Category: Transport

Supermarket Sweep

Liam and I took the dolly to Gümüslük, the pretty picture postcard bay with overpriced fish restaurants and tedious hassle from the press-ganging waiters. We were visiting friends who lived in the village. As we travelled along the pot-holed road, I was wondering what the scenery was like before the mad march of little white boxes up hill and down dale. Stunning I imagine. It’s still pretty in parts and the views from the coast road are dazzling. We turned a coastal corner and happened upon a huge supermarket that wasn’t there before. It’s a sign of the times. I see the advantage. Residents and holidaymakers alike no longer have to endure the sweaty trek into Yalıkavak or Turgutreis to stock up on booze and larder essentials. Who wants to do that in 40 degree heat? Sadly, I fear for the living of the little man in the local shop. Times are hard and, in the winter months, times are impossible. We all know the tale of the big boys who muscle in and soak up all the trade. It’s a sad story that’s oft repeated in high streets across Blighty. Still, this particular supermarket does have the most spectacular view of the Aegean from the rooftop terrace. Sütlü Americano, lütfen.

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The Knowledge

Airports across the world are an expensive necessity. With a captive audience, they can more or less charge what they like for a sweaty cheese roll and a small cardboard cup of flat coke. At least getting to and from the airport isn’t usually too costly. Even the four main London gateway airports provide relatively low cost alternatives to taxis and trains, tedious and time consuming as they are (think buses negotiating the rush hour and the packed Piccadilly Line tube from Heathrow). Not so at Milas-Bodrum Airport. It’s bad enough that, come August, the small, uncomfortable and overcrowded international terminal, virtually mothballed in winter, resembles the Fall of Saigon. Worse though is the rip-off expense of getting to your final destination. Sure, domestic passengers can take the Havaş bus to and from Bodrum Otogar which costs about £8, but anyone arriving from abroad without a pre-arranged transfer has one option: get stung by an extortionate taxi fare. And don’t think  your driver will know where you’re staying. They don’t do the knowledge here: they expect visitors to know the way, even if  they’ve never set foot on Turkish soil before. It’s all done with a smile though.

It can work the other way round as well. Earlier this year, our airport transfer didn’t turn up and we were forced to jump into a yellow taksi. It cost us sixty quid for a half hour drive. That was done with a smile too. Bloody cheek!

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No Frills Thrills

Today’s the day we bid au revoir to our friends in Bordeaux and board the no frills flight to Gatwick, stay overnight in a no frills Sussex hotel and board another no frills flight home to thrilling Bodrum. This is a no frills post. Normal broadcasts will be resumed shortly.

This is most famous test card of all, Test Card F, still in use today by the BBC and used in 30 other countries. Designed by George Hersee and featuring his daughter Carole Hersee, it made its first appearance on BBC2 in 1967. I remember this so well, growing up before 24 hour multi-channel TV took over our lives. I wonder where she is now?

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A Star is Born

The Homecoming

More Dolly Tales

Following our mini-break in breezy Yalıkavak we returned home to sultry Bodrum. As usual we travelled by dolly. As usual, it was chock-a-block. Sat immediately in front of us were a young Turkish couple with their infant who loudly asserted its discomfort in a way only babies know how. It seems to me that during waking hours a new human’s only function is to eat, pee and poo using their tiny but powerful lungs to proclaim their pre-occupation. Unfortunately for us it was the latter need that was being expressed on this particular occasion. The doting parents dutifully obliged with a full service. The only ventilation on a dolly is airflow from the front as it moves. We tasted the full potency of the pungent evacuation.

Don’t Dilly Dolly on the Way

Move along the bus. Plenty of room on the roof

Charlotte and Alan invited us over for dinner in Yalıkavak. Charlotte used us as guinea pigs for her latest culinary acquisition, a lavishly produced padded vegetarian cookbook. The meal was splendid. As usual, we journeyed by dolly and, as usual, it was chock-a-block. It was a lively excursion. We were entertained by an animated row between the driver and an unseen female passenger at the rear of the bus arguing about the distance covered by an indi-bindi (short hop fare). Her loud and persistent protests were met by a robust stern-ward defence by the driver who feverishly waved about his official fare chart. Since he was paying little attention to the road ahead, he was oblivious to the small scooter carrying four individuals slotted together like Lego that weaved ominously in and out of the traffic around us. A disaster was averted by an evasive wrench of the steering wheel prompting a sudden lurch of the bus. All in a day’s work by a dolly driver.

Words and Music

We took the dolly to Yalıkavak to lunch with friends. The once dormant village has awoken like Sleeping Beauty from hibernation and is draped in a new spring livery. The beach has been replenished with imported grit and dressed in sun beds and parasols. The tea houses along the attractive high street have been displaced by seasonal souvenir shops and postcard vendors returning from their winter pastures. Village life is in jovial mood and much improved with a new collection of smarter establishments that will give the greasy spoons a run for their money.

In some ways it’s a shame our perfidious landlord prompted us to move on. Yalıkavak is deservedly popular with visitors with a charm that eludes many of the resorts hereabouts. The trouble is winters are grim and the village is too small for city boys like us. We will return from time to time when we crave a little respite from the hassle and bustle of Bodrum.

To its credit wintering in a ghost town has given me the time and space to start Perking the Pansies. Until we moved to Turkey my writing was confined to dull business plans, strategic reports and the like that would gather dust on a lonely shelf, unread and soon forgotten. Now I blog daily, have a book in the offing and have developed previously unknown skills in web design. Also, Liam has started to write music for the first time in years. So thank you little Yalıkavak. We owe you one.

Three Dollies and a Donkey

After our false start with a near death experience, we finally managed to inspect Clement’s new mountain village gaff. It took us three dollies and a donkey ride to get there. Further visits by public transport are off the agenda. Lunch was nice and the house is lovely, elegantly proportioned and stylish. Clement has painted a simple white canvass superbly accented by flashes of subtle colour. It’s a pity his terrace overlooks an untidy scrub containing a couple of disused brick shit houses.

Ram Raiders

During these days of lean interest rates it pays to shop around. Our money was split between three banks and when one of them offered a better rate we decided to move our cash. The bank that lost out did everything in its power short of outright refusal to scupper our plans. An electronic transfer attracted a ridiculous charge so we were forced to draw the money out in cash. We emerged from the bank like Bonnie and Clyde with two man-bags stuffed with the filthy lucre. We stood by the roadside waiting for our dolly ride clinging onto half our worth like limp-wristed limpits. Every florid passer-by and leather-faced loiterer looked suspicious to our nervous eyes. We made it unmolested to the second bank and slapped the cash onto the counter. I have never been more relieved.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe

On the subject of myopic banking practices, why are ATM kiosks often clustered in rows? Do they huddle together for comfort and security? Is it to confuse ram raiders? I’m surprised no one has thought of cutting costs by sharing the burden of running expenses, maintenance, cleaning and topping up the dosh. Of course this would mean the banks talking to each other and dropping the fees for using the wrong machines. Now that would be something.

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.

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The Beating Heart of Bodrum

I’d like to give a big hand to Natalie, author of the Turkish Travel Blog. Natalie kindly invited me to be one of the contributors to her splendid post on Anatolian wonders in words and pictures. Her eclectic selection evokes some of the best that Turkey has to offer to the curious traveller, from magnificent high drama to the gloriously humdrum.

My pretentious piece describes Bodrum Otogar (bus station),  a modern day kervanseray where nose to nipple dolmüslar vie for space and custom. I wrote:

That’ll be two lira

 

To imagine daily Turkish life think of sweet baked sesame seed simit stalls, lemon scenting cut throat barbers, piercing purveyors of rapid kebabs, entrepreneurial pantaloon’d grannies on the make, baffled travellers lost in Left Luggage, mobs of weary eastern boys bussed hither and thither, carefree western girls shocking the eye, sallow sightseers with brats in caps and tea sipping cabbies dropping off in the sweaty midday sun. This magnificent entrepôt of the exotic and the ordinary is a typically Turkish tussle and bustle of commotion and chaos.

Take the look at Natalie’s delicious box of Turkish delights here.