Room with a View

Room with a View

Our stone cottage is a little too small to lodge visitors, particularly those who prefer en-suite facilities for those ‘private’ moments. It’s a dilemma. Considering Bodrum’s popularity with the Turkish well-heeled, it’s odd that quality hotels in the centre of town are as rare as a bottle of so-so wine for under 50 lira in a restaurant. There’s no point relying on the star rating. It means little. Our usual recommendation is the Marina Vista. It’s close by and the location – on the promenade opposite the smart marina – can’t be equalled (hence the name, obviously). The top-notch Turkish breakfast served on the roof top restaurant is quite an experience, the foyer and communal areas are lavish and the pool is as inviting as it should be. Nothing is perfect, of course. The hotel isn’t cheap (though less expensive out of season), the rooms are cramped and have next to useless Juliet balconies, and the staff can be surly and unhelpful. I suppose you can’t have everything.

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Sizzling Bodrum

Bodrum, Bodrum so Good They Named it Twice

Cover Story

First impressions are all important. When flirty eyes meet across a crowded bar, loins can start to stir (well, mine do anyway). Likewise, food with a flourish can whet the appetite for even the most average of meals. Visual gratification works for books too. Most expat books I’ve read are either dressed to impress with a stunning snap of shrub against a verdant landscape or attract the eye with a colourful comical cartoon. For Perking the Pansies, I’m fishing for something delicious to stand out from the noble crowd. The artistic people at Creationbooth are working up a design to make my mouth water. The Chief Buyer at Fenwick’s of Bond Street is an old friend of mine. She tells me that orange is very on trend this year. Who am I to argue? Expect something vibrant.

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Perking the Pansies, the Book

Old Bodrum Renewed

Old Bodrum Renewed

There is an authentic stone cottage in the heart of Bodrum Town sitting prettily in a well-stocked walled garden dominated by an ancient double-trunked olive tree. It is the original homestead of an old Bodrum family. As the family grew wealthy they moved on to larger premises and left their family home to slowly fall into quaint dilapidation. The house has an open-plan biblical feel, with a semi-basement – where I presume animals were once kept – a small mezzanine level and a larger first floor. One day the family had a bright idea. Selling off the family silver was unthinkable but maybe there was a little money to be made from the estate. They decided to renovate: extend the old house and build a brand new cottage in traditional style on the adjacent land where a small barn once stood. It took time, dedication and a few wrangles with the planners but they did it. It is a quality job. The family house now looks superb, sympathetically redressed in recycled stone finery. We seriously considered renting this bijou piece of local history but the cramped and quirky arrangement didn’t quite fit the way we live (no, I don’t mean camp discos, glitter balls and a blacked out sauna). Instead we rent the new house next door with its more practical and flexible living space. Both houses stand out from the crowd and are a happy snappers delight.

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Bodrum, a Town of Two Halves

Bikini Bare

Tumbledown Bodrum

Bodrum is sprinkled with tumbledown old stone houses, often open to the elements and slowly crumbling like a Turkish version of Pompeii. It’s a shame. Some of these gorgeous derelict dwellings may not be suitable for modern family living but what about a little tourist income? With a little imagination and investment many could be sensitively recycled into lucrative holiday lets attracting top dollar from the more discerning visitor. Not many addresses can claim to share the same street as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

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Tomorrow’s post – Old Bodrum Renewed.

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Bodrum Nice and Slow

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Two Nations Divided by a Common Language

Photo: Carryn M. Golden

I recently received the first edits back for the book. I downloaded the file with nervous anticipation, expecting it to be mauled with angry red lines and a must do better report at the end. I was pleasantly surprised to find the text relatively intact. My editor is a talented young man from across the pond called Kilian Kröll. Kilian’s day job is treading the boards as an eminent life coach. He’s also a superb writer and is moonlighting as editor at the request of my publisher, Jo Parfitt. Jo gave him the specific remit to check the text for British idioms and cultural references that might fly over the heads of our Yankee cousins. Kilian is well-qualified for the job and is doing sterling work – meticulous and professional. His interventions have been smart, literate and illuminating. Striking the right balance between keeping the essentially British feel of Perking the Pansies and appealing to the greatest possible audience is going to be tough. Cor blimey, mate.

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Perking the Pansies

Jack Scott

Caveat Emptor

Liam and I love living in our little stone cottage tucked away in the middle of old Bodrum Town. A perilous spark, a sieve-like roof, heat exhaustion and frostbite have not put us off. Our neighbours are a joy and the locals are warm, welcoming and obliging. We feel blessed. We rent and are thankful for the freedom. We can move as we please and when the mood takes us. We have been mercifully released from that inbred notion to own (something we Brits nurture in the womb).

For some, the dream can turn sour. For years now, we’ve read reports about people buying property abroad falling foul of unscrupulous builders, vendors, agents or officials. Some of the stories are enough to make you weep, particularly when the unsuspecting lose their shirts in a single dodgy deal. Sadly, it’s a phenomenon which afflicts many countries around the world – not just Turkey – and the laws which protect such people vary from country to country.

I was recently contacted by a member of the Turkish Living Forum who is fronting a campaign for change in Turkey. He points out that while many people successfully purchase property here, there are plenty of examples of those who have a really rough ride. He’s not alone in this view. The Turkish press is littered with examples of  scams and only last year, police raided the Central Tapu Office in Bodrum.

Of course, fraud can afflict all buyers, foreign and Turkish alike. But for foreigners, coming to grips with the complexities of unfamiliar property law in a foreign land can be a daunting task. Not to mention an emotional one.

Wherever you are willing to splash out, in Turkey or elsewhere, it clearly makes sense to do your homework. Do everything you can to understand the buying process, get good legal advice, don’t be tempted by cost-cutting shortcuts and don’t dish the dosh unless you are absolutely sure that everything is above board. Let’s face it, that’s exactly what you’d do in your own country so why lose your head (and possibly your life savings) when abroad? If it looks too good to be true, the chances are it is. There are plenty of people around who can offer good advice.

Turkey is a fabulous and seductive country to live or invest in. Dreams really can come true if you do it right and the authorities play their part too.

 

Pussy Galore

Continuing the pussy theme from yesterday, Liam came across this splendid little video montage of Mrs Slocombe from Are You Being Served, played by the marvelous Mollie Sugden, a jobbing comedy actress who sadly died in 2009 after a long illness. Many people will remember that Mrs Slocombe was always having a bit of bother with her pussy. Obvious, lewd and unsophisticated? Certainly. Funny? Absolutely. A bit like me. Sit back and enjoy.


Pussy on Patrol

Our neighbours have rowed little of late. There was a time when we were regularly disturbed by bubbly Beril screaming like a banshee. Beril has an excellent set of pipes which she can use to volcanic effect. I think the acquisition of Bianca the snow white cat a few months ago has calmed the spirits and silenced the guns. Bianca is an inquisitive creature. She’s now firmly in charge of our shared garden and tolerates no incursions by rivals. I often see her patrolling the low garden wall looking inquisitively out on the world beyond. I hope she doesn’t get too bold otherwise she may get set upon by the mean felines that strut their stuff by the communal bins or end up as road kill along the busy thoroughfare where the speed junkies race.

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Now That’s What I Call Old

Civilisation in Anatolia has deeper roots than most people imagine. The recently discovered ruins of Göbekli Tepe are among the oldest human-made structures yet discovered. The site is almost 12,000 years old, predating any other known civilisation by several thousand years. Eat your heart out Abraham (c1800 BC) Rameses the Great (c1300 BC), Nebuchadnezzar (c600 BC) and all those daft fundamentalist Christians who think that the world was created 6000 years ago.

 

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The Mausoleum of Halicarnassus | Bodrum’s Crusader Castle | Cappadocia, Then and Now | Rutting Reptiles | Communal Crapping

Mausoleum of Halicarnassus
Bodrum Castle
Cappadocia
Library of Celcus, Ephesus
Temple of Apollo, Didyma

And for My Next Trick

When Liam and I first set up home together, certain concessions had to be made. I’d spent a lifetime developing a neat demeanour – a place for everything and everything in its place. This stemmed from the rich chaos of my early years in a large family, when competition for the bathroom was fierce and you’d do well to find matching socks during the Monday morning scrum. Liam’s approach to organisation had always been a little more laissez faire. During our salad days I would come home from work to find a shoe on the mantelpiece or a pair of Calvins in the fridge (freshly laundered ones, obviously). This was his way of telling me to lighten up. I listened to the gentle provocation and over time, saw the light. Down the years, Liam’s raised his game and I’ve lowered mine: we’ve arrived at contented compromise. All except for one small thing. When Liam retires for the night, he just slips effortlessly out of his clothes and leaves them in a concertinaed heap on the floor by the bed, collapsed in a series of folds like a deflated accordion. Slippers poke out from under the crumpled jeans that sit tidily beneath a discarded tee shirt. It’s as if he’s disappeared through a trap door. All that’s missing is a puff of white smoke. It’s quite a trick.

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Last Will and Testament

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