Category: Gumusluk

Did the Earth Move for You, Darling?

A Moving Feast

Friends called from Yalıkavak and Gümüslük to let us know that the earth had moved beneath their feet. Fridges rattled, beds wobbled and light fittings swayed. We felt nothing here in metropolitan Bodrum. However, as we foolishly live on top of the Anatolian Tectonic Plate surrounded by active fault lines, it is inevitably we will experience an earthquake sooner or later. According to the Kandilli Observatory and Earthquake Research Institute at Bogazici University there were over 40 tremors of various magnitudes across Turkey over the last 24 hours. They don’t tell you that in the brochures.

We Have Ways of Making You Talk

News travels fast. Following our dice with death Chrissy rang out of pretended concern, a conversation which turned into an inquisition. She demanded to know why we hadn’t mentioned our invite to Clement’s bungalow. Chrissy just hates to be kept out of the loop and clearly expects us to check every social engagement with her first. Liam felt interrogated and told her so. His legendary patience with ladies of a certain neurotic disposition has finally begun to fray.

Setting the spat aside, we celebrated Karen’s final evening (and her powers of survival) by dining out in Gümüslük Bay, a tumbledown beauty famous for its fish restaurants. The catch of the day is displayed like a triumphant trophy in cold cabinets. It’s a pity this shimmering little pearl is tainted by overzealous restaurant press gangers. Despite the hassle we managed to celebrate Karen’s last day with aplomb and a record amount of overpriced mediocre wine.

Have You Been?

I was acquainted with a squat toilet from a very early age. As an army brat I lived some of my childhood in Malaysia and our house came with an extension for the Chinese maid. We weren’t posh, Dad was a regimental sergeant major, and every family had a maid courtesy of Her Majesty, even lowly squaddies. It was time before the rise of the Asian Tigers and the reawakening of the Middle Kingdom when Britain still had a blue water fleet. The maid’s quarters were equipped with a squat toilet whereas our family convenience was of the pedestal variety. She used her facility and we used ours. ‘East is east and west is west and never the twain shall meet’ as Rudyard Kipling wrote.

Caught Short

We were wandering through Gümüslük Bay, a beguiling little harbour set among the meagre ruins of ancient Mindos. As a protected archaeological site, the bay has been saved from the relentless march of little white boxes that afflicts that part of the Bodrum peninsula. Unfortunately I got caught short. I darted into the public convenience for relief. I gazed in utter horror at the flush ceramic pan. Oh shit, how does it work? My mother trained me to sit not to squat. How do I hover precariously over the hole with my drawers round my ankles without tipping over? I gingerly and carefully pulled my jeans and Calvins over my trainers, first one leg then the other, contorting my body to avoid contact with the wet floor. I almost fell onto my backside in a vain attempt to maintain my dignity. It was like a game of twister but with only one player. The moral of the story? Go before you leave.

According to Wikipedia an alternative name for a squat WC is an Alaturca from the Italian Alla Turca – as the Turks do. Fancy that!

The First Noel

We’re Blighty-bound for Christmas and, in some ways, I wish we weren’t. It would be splendid to spend our first yuletide in our newly adopted home, chuck up a tree, decorate it with the cheap baubles we expensively air-freighted, wrap it up in twinkling lights and top it off with a fairy flourish.

Before our festive exit from Asia, we decided on a social double date. We had a light luncheon with Vetpats Chuck and Susan who have brought forward their new year’s resolutions by regular gym visits to replenish their health. It seems to be doing the trick, particularly for Chuck who’s dropped a few pounds, perked up his pecs and brought a new glow to his fading porn star frontage. Their tranquil existence is being rudely disturbed by noisy neighbours. Susan’s polite intervention has had little lasting effect. If Chuck had a gun he’d shoot them. This is the American way.

Our second date was with Marie from Twickenham. Marie owns a large and imposing stone house near Gümsülük, the wintertime approach to which requires a transfer by Challenger tank since the surrounding roads resemble trenches of the Great War. She used to be big in IT and has just launched a Blighty-based internet business to off-set plunged interest rates. It’s called Snazzy Specs and sells chic reading glasses for discerning myopians. Also invited was Ellen from Ulster, a pretty blond with a harmonious demeanour and an unreserved ‘I love Turkey’ message which I found refreshing. Marie dished up hearty winter fare accompanied by a warming, roaring fire and serenaded with Sezen Aksu, the Queen of Turkopop. We all imbibed a little more than was good for us as we chatted into the small hours. The next day we had wine flu.