Bodrum, Turkey, April 2012. What is going on with this crazy weather? A real snap, crackle and pop of a storm has just rolled across the horizon. We’ve been assaulted by hailstones. Big buggers, they were too. Mad Mother Nature needs to be sectioned. She’s clearly lost the plot and is a danger to herself and the poor boys trying to complete the urban refit before the season is in full swing. Let’s also spare a thought for the Teutonic early birds with their knee-length shorts and sensible shoes who have taken flight to the nearest covered refuge.
My brother is in Majorca sitting on a sunny hotel balcony sipping cool white wine wearing shorts and a tee shirt. We’re huddled in front of an electric fire in slippers and zippy tops. Last month’s electric bill was 480 lira (£180). Yes that’s right. Four hundred and eighty. We don’t expect this month’s bill to be much lower. We thought grumpy Mother Nature had flicked on the spring switch a couple of weeks ago. It seems the perfidious old bag has switched it off again. Still, the flowers are nice.
Sadly, my prediction about the little market a short sashay along the street from our house has come to pass. The ever-so smiley pony-tailed proprietor has removed his dusty stock and abandoned his customer-less business. A padlocked glazed door protects the dusty ghost shop, the shelves are empty, worthless rubbish is piled up in the middle of the cracked floor and a tatty ‘for rent’ sign is swinging in the wind outside. What next for this ill-fated space? A croissant-erie would be nice.
This year, direct Sleazyjet flights to Milas-Bodrum airport start on 26th March. Low gear hassling, a fresh lick of whitewash, flourishing floral fauna and ruins un-ruined by a savage sun makes springtime in the Aegean a Turkish delight. Braving a last minute tantrum by grumpy old Mother Nature, savvy travellers might be tempted to try out Bodrum just as the town emerges from the short, sharp winter. Come by all means but, this year, give Bodrum itself a wide berth and go exploring elsewhere. This year’s spring clean is more of a root and branch demolition. Some bits I thought were completed last year have been dug up again. Why? Who knows. Will Turkey ever be finished? Probably not.
Living as do at the heart of old Bodrum Town, we are both regaled and disturbed in equal measure by the glorious non-stop cacophony that surrounds us – the silly-speed mopeds farting down the street, the earth-quaking Turkopop vying with the impatient horns from every four-wheel Nissan tank, the catcalls from the randy rooftop pussies, the amplified ezan bouncing about in surround sound, the discordant cock-a-doodle-doos from the roosters in every courtyard and lonely mongrels barking incessantly until they’re hoarse.
One of the charming aspects of town centre living is the twice daily water-man who heralds his arrival by ringing his little bell. He’s a hairy giant of a beast who effortlessly swings his 19 litre bottles around like a Herculean water carrier. It’s enough to make a boy go weak at the knees. For a while, we were waterless. Our dusky su-seller’s familiar ding-a-ling was missing from our noise-scape. Maybe he was ill or away visiting relatives? A week went by before, one afternoon, we saw him silently pass by our window. Liam rushed out, empty bottle in hand. “Where’s your little bell?” he asked. “Finish,” was the shrugged response. “Many complaint because of noise.” Liam struggled to understand above the roar of the traffic. “But I like your little bell,” he said. Su-man smiled the warmest of smiles and shook Liam’s hand. “I know, my friend. I know.” It’s a real shame. We miss our big man’s little ding dong.
Now for the tenuous link. Sit back and feast on Ding a Dong, Teach In’s Eurovision Song Contest entry for the Netherlands some time during the Seventies (judging by the outrageous glam drag).
A Bodrum Beau of my recent acquaintance loves a bit of a knockabout, Wimbledon-wise. He played regularly in Blighty but has struggled to find someone to play with since his return to the land of his fathers. If you live on the Bodrum Peninsula and fancy a game or two, let me know and I’ll pass your details on. Have pity. We can’t let the poor man play with himself, can we?
Barring a few meteorological mishaps and last-minute mayhem from Mother Nature, I think spring has sprung. We’re not leaving until the summer, so we intend to make the most of what we have left. We’ve washed down the patio furniture and shampooed the cushions, wiped the windows and showered the courtyard. Patio doors have been flung open to freshen the musk and murder the mould. We were regaled by the call to prayer at full volume and the first row of the season between our Turkish neighbours. It was a corker of a commotion with Beril’s throat at full throttle. Welcome to Bodrum reborn.
I’ve suffered a premature exclamation. Since I wrote this we’ve had that meteorological mishap. An instant cold snap has slapped us about the face like an icy flannel. We lunched with the Belles today at a modest promenade eaterie. Over the pide (Turkish pizza), Jessica gazed up at the uniform blanket of light grey and remarked ‘I think it’ll snow today.’ And lo and behold, it did. It was just a weak little flurry of flakes and was over in a jiffy, but it was a bona fide blizzard. Our first and probably our last.
Liam and I were minding our own business in Tansaş. We were queuing up at the till, weighed down by a basket-full of cheap plonk. The lady in front of us turned towards me and smiled. “You’re Jack,” she said. “I love your book.” I blushed like a spotty teen and shifted uncomfortably from side to side. It was like being a z-list celeb, furtively emerging from a grubby massage parlour with my tail between my legs. Next time, I’ll don a floral headscarf and designer shades before I venture out.
I composed myself and we chatted over the veg and booze. It turns out that we’re near neighbours. My fellow shopper was a former Bodrum Belle of years long past and she recently returned to renew her club membership. As an old and new kid on the block, she has started her own blog, Back to Bodrum. The then and now observations offer a unique perspective of a town on the move. Take a look – fascinating stuff.
The good burghers of Bodrum have been ripping the town apart with giant yellow diggers. No pain, no gain. It’ll all look fine and dandy by the start of the season. The town will be freshly dressed to impress, with newly-laid tarmac accessorised with fancy paving, modern street furniture and lush landscaping, just in time for the Easter early birds (we hope). If last year is anything to go by, it’ll never be quite finished – a few edges will be left a little on the rough side.
It isn’t just the posh promenade that’s getting the makeover. The little local square near our house has been furnished with brand new playground equipment for the little ‘uns – a multi-coloured medley of swings, slides and metal tubes in bright primary hues. During the height of summer, the kiddies risk being permanently soldered to the glowing pipes in the 45 degree heat.
The old lamp posts along our street have been replaced by a row of elegant green lights. We’ve been without street lighting since the old lamp post blew up a few weeks ago – so the new light next to our garden gate is a welcome illumination. It was installed by five burly men. Well, one did the erecting; the other four supervised. It’s not the straightest erection I’ve ever seen. I should know. I’m a bit of an expert.
The whirlwind virtual world book tour has reached its final destination back in old Bodrum Town. The imaginary train has pulled into the non-existent station. I’m knackered. My final gig is at Roving Jay’s Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide.
Regular viewers will remember that Jay was an early reviewer of my book and called it:
Jay pumped me on the Roving Sofa with a quick fire round about Bodrum.
“My vision of hell is being squeezed onto a commercial party boat like the Victoria Line during the rush hour with a bunch of orange-faced holidaying strangers and brats in baseball caps. We select our boat trips carefully – usually with a handful of hand-picked gals and pals. My advice is get your own group together, find a smaller craft and talk to the captain about what floats your boat. Most owners are amenable to any reasonable request and open to negotiation on the price. We’ve cruised from Yalikavak, Bitez and Bodrum; another great way to get away from the madding crowd.” More…
Bodrum, Turkey, April 2012. What is going on with this crazy weather? A real snap, crackle and pop of a storm has just rolled across the horizon. We’ve been assaulted by hailstones. Big buggers, they were too. Mad Mother Nature needs to be sectioned. She’s clearly lost the plot and is a danger to herself and the poor boys trying to complete the urban refit before the season is in full swing. Let’s also spare a thought for the Teutonic early birds with their knee-length shorts and sensible shoes who have taken flight to the nearest covered refuge.
Sadly, my prediction about the little market a short sashay along the street from our house has come to pass. The ever-so smiley pony-tailed proprietor has removed his dusty stock and abandoned his customer-less business. A padlocked glazed door protects the dusty ghost shop, the shelves are empty, worthless rubbish is piled up in the middle of the cracked floor and a tatty ‘for rent’ sign is swinging in the wind outside. What next for this ill-fated space? A croissant-erie would be nice.
This year, direct Sleazyjet flights to Milas-Bodrum airport start on 26th March. Low gear hassling, a fresh lick of whitewash, flourishing floral fauna and ruins un-ruined by a savage sun makes springtime in the Aegean a Turkish delight. Braving a last minute tantrum by grumpy old Mother Nature, savvy travellers might be tempted to try out Bodrum just as the town emerges from the short, sharp winter. Come by all means but, this year, give Bodrum itself a wide berth and go exploring elsewhere. This year’s spring clean is more of a root and branch demolition. Some bits I thought were completed last year have been dug up again. Why? Who knows. Will Turkey ever be finished? Probably not.
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Living as do at the heart of old Bodrum Town, we are both regaled and disturbed in equal measure by the glorious non-stop cacophony that surrounds us – the silly-speed mopeds farting down the street, the earth-quaking Turkopop vying with the impatient horns from every four-wheel Nissan tank, the catcalls from the randy rooftop pussies, the amplified ezan bouncing about in surround sound, the discordant cock-a-doodle-doos from the roosters in every courtyard and lonely mongrels barking incessantly until they’re hoarse.
A Bodrum Beau of my recent acquaintance loves a bit of a knockabout, Wimbledon-wise. He played regularly in Blighty but has struggled to find someone to play with since his return to the land of his fathers. If you live on the Bodrum Peninsula and fancy a game or two, let me know and I’ll pass your details on. Have pity. We can’t let the poor man play with himself, can we?
Barring a few meteorological mishaps and last-minute mayhem from Mother Nature, I think spring has sprung. We’re not leaving until the summer, so we intend to make the most of what we have left. We’ve washed down the patio furniture and shampooed the cushions, wiped the windows and showered the courtyard. Patio doors have been flung open to freshen the musk and murder the mould. We were regaled by the call to prayer at full volume and the first row of the season between our Turkish neighbours. It was a corker of a commotion with Beril’s throat at full throttle. Welcome to Bodrum reborn.
The good burghers of Bodrum have been ripping the town apart with giant yellow diggers. No pain, no gain. It’ll all look fine and dandy by the start of the season. The town will be freshly dressed to impress, with newly-laid tarmac accessorised with fancy paving, modern street furniture and lush landscaping, just in time for the Easter early birds (we hope). If last year is anything to go by, it’ll never be quite finished – a few edges will be left a little on the rough side.
The whirlwind virtual world book tour has reached its final destination back in old Bodrum Town. The imaginary train has pulled into the non-existent station. I’m knackered. My final gig is at Roving Jay’s Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide.
Perking the Pansies 