The European Union’s plans to distribute cheddar to the needy of the Irish Republic in the run up to Christmas must be causing a stink. It’s gratifying to know the poor children of the Emerald Isle will not go to bed hungry. Would you like pickle with that? You couldn’t make it up.
Hello Dolly
We are finding local people to be warm, welcoming and obliging. We’re having fun riding around by dolmuş (or dollies as we call them) though it’s taken us a while to get used to dolly drivers collecting fares and dispensing change as they drive at speed along the highway, swerving to avoid pot holes and untethered cattle. Kindly strangers occasionally stop to offer us a lift, including a sweet little old lady with impeccable English, who pulled over in her beaten up Beetle and gave us a ride into town. She seemed unperturbed at inviting two strangers into her car. Perhaps this is because Turkey is blessed with a low crime rate when compared to the West and, therefore, the associated fear of it is also blessedly absent.
By comparison, Clement fled England because his fear of crime had reached hysterical levels. He’d become terrified to venture out after dark, lest he might be mugged by the drug addicts and beggars who loitered menacingly at every corner. He considered himself lucky to have survived the ordeal. We listened sympathetically and enquired where he had lived thinking it might have been Moss Side or Brixton. ‘Dorchester,’ he replied.
Blissful Bodrum
It was a magnificent day, so we ventured out to Bodrum for a light lunch and a beer on the beach. The town was in jolly mood and filled with laid back holidaying Turks strolling along the promenade. The sweaty bother of the summer months has been displaced by a more agreeable autumnal tone. We settled at a modest watering hole opposite the town beach which proudly displays a rainbow flag alongside the usual pennants. The bar has been a constant during our many holidays to Bodrum as the prices are reasonable and the easy on the eye staff are attentive without being fawning. The clientele has completely changed from tattooed tourist to Turk and is much the better for it. We watched the sun set over the castle and were reminded, as if a reminder was needed, why we are here.
Tariq the Toothless Caretaker
Tariq the Toothless is our caretaker. A muscular man with rough hands, his hard labour life is etched deeply into his kind face. He wanders around the site day and night doing very little but then I guess there is very little to do at this time of year. However, he is an efficient rubbish disposer. We are eternally grateful as otherwise we would be forced to yomp up and down Mount Tepe with all the empty bottles. Tariq stares a lot. We must seem like a creatures from a different planet.
The Pretty Stripping Barman
My prophesy that the vicious storm heralded the abrupt end of our Indian Summer was a tad premature. The weather has reverted to its usual generosity. We decided to take full advantage by spending the evening in the village. Yalıkavak is deafeningly quiet as most of the tourists have left. We patronised our little semi-gay bar with the pretty barman who strips off when the booze kicks in. As usual we were minding our own business when we were descended upon by Kay and Barry from Burnley. For some reason Kay took a real shine to me and Barry got on swimmingly with Liam. I said I’d never been to Burnley. Kay said she’d never been to London. Hardly a fair contest, I thought. Barry chirped on about his self-confessed homophobia but thought we were alright. Our gratitude knew no bounds.
Also in their company were an elderly woman and her new Turkish munchkin husband who was thirty years her junior. Clearly, it had been her Elizabeth Taylor looks that first attracted him. He was very, very small and made me look positively statuesque. The wife told me she has a gay son who just can’t find love – probably ugly then.
We all left together at the end of the evening. I gave Barry a big sloppy kiss right on the lips which he drunkenly reciprocated confirming the rumour that the difference between a gay man and a straight man is about 5 pints. As we left, the pretty stripping barman whispered provocatively to Liam that we should return later for extras. We didn’t.
Cleanse, Tone and Clench
London life friend Ian emailed me to remind me of the good old days when we were both free and easy. Well, I was free he was very easy. In days long past Ian was my regular dance partner as we filled our boots across half of Europe, and the main butt of my low wit. Socially polished, popular, sharp and loyal, his is the rare gift of insight into the human condition and I wonder what he would make of the overwintering exiles. In his email he recalled his envy at my popularity with the punters. My memories of our many trips around the dance floor are entirely different. His card was always fuller than mine as he had perfected his cleanse, tone and clench routine for the boys. Sadly, he mostly attracted those with less than a rudimentary command of English; the Third World was Ian’s specialist subject. Still, come the last waltz, I usually managed to secure a booking with some desperado who attracted me with the familiar you’ll do look in his eyes.Bottoms Up
Unhappy with the high cost and variable quality of Turkish şarap (wine), I have advised Liam to double our wine budget. When I first visited Turkey some 15 years ago, a quaffable bottle of table wine was a couple of quid. These days it would be cheaper to arrange an international delivery from Ocado. I feel a golden opportunity is being missed in Turkey. Wine has been produced in Anatolia for six millennia and with some serious investment, better quality control and a more benign tax regime, Turkey could become the new Chile. Most Turks don’t drink that much (presumably influenced by traditional Islamic prohibition) but a weak home market hardly matters for export. Cheers!
Strictly No Dancing
We channel-hopped on Digiturk and, by chance, came across the Turkish version of ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ on the Show Channel. It’s called ‘Yok Böyle Dans’ which I think literally translates as ‘No Such Dance’. It’s a distant relative of the real thing but the theme tune is the same. It’s a lot of talking but not a lot of actual dancing, and goes on for five hours. I could roast a small chicken during the commercial breaks and not miss a thing. I lost the will to live. I’ll never criticise the licence fee again.
Stand By Your Beds!
Chrissy turned up to check on our home making progress. Actually, it felt more like a military inspection, and we dutifully stood by our beds. She nodded general approval as she moved from room to room though was strangely dismayed by the lack of bedside tables. “But, bedside tables are so last year!” I insisted. She glared at me in sheer panic before composing herself to suggest we might secure the services of a cleaner, “so good for local employment.” How quaintly colonial, I thought. I haven’t had one of those since my days as a sixties army brat in the Far East. However, that was before Britain had withdrawn ‘East of Suez’ and assumed a diminished role in the World.
The Wicked Web
I see the ban on You Tube has been reimposed for some reason. Honestly, all this web censorship is so regressive and only makes Turkey look daft.
Perking the Pansies 