drawn the conclusion that we crave anonymity and a little more buzz. We are London boys with our London ways after all. Prompted by our perfidious landlord we’ve decided to abandon our oversized house half way up a mini mountain with its matchless views and winter desolation. We shall seek solace and pleasure in bustling Bohemian Bodrum where alternative Turks go to escape from the crushing conformity of everyday life. The beauty of renting is we can up sticks when the mood takes us so we’re sodding off to Sodom. It’s güle güle to silence broken only by the call of crickets and spectacular sunsets and merhaba to 24 hour traffic, exorbitant lattes, barking dogs in surround sound and people, lots of them. I’ve purchased a pair of ear plugs.
Emigrey Soap Opera
The unsavoury meal with Chrissy and Bernard was a momentous milestone in our Turkish escapade. We have resolved to disengage from the emigrey soap opera by rejecting the gang mentality and dumping the monstrous middle England miseries. We will decamp to bustling Bodrum where we hope the ambience will be less corrosive. Co-incidentally (or perhaps not), the ‘Come Dine with Me’ club has also fractured into acrimony, finally collapsing under the weight of its own pretensions.
The Perfidious Turk
Our fat perfidious landlord has unveiled his dastardly intention to evict us should he find a buyer for the house. This is in spite of our two year tenancy agreement and faultless payment history. We will jump before we are pushed. Our minds are now set on change and this is the opportunity to cast our net wider than sleepy Yalıkavak. We now know there is more to the Bodrum Peninsula than living in an igloo with a view on the edge of a ghost town populated by street dogs and feral felines. Besides, the vile Vikings are back for the spring and I don’t relish the prospect of enduring the whinging drivel from miserable Cnut or the sight of vapid Ragnild’s gravity ravaged baps. Despite the temporary bedlam, a Bodrum in shiny new livery looks promising.
Bedlam in Bodrum
We took a sunny dolly ride to Bodrum to see how the ambitious townscape transformation is progressing. Much has been done since our last inspection but there’s still much to do and so little time. Work so far has revealed the grand plan. Tired old crazy-paving is being replaced by top-notch slabs and the marina road is being narrowed to a single lane to provide a broad costa-style esplanade to saunter along on balmy summer evenings. Nuisance parking will be banished and the pestering from the hassle bars should be reduced.
Only about a third of the new Iberianesque promenade is complete. The re-paving of Bar Street continues apace though side sokaks resemble the Gaza Strip. It’s still a mystery what is proposed for the main road into town which is being ripped apart by Caterpillar diggers leaving deep trenches in their mighty mechanical wake. I assume this is all part of the project to upgrade the water mains.
The start of the season ominously approaches. A legion of swarthy lads in cheap jeans, sweaty vests and rusty tools has been drafted in from the east in a frantic rush to complete the work on time. Already early bird visitors of the elderly Teutonic type in straw hats and socked sandals have landed. They waddle through the rubble in bemusement. Bedlam in Berlin? Unheard of. Finished by Easter? Not a hope.
From London to Bodrum
Young Yankee Erin from BlogExpat.com contacted me recently to ask if I would be willing to take part in a series of interviews she was doing with a number of expats living in different countries across the world. How could I refuse especially as the fabulous Erin describes me as “…an excellent writer with fabulous English humor”? You can read what I had to say about living in Turkey here.
Erin is an expat herself – an American living in Berlin with her husband. They have their own blog called Back to Berlin and Beyond. It’s a fun read but there’s not much fun in trying to read it in Turkey without a proxy server as it’s caught up in the ridiculous blanket ban on Google-hosted blogs.
Brass Monkeys
Just as it seemed spring was around the corner lulling us into a false sense of hope, Mother Nature decides to take a cruel side swipe with a cold snap just for a laugh. Two degrees overnight and a light dusting of snow on the Bodrum Peninsula. I didn’t move to sunny Turkey for this. I confess it’s not as chilly as the image suggests but, without central heating, it feels cold enough to freeze the balls off the proverbial brass monkey. Liam and I are fighting over the duvet to ensure our nether regions remain intact and in proper working order.
I found a tiny mouse that had taken refuge from the elements in the watering can we keep on the terrace. Alas, the creature had perished. We called him Mehmet and flushed him down the loo. Liam said a few words before he pulled the chain.
Rum, Bum and the Navy
We were invited by the Honorary British Consul to cocktails with the captain aboard HMS Cumberland while it was in port in Bodrum. I sponged down my sailor boy outfit and rehearsed the steps to the Village People’s ‘In the Navy’ while Liam spent all weekend running up a skimpy black thong on his Singer. He intended to amuse the plucky tars by his lip synching rendition of Cher’s ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’, legs astride a gun barrel. He reckoned they deserved a little light entertainment after an arduous tour of duty chasing savvy Somalian corsairs across the Indian Ocean. We hoped to see the cut of the Captain’s jib and a reccy around his engine room to survey the magnificent greased pistons. Liam had a mouthful of pins to hem the lacy loincloth when we received word that the rum punch was off. No frigging in the rigging on the frigate for us. I assume our brave boys are steaming at full speed towards Libya to help evacuate foreign nationals in the event that mad Gaddafi decides carry out his deadly threat to torch the place and murder his own citizens. What a party pooper.
Watch ‘In the Navy‘ by the Village People.
Home Alone
Alas I am abandoned, albeit temporarily. Liam has dashed home to Londra on a mercy mission to look after his Mother while Liam Senior is in hospital having his arthritic knee repaired. My delicate and kindly Mother-in-Law is as Irish as a dainty shamrock. She and I gossip about the silly twists in Corrie and I make her giggle when I gently tease about her youthful antics when she used to climb over the convent wall to attend the local dance.
To distract me from my solitude I joined Greg and Sam on their weekly visit to a Pazar. They were in desperate need of soft fruit for the last batch of their winter preserves. After filling their shopping trolley with fruity seasonal goodies we ventured onwards for a bracing ramble across the desolate, windswept headland between Bodrum and Gümbet. We toured the tumble down windmills, now sadly derelict save for a solitary Turk we found self-abusing in one of them. Apparently, local men go there after dark. I wonder why.
Perking the Pansies 