It was all a bit less frenetic today, without the Poles and the plaster and the dust clouds. Oh don't worry, we still have dust - lots and lots and lots of it. Every bit of cleaning in one part of the apartment is negated by walking from another part, leaving a trail of dusty footprints - will it never end?
Today was one of those strange France days when I spent pretty much all day working with my London head on - sat at my computer putting financial forecasts together. It also coincided with a constant runny nose and sneezing. Aren't colds the pits? - nothing you can do about it - just constant hot toddies, a ready supply of tissues and just try to ignore it. Frankly, there is far too much to do both here in France and in London to let a cold bring a halt to proceedings.
Meanwhile, Chris has been getting on with the tiling in the studio, which is looking good, notwithstanding the fact we might be short of a tile or two.
And Chris' advice for my cold? - "alcohol, mate - always works for me" - suppose I better open another bottle of wine then.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
Tile ordering
I went out early up to Tridome with my fingers firmly crossed that they would still have some of our tiles in stock. The fact that we bought them six months ago and they were a special offer at the time did not fill me with confidence. On arrival I quickly scanned the displays of tiles - nothing - my heart sank. I plumped up courage and cornered the tilemeister (or whatever they are called in France - le maestro de carrelage?) and showed him the torn off ends of a box that I had brought with me showing the name and code numbers of what I needed.
Actually, he was no maestro because he couldn't work the computer system and had to constantly either phone a colleague or get up and find someone to help him, all the time mumbling incoherent French at me - 'if you want me to at least have a stab at understanding you, please talk clearly', I thought to myself, and even then it will only be a 50/50 chance of success. The computer system was so obvious, even in French, that I was dying to grab the mouse off him and find the stock item myself, but given that Air France cabin crew have been on strike for five days because somebody sneezed on a plane or something, I thought better of it as the last thing I need at this critical point of the renovation is a nationwide walkout of staff from the DIY stores because an impatient Englishman grabbed a man's mouse!
My heart leapt when he eventually decided they had three boxes left in stock. I needed four to be on the safe side but three would have to do - I went off to get a trolley while he went to look in the storeroom. My heart sank again as he emerged holding a tile that was clearly the wrong colour. I think he said to me that the code numbers didn't match - which is why, you durr, the colour wasn't right. So it was back to the computer.
Whilst he continued his struggle with technology, I grabbed the Cooperativo Ceramico Imola catalogue from the shelf behind him and found the tiles I needed straight away with matching code number and a pretty picture and everything. His eyes lit up and he punched the code into a new screen he had found listing all current stock items. Hurrah. Sadly not. Computer said No.
His smarter, more tech savvy mate, popped his head round the corner, clicked the mouse a couple of times, pulled up the manufacturer details and stock list and a price for the item and in clearly understandable French said we could order them no problem if I wanted. Hallelujah - isn't life so much easier when you find the person who knows what's going on? Sadly, he then ran off again leaving Einstein to fill out the order, which took another twenty minutes with me helpfully pointing to the bits he had missed or got wrong. The upshot of it all is that I have to pay double the original price because they are no longer on special offer and we might have to wait six weeks for them to arrive, by which time Chris may well have left and I will be laying them myself. All of which left me feeling quite depressed this morning.
I returned to the apartment for the final afternoon of the Polish plasterers work for me, which involved more plastering, more sanding, more cleaning, a lot more dust and the handing over of a large wad of notes. Still, it took them seven days to do what would have taken me four weeks to not do as well as they have, so it is undoubtedly money well spent.
I thought my sore throat was due to the dust or the paint fumes, but this evening it has given way to sneezing and snot and I know I have a cold coming on - just what I don't need. Oh well - better get off to bed with a hot drink and get it sorted.
Actually, he was no maestro because he couldn't work the computer system and had to constantly either phone a colleague or get up and find someone to help him, all the time mumbling incoherent French at me - 'if you want me to at least have a stab at understanding you, please talk clearly', I thought to myself, and even then it will only be a 50/50 chance of success. The computer system was so obvious, even in French, that I was dying to grab the mouse off him and find the stock item myself, but given that Air France cabin crew have been on strike for five days because somebody sneezed on a plane or something, I thought better of it as the last thing I need at this critical point of the renovation is a nationwide walkout of staff from the DIY stores because an impatient Englishman grabbed a man's mouse!
My heart leapt when he eventually decided they had three boxes left in stock. I needed four to be on the safe side but three would have to do - I went off to get a trolley while he went to look in the storeroom. My heart sank again as he emerged holding a tile that was clearly the wrong colour. I think he said to me that the code numbers didn't match - which is why, you durr, the colour wasn't right. So it was back to the computer.
Whilst he continued his struggle with technology, I grabbed the Cooperativo Ceramico Imola catalogue from the shelf behind him and found the tiles I needed straight away with matching code number and a pretty picture and everything. His eyes lit up and he punched the code into a new screen he had found listing all current stock items. Hurrah. Sadly not. Computer said No.
His smarter, more tech savvy mate, popped his head round the corner, clicked the mouse a couple of times, pulled up the manufacturer details and stock list and a price for the item and in clearly understandable French said we could order them no problem if I wanted. Hallelujah - isn't life so much easier when you find the person who knows what's going on? Sadly, he then ran off again leaving Einstein to fill out the order, which took another twenty minutes with me helpfully pointing to the bits he had missed or got wrong. The upshot of it all is that I have to pay double the original price because they are no longer on special offer and we might have to wait six weeks for them to arrive, by which time Chris may well have left and I will be laying them myself. All of which left me feeling quite depressed this morning.
I returned to the apartment for the final afternoon of the Polish plasterers work for me, which involved more plastering, more sanding, more cleaning, a lot more dust and the handing over of a large wad of notes. Still, it took them seven days to do what would have taken me four weeks to not do as well as they have, so it is undoubtedly money well spent.
I thought my sore throat was due to the dust or the paint fumes, but this evening it has given way to sneezing and snot and I know I have a cold coming on - just what I don't need. Oh well - better get off to bed with a hot drink and get it sorted.
Monday, 29 October 2007
Trying times
After a weekend poncing about in the sunshine and lyricising poetically about the Autumn colours, it was back to the reality of a renovation that continues, as it always has, to lurch from one disaster to one solution to another disaster - and hopefully to another solution.
The point of hiring the Polish plasterers (they are called Andre and Robert, by the way - the two most un-Polish names I could imagine) was that they would be good and quick and Chris and I wouldn't have to do the work. Well, that's all well and true - but we are still here while they sand endless square metres of plaster, which means it is impossible for us to do any other work without developing a serious lung problem in the process. All you can do is close the doors and leave them to it.
Not that closing the doors actually helps that much because that dust will get everywhere and anywhere despite any precautions to the contrary. As a result, the whole apartment had never been so dusty and dirty - thank God we put covers over all the important bits of furniture in anticipation. There is no point in really trying to do much interim cleaning as there will be more dust tomorrow - all I hope to do is keep the worst under control and do a massive clean up, for the very last time I hope, when they have finished. Debrah arrives on Friday - she isn't going to be happy with the dust but I reckon she might be happy with the progress.
And so to the disasters. We all stood looking at the plaster coming away from the ceiling for a good five minutes. "Ce n'est pas bon", said Andre.
No shit.
"Can you fix it?", said I, in French, in words that might have translated as 'can you fix it'.
So he hacked the loose stuff off and it appears that the previous layer he had applied hadn't dried properly and perhaps it hadn't made a decent bond with the old paintwork because they hadn't primed it or scored it and maybe the weight of it was too much in one go - and no, he didn't tell me all that in Polish or French - Chris and I had already worked it out for ourselves. So we suggested he scored it and Chris mixed up some of the new tile adhesive we had bought, to paint on as a bonding agent for the new plaster. So much for so called professionals - but at least we haven't had to do it ourselves and at least the whole ceiling doesn't have to come down.
I got on with finishing the painting in the other apartment because it needed doing and because nobody was sanding in there - in fact it's the cleanest place on the whole first floor - I might move in.
When they left this evening, they indicated that tomorrow will be their last day! Well, not from where I have been looking at the work still to do, but we'll cross that bridge in the morning when they arrive.
Meanwhile, the sun disappeared and the rain started again and Chris started measuring and calculating and decided that we hadn't bought enough tiles for the studio bathroom, hall and kitchen - about five square metres short he reckons - can't all be explained by the change in studio bathroom layout - somebody must have measured it wrongly.
Fucking hell and bollocks!
The somebody was obviously me and, of course, I don't know if the same tiles are still available until I make the trip to Tridome and ask the question.
Deep breath, stay calm - it will all work out. Now if I could just get paid for my work in London everything might be ok - just might be, that is.
The point of hiring the Polish plasterers (they are called Andre and Robert, by the way - the two most un-Polish names I could imagine) was that they would be good and quick and Chris and I wouldn't have to do the work. Well, that's all well and true - but we are still here while they sand endless square metres of plaster, which means it is impossible for us to do any other work without developing a serious lung problem in the process. All you can do is close the doors and leave them to it.
Not that closing the doors actually helps that much because that dust will get everywhere and anywhere despite any precautions to the contrary. As a result, the whole apartment had never been so dusty and dirty - thank God we put covers over all the important bits of furniture in anticipation. There is no point in really trying to do much interim cleaning as there will be more dust tomorrow - all I hope to do is keep the worst under control and do a massive clean up, for the very last time I hope, when they have finished. Debrah arrives on Friday - she isn't going to be happy with the dust but I reckon she might be happy with the progress.
And so to the disasters. We all stood looking at the plaster coming away from the ceiling for a good five minutes. "Ce n'est pas bon", said Andre.
No shit.
"Can you fix it?", said I, in French, in words that might have translated as 'can you fix it'.
So he hacked the loose stuff off and it appears that the previous layer he had applied hadn't dried properly and perhaps it hadn't made a decent bond with the old paintwork because they hadn't primed it or scored it and maybe the weight of it was too much in one go - and no, he didn't tell me all that in Polish or French - Chris and I had already worked it out for ourselves. So we suggested he scored it and Chris mixed up some of the new tile adhesive we had bought, to paint on as a bonding agent for the new plaster. So much for so called professionals - but at least we haven't had to do it ourselves and at least the whole ceiling doesn't have to come down.
I got on with finishing the painting in the other apartment because it needed doing and because nobody was sanding in there - in fact it's the cleanest place on the whole first floor - I might move in.
When they left this evening, they indicated that tomorrow will be their last day! Well, not from where I have been looking at the work still to do, but we'll cross that bridge in the morning when they arrive.
Meanwhile, the sun disappeared and the rain started again and Chris started measuring and calculating and decided that we hadn't bought enough tiles for the studio bathroom, hall and kitchen - about five square metres short he reckons - can't all be explained by the change in studio bathroom layout - somebody must have measured it wrongly.
Fucking hell and bollocks!
The somebody was obviously me and, of course, I don't know if the same tiles are still available until I make the trip to Tridome and ask the question.
Deep breath, stay calm - it will all work out. Now if I could just get paid for my work in London everything might be ok - just might be, that is.
Sunday, 28 October 2007
Autumn
It was a beautiful Autumn weekend. The sun shone brightly and warmly during the day and the clear blue sky became a fabulous backdrop, bringing out the best of the Autumn colours of the fields and vines and trees.
I took the car out for a run, letting it stretch it's legs beyond the ten minute trips to the DIY stores that are it's usual outings during the week. I drove up to Montolieu and from there over the top of the hill down to Fraise Cabardes, back down the valley to Aragon and then across the north of Carcassonne to pick up the Canal du Midi and finally around the back of the Cité. Roof down and shirt sleeves, naturally.
From the hill above Montolieu you could see the entire valley stretched out below and across to the towering peaks of the Pyrenees, showing faintly in the distance. The church on the peak at Montreal was clearly silhouetted above the patchwork of orange and yellow and red and brown fields before it, and the massive frame of Mont Canigou, a few traces of the first snow on it's topmost slopes, loomed menacingly out of the haze, looking much closer than it actually is.
Just outside Aragon I came across a massive buzzard sat on a tree branch next to the road. No more than five metres from me it hunched it's shoulders down before releasing it's massive wingspan, showing flecks of white on the underside, and gliding off lazily towards a new resting place where it wouldn't be disturbed by a noisy clattering old Audi. Despite it's closeness and it's languid movement, it was still away before I had a chance to stop the car and get my camera in hand.
At the Canal there were at least signs of activity - people out for a Sunday afternoon stroll along the towpath. Who can blame them. At this time of year the plane trees on either side of the Canal are bright yellow and lights dance across it's surface where the sun penetrates any gaps between the trees. There is a distinct lack of canal traffic though which I find bizarre - it must be a beautiful time of year to meander along the canal - maybe it is just a bit cold at night on a boat on the water.
There is one view of the Cité that is always in all the guide books and on the posters. It is a view looking down onto the walls and turrets across fields of vines and it is not an easy place to find because the vines are private land. But found it I have. There is a little lay-by on the ring round to the south of Carcassonne - park there and wander up the hill a bit at the dge of the vine field and the classic Carcassonne Cite view unfolds below. Yes, technically it is trespassing.
By late afternoon, back at home and the sun is already beginning to fade. The starlings gather in their thousands and swoop and dive in massive swirls above the rooftops - a prelude to their winter migration and both mesmerising and slightly scary at the same time. It is time to close the windows, change from shirt to T-shirt and jumper and get the casserole on the oven.
Just when I was planning the week's work and thinking about a quiet evening in front of a film, Chris pointed out a problem that appeared to be developing in the office where new ceiling meets old. The new plaster put up by the Poles last week was cracking away from the ceiling as it dried which either means that it hasn't formed a bond with the old paint or, more scarily, the new ceiling boards are dropping slightly on their frame, which might mean taking down and fixing - what a complete and utter pain in the neck that will be. We decide we will inspect it in the morning - not before a lot more cursing about Alison and Graham, the useless builders who have caused more trouble than good as a result of their work and who put this bit of ceiling in place. In their case we certainly didn't get what we paid for.
Certainly wiped the smug Autumn smile off my face and helped focus me on the week ahead.
I took the car out for a run, letting it stretch it's legs beyond the ten minute trips to the DIY stores that are it's usual outings during the week. I drove up to Montolieu and from there over the top of the hill down to Fraise Cabardes, back down the valley to Aragon and then across the north of Carcassonne to pick up the Canal du Midi and finally around the back of the Cité. Roof down and shirt sleeves, naturally.
From the hill above Montolieu you could see the entire valley stretched out below and across to the towering peaks of the Pyrenees, showing faintly in the distance. The church on the peak at Montreal was clearly silhouetted above the patchwork of orange and yellow and red and brown fields before it, and the massive frame of Mont Canigou, a few traces of the first snow on it's topmost slopes, loomed menacingly out of the haze, looking much closer than it actually is.
Just outside Aragon I came across a massive buzzard sat on a tree branch next to the road. No more than five metres from me it hunched it's shoulders down before releasing it's massive wingspan, showing flecks of white on the underside, and gliding off lazily towards a new resting place where it wouldn't be disturbed by a noisy clattering old Audi. Despite it's closeness and it's languid movement, it was still away before I had a chance to stop the car and get my camera in hand.
At the Canal there were at least signs of activity - people out for a Sunday afternoon stroll along the towpath. Who can blame them. At this time of year the plane trees on either side of the Canal are bright yellow and lights dance across it's surface where the sun penetrates any gaps between the trees. There is a distinct lack of canal traffic though which I find bizarre - it must be a beautiful time of year to meander along the canal - maybe it is just a bit cold at night on a boat on the water.
There is one view of the Cité that is always in all the guide books and on the posters. It is a view looking down onto the walls and turrets across fields of vines and it is not an easy place to find because the vines are private land. But found it I have. There is a little lay-by on the ring round to the south of Carcassonne - park there and wander up the hill a bit at the dge of the vine field and the classic Carcassonne Cite view unfolds below. Yes, technically it is trespassing.
By late afternoon, back at home and the sun is already beginning to fade. The starlings gather in their thousands and swoop and dive in massive swirls above the rooftops - a prelude to their winter migration and both mesmerising and slightly scary at the same time. It is time to close the windows, change from shirt to T-shirt and jumper and get the casserole on the oven.
Just when I was planning the week's work and thinking about a quiet evening in front of a film, Chris pointed out a problem that appeared to be developing in the office where new ceiling meets old. The new plaster put up by the Poles last week was cracking away from the ceiling as it dried which either means that it hasn't formed a bond with the old paint or, more scarily, the new ceiling boards are dropping slightly on their frame, which might mean taking down and fixing - what a complete and utter pain in the neck that will be. We decide we will inspect it in the morning - not before a lot more cursing about Alison and Graham, the useless builders who have caused more trouble than good as a result of their work and who put this bit of ceiling in place. In their case we certainly didn't get what we paid for.
Certainly wiped the smug Autumn smile off my face and helped focus me on the week ahead.
Saturday, 27 October 2007
What a difference the sun makes
Two days ago I sat at the kitchen table working on my computer all day. I was wearing a sweater and a big fleece over the top of it and I had the heating on for the first time this year and I was still cold. Yesterday it was grey and it rained all day and even though I was working (painting walls if you must know) it was still cold and miserable.
But today was as if none of that had happened. I awoke to a cloudless bright blue Languedoc sky and by the time the sun had reached the Saturday post-market drinking hour at 'midi' it was hot enough to be sat outside in just a shirt and to be feeling the heat on your face. What a contrast.
And doesn't the sun perk everyone up. The market was wearing it's best happy face and so were the people of the town. The summer soft fruits and salad leaves have finally gone and the stalls now groan under the weight of apples and pears and plums and of pumpkins and cabbages and leeks. Winter food is here. It's time for soups and stews. We have already had one beef casserole and one coq au vin this week, as insulation against the cold. There is a bowl of split peas soaking in water behind me on the kitchen worktop right now - ready to be made into a thick hot pea and ham soup tomorrow.
But at lunchtime today we had a brief glimpse of the summer just gone and it felt as if everyone was making the most of this last fling of warm sunshine. Laughter and happiness abounded. The cafes and bars were crammed. The bonhomie and the wine overflowed. I ate a fabulous plate of six oysters - their shells loosened, and served with just a slice of lemon and a hunk of baguette - for only 5 euros - incredible value, very fresh and absolutely delicious.
But today was as if none of that had happened. I awoke to a cloudless bright blue Languedoc sky and by the time the sun had reached the Saturday post-market drinking hour at 'midi' it was hot enough to be sat outside in just a shirt and to be feeling the heat on your face. What a contrast.
And doesn't the sun perk everyone up. The market was wearing it's best happy face and so were the people of the town. The summer soft fruits and salad leaves have finally gone and the stalls now groan under the weight of apples and pears and plums and of pumpkins and cabbages and leeks. Winter food is here. It's time for soups and stews. We have already had one beef casserole and one coq au vin this week, as insulation against the cold. There is a bowl of split peas soaking in water behind me on the kitchen worktop right now - ready to be made into a thick hot pea and ham soup tomorrow.
But at lunchtime today we had a brief glimpse of the summer just gone and it felt as if everyone was making the most of this last fling of warm sunshine. Laughter and happiness abounded. The cafes and bars were crammed. The bonhomie and the wine overflowed. I ate a fabulous plate of six oysters - their shells loosened, and served with just a slice of lemon and a hunk of baguette - for only 5 euros - incredible value, very fresh and absolutely delicious.
Thursday, 25 October 2007
A bit chilly
What to say about the last two days? It has been a bit wierd really. I have pretty much just been sat at the kitchen table in front of my computer working on different financial scenarios and forecasts for my London job whilst all around me the building work has been progressing without much input from me.
And it has been cold just sitting at the table. It's definitely Autumn. Earlier in the week the sun shone and for three or four hours in the middle of the day it bathed the kitchen table in glorious golden light - kept me nice and warm but couldn't see the screen because of the glare. Today, however, it was grey and drizzly, just like England, and even though I had two jumpers on and a constant supply of hot coffee, it was still too cold - so the electric heaters were turned on to try and take the edge off - a good month earlier than I had planned on using them.
Meanwhile, the Poles are cracking on with the plastering and sanding. Twelve days they quoted with much sucking of the teeth - hah! I think they will be done by the middle of next week at the rate they are going. Doing a cracking job though so I'm not complaining. They brought a new boy with them yesterday and today - fresh off the boat, so to speak - doesn't speak a word of English or French and is given all the shitty jobs like sanding the ceiling above his head (I've done that so I know just what a shitty job it is). Poor kid - all part of his education I guess.
Hopefully they will be out of Chris' way tomorrow so that he can get on with the tiling. The perfectionist that he is, he has spent all week agonising over the correct tile adhesive to use for putting new porcelain tiles over old glazed ceramic tiles. Of course, the Poles just pointed at the stuff we already had, but in the end we went to a specialist tile shop and in my best French I asked what we should use and bought two bags of their recommendation. I know Chris still isn't convinced - but hey, let's hope it works cos I don't feel like buying anything else.
It'll work - I'm certain of it.
And it has been cold just sitting at the table. It's definitely Autumn. Earlier in the week the sun shone and for three or four hours in the middle of the day it bathed the kitchen table in glorious golden light - kept me nice and warm but couldn't see the screen because of the glare. Today, however, it was grey and drizzly, just like England, and even though I had two jumpers on and a constant supply of hot coffee, it was still too cold - so the electric heaters were turned on to try and take the edge off - a good month earlier than I had planned on using them.
Meanwhile, the Poles are cracking on with the plastering and sanding. Twelve days they quoted with much sucking of the teeth - hah! I think they will be done by the middle of next week at the rate they are going. Doing a cracking job though so I'm not complaining. They brought a new boy with them yesterday and today - fresh off the boat, so to speak - doesn't speak a word of English or French and is given all the shitty jobs like sanding the ceiling above his head (I've done that so I know just what a shitty job it is). Poor kid - all part of his education I guess.
Hopefully they will be out of Chris' way tomorrow so that he can get on with the tiling. The perfectionist that he is, he has spent all week agonising over the correct tile adhesive to use for putting new porcelain tiles over old glazed ceramic tiles. Of course, the Poles just pointed at the stuff we already had, but in the end we went to a specialist tile shop and in my best French I asked what we should use and bought two bags of their recommendation. I know Chris still isn't convinced - but hey, let's hope it works cos I don't feel like buying anything else.
It'll work - I'm certain of it.
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Kitchen Lights
For two years we have had a single bare light bulb sat forlornly high up in the centre of the ceiling in the kitchen. We have always known what we wanted to put in place and have had the light shades sat here in a bag for most of those last two years.
Alison and Graham, the first builders that we employed down here, were supposed to have fitted them, but they turned out to be useless, slow and incompetent - Alison and Graham, not the lights. We are even now having to correct or work around some of the work that they did in the early days of the renovation, and that really pisses me off, especially when I think about the money that we paid to them.
At long last, the single light bulb, which turned out to be just 40 watts (no wonder I had trouble reading properly at the kitchen table in the evening - or am I just losing my sight?) has been replaced with two elegant shades hanging low over the kitchen island and the kitchen table respectively. What a difference they make, not just to the light and visibility but also to the look and feel of the entire kitchen. Hurrah.
The Poles are continuing to work at a rapid pace - so much so that Chris has been able to start tiling in the studio bathroom, which is also very exciting news. I hope you are all as excited as I am, whoever you are.
By the way, it was Chris' birthday today - so happy birthday to you - and thanks for the kitchen lights. I'm supposed to give you a present but it turned out the other way round. You said to me that it was just another day, but it isn't - it's not everyday that a long running kitchen light saga is sorted.
Alison and Graham, the first builders that we employed down here, were supposed to have fitted them, but they turned out to be useless, slow and incompetent - Alison and Graham, not the lights. We are even now having to correct or work around some of the work that they did in the early days of the renovation, and that really pisses me off, especially when I think about the money that we paid to them.
At long last, the single light bulb, which turned out to be just 40 watts (no wonder I had trouble reading properly at the kitchen table in the evening - or am I just losing my sight?) has been replaced with two elegant shades hanging low over the kitchen island and the kitchen table respectively. What a difference they make, not just to the light and visibility but also to the look and feel of the entire kitchen. Hurrah.
The Poles are continuing to work at a rapid pace - so much so that Chris has been able to start tiling in the studio bathroom, which is also very exciting news. I hope you are all as excited as I am, whoever you are.
By the way, it was Chris' birthday today - so happy birthday to you - and thanks for the kitchen lights. I'm supposed to give you a present but it turned out the other way round. You said to me that it was just another day, but it isn't - it's not everyday that a long running kitchen light saga is sorted.
Monday, 22 October 2007
We have Poles in France too
Where have you been hiding all through my renovation? Why couldn't I find you six months ago when I slaved for three weeks with Ed, the smelly Dutchman, to plaster the apartment? Why are Polish craftsmen so impressive?
The Polish plasterers arrived today and, forgive me sounding excited, but these boys are damn good and damn quick. Even Chris is impressed and that takes a lot of doing. They are also extremely polite and can't speak any English, which makes for interesting interchanges about materials and tools followed by long silences when we all try to work out what we are going to say next and wonder whether we will understand each other to any great effect.
Watching them just get on with the job was an absolute joy and will be money well spent because without them I seriously doubt that we would be finished on time, but with them I can confidently predict completion of all work by the end of November - and that makes me jump up and down with extreme happiness.
Chris was so happy about it that he started tiling at 7.00pm this evening! He said he was bored with the internet and he may as well just get on with it. Well don't let me stop you. After a weekend of disappointments on the work and sporting front I'm so glad that something is going in the right direction.
The Polish plasterers arrived today and, forgive me sounding excited, but these boys are damn good and damn quick. Even Chris is impressed and that takes a lot of doing. They are also extremely polite and can't speak any English, which makes for interesting interchanges about materials and tools followed by long silences when we all try to work out what we are going to say next and wonder whether we will understand each other to any great effect.
Watching them just get on with the job was an absolute joy and will be money well spent because without them I seriously doubt that we would be finished on time, but with them I can confidently predict completion of all work by the end of November - and that makes me jump up and down with extreme happiness.
Chris was so happy about it that he started tiling at 7.00pm this evening! He said he was bored with the internet and he may as well just get on with it. Well don't let me stop you. After a weekend of disappointments on the work and sporting front I'm so glad that something is going in the right direction.
Sunday, 21 October 2007
Looking Forward
My fourth flight in nine days and I'm back in Carcassonne. OK, so my global footprint isn't exactly neutral - in fact it's probably huge. But I figure I'll start saving the planet when the USA decide to get in on the act - as I see it, until they join in, we are all buggered anyway and even when they do it will probably be too late.
It hasn't been a great week on the work front. Late on Friday I found out that the bank were not going to support the immediate cash needs of the business which is a real pain in the arse because it means we will have to find an alternative grant or loan or go for a third round of funding and dilute the shareholding of the business even further. More immediate is the fact that I won't be paid this month end and that is something I absolutely cannot afford - so I am pretty pissed off about the whole thing. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so honest and ethical - as Finance Director I have to advise the Company that until funding is secured we can't pay ourselves when actually that is the last thing I need on a personal level. It feels like I am shooting myself in the foot with a double-barrelled shotgun.
I thought that I might catch the end of the 'Fete du Vin' but they packed up and went home last night so I missed it entirely this year. Like I said, it hasn't been a great week.
Anyway, enough with the negative vibes.
The Languedoc looked superb when I flew in and landed today. The vines are all in their Autumn colours and the Pyrenees looked majestic with the first smatterings of snow on the very topmost peaks. The sun shone out of a cloudless sky and lit up the river and canal with a firework display of shimmering sparklers on the surface as we flew overhead.
Thankfully, Chris, my South African builder, didn't rub in the painful Rugby World Cup final defeat last night too much and, tomorrow, the Polish plasterers should arrive which will launch the final phase of the long running renovation work. I really can't wait for all to be completed - it feels as if it has been going on forever.
So, no point worrying about how to pay for it or sitting around waiting for the ice caps to melt - might as well just get on with it.
It hasn't been a great week on the work front. Late on Friday I found out that the bank were not going to support the immediate cash needs of the business which is a real pain in the arse because it means we will have to find an alternative grant or loan or go for a third round of funding and dilute the shareholding of the business even further. More immediate is the fact that I won't be paid this month end and that is something I absolutely cannot afford - so I am pretty pissed off about the whole thing. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so honest and ethical - as Finance Director I have to advise the Company that until funding is secured we can't pay ourselves when actually that is the last thing I need on a personal level. It feels like I am shooting myself in the foot with a double-barrelled shotgun.
I thought that I might catch the end of the 'Fete du Vin' but they packed up and went home last night so I missed it entirely this year. Like I said, it hasn't been a great week.
Anyway, enough with the negative vibes.
The Languedoc looked superb when I flew in and landed today. The vines are all in their Autumn colours and the Pyrenees looked majestic with the first smatterings of snow on the very topmost peaks. The sun shone out of a cloudless sky and lit up the river and canal with a firework display of shimmering sparklers on the surface as we flew overhead.
Thankfully, Chris, my South African builder, didn't rub in the painful Rugby World Cup final defeat last night too much and, tomorrow, the Polish plasterers should arrive which will launch the final phase of the long running renovation work. I really can't wait for all to be completed - it feels as if it has been going on forever.
So, no point worrying about how to pay for it or sitting around waiting for the ice caps to melt - might as well just get on with it.
Friday, 19 October 2007
Missing out
Typical. I have a Board Meeting in London on the very day that the 'vin primeur' is released and the 'Fete du Vin' takes place in Carcassonne. The 'Fete' is a great event - twenty to thirty local wine producers set up camp around the square for four days and everyone is invited to try and buy the wine, local bandas wander around all day jollying everyone up with music and there is live music on the stage each evening. Last year they coloured the water in the fountain a lovely shade of red and planted vines all around it in a temporary bed.
This year they plan to put up a giant screen in the square on Saturday night to show the final of the Rugby World Cup - but I wouldn't be surprised if someone put a phone call in last Sunday to cancel it now that France are out - they're not very good losers down in rugby country, especially when England are the winners.
Thankfully, I return on Sunday and will catch the end of the 'Fete' and the final concert on Sunday evening. Then on Monday the Polish plasterers start which should be interesting because of their lack of English.
The rumour on the streets is that the Irish bar was shut down by the tax authorities for non payment, which doesn't surprise anyone at all. Everyone is hoping that somebody else will take over the lease.
In the meantime I am London where it definitely feels like Autumn has arrived - lovely sunny weather but cold, especially after Turkey.
This year they plan to put up a giant screen in the square on Saturday night to show the final of the Rugby World Cup - but I wouldn't be surprised if someone put a phone call in last Sunday to cancel it now that France are out - they're not very good losers down in rugby country, especially when England are the winners.
Thankfully, I return on Sunday and will catch the end of the 'Fete' and the final concert on Sunday evening. Then on Monday the Polish plasterers start which should be interesting because of their lack of English.
The rumour on the streets is that the Irish bar was shut down by the tax authorities for non payment, which doesn't surprise anyone at all. Everyone is hoping that somebody else will take over the lease.
In the meantime I am London where it definitely feels like Autumn has arrived - lovely sunny weather but cold, especially after Turkey.
Monday, 15 October 2007
Catching Up
The two week sojourn in the Eastern Med is over. We left on Saturday and endured probably the worst flight I have ever experienced. All those people who are constantly slagging off Ryanair have obviously never flown on Excel Airways (a misnomer if ever there was). We asked for extra legroom and were given the two worst seats on the plane - both aisle seats on the very last row, i.e. immediately in front of the toilets. The flight was delayed by a non-existent water leak that took them two hours to diagnose and one hour to tell us what was happening. The cabin crew were the rudest I have ever encountered - sniggering behind their hands after lying to our faces about the situation. Debrah was so incensed I thought she was going to explode - or punch someone - in the end she contented herself with defacing the inflight feedback survey with some very blunt and un-ladylike words about what she felt at that moment.
A five hour delay going out and a two hour delay coming back - I can honestly say I will never take an Excel airways flight again.
I had resigned myself to mising the England v Estonia football match on Saturday afternoon but had texted ahead for Christian to record it, which he kindly did - not sure when my stepson became so reliable and helpful but I'm all for it. Our expected travel schedule was perfect for getting home just in time to watch the England v France Rugby World Cup semi final. I had pictured us walking through the door, putting our bags down, turning on the telly and watching the singing of the national anthems. Didn't quite work out like that though - a two hour delay meant we got home just in time to walk through the door, put our bags down, turn on the telly and watch the post match interviews. Bugger.
Still, we won and typically, not a Frenchman in sight when you need one to rub their faces in it - Gerard from the Makhila bar would have been perfect because I have still not forgiven him for turning off the English anthem when I last watched a game in his bar - downright rude and disrespectful it was.
36 hours after getting off that flight I was back on my reliable Ryanair 'bus' to Carcassonne to find out what has been going on in my absence and to try and come to an agreement with the plasterers that Simon had promised. Simon couldn't make it over so two Poles and one Englishman tried manfully to conduct a negotiation in french which didn't come to a conclusion but will do so hopefully in the next day or so.
It also appears that whilst I have been away the Irish bar has closed down, which is a bit of a shock. I still haven't got to the bottom of why - maybe it was just not profitable (it was empty most of the summer) or maybe the owner, Michel, has gone off to stay at a government establishment (equally likely given his propensity for a touch of GBH). One thing is for sure - nobody shuts a bar with a big screen in the middle of a rugby world cup - well, not before the host nation have been knocked out anyway! I shall have to make some enquiries.
A five hour delay going out and a two hour delay coming back - I can honestly say I will never take an Excel airways flight again.
I had resigned myself to mising the England v Estonia football match on Saturday afternoon but had texted ahead for Christian to record it, which he kindly did - not sure when my stepson became so reliable and helpful but I'm all for it. Our expected travel schedule was perfect for getting home just in time to watch the England v France Rugby World Cup semi final. I had pictured us walking through the door, putting our bags down, turning on the telly and watching the singing of the national anthems. Didn't quite work out like that though - a two hour delay meant we got home just in time to walk through the door, put our bags down, turn on the telly and watch the post match interviews. Bugger.
Still, we won and typically, not a Frenchman in sight when you need one to rub their faces in it - Gerard from the Makhila bar would have been perfect because I have still not forgiven him for turning off the English anthem when I last watched a game in his bar - downright rude and disrespectful it was.
36 hours after getting off that flight I was back on my reliable Ryanair 'bus' to Carcassonne to find out what has been going on in my absence and to try and come to an agreement with the plasterers that Simon had promised. Simon couldn't make it over so two Poles and one Englishman tried manfully to conduct a negotiation in french which didn't come to a conclusion but will do so hopefully in the next day or so.
It also appears that whilst I have been away the Irish bar has closed down, which is a bit of a shock. I still haven't got to the bottom of why - maybe it was just not profitable (it was empty most of the summer) or maybe the owner, Michel, has gone off to stay at a government establishment (equally likely given his propensity for a touch of GBH). One thing is for sure - nobody shuts a bar with a big screen in the middle of a rugby world cup - well, not before the host nation have been knocked out anyway! I shall have to make some enquiries.
Saturday, 13 October 2007
Final Day
Friday 12th October
Our last full day and the air felt a little cooler this morning, although the sun still shone brightly and warmly most of the day.
We went to Turunç to find a watch for Christian and get some more cash for final bills and hotel tips. We have decided that Turunç is a bit of a dump really so we wasted no more time than we needed to and got a taxi back as soon as we had got what we wanted.
Back at the poolside and Debrah was stung by a wasp, quite high up on her inner thigh. I think the wasp was on the lounger between her legs and when she pulled her legs together it must have panicked, as one would, and it stung her. Why does it always happen to Debrah? I’d seen the bar staff treating somebody else so asked for their help, so the poor guy had to administer the suction gun (ingenious device that draws the sting and the poison back out) to Debrah’s thigh and then the ointment and the gel before finally giving her an antihistimine tablet in case of an adverse reaction. It must have worked because within an hour the pain seemed to have gone.
We had lunch at the bar and retired to the hammocks for some peace and quiet away from everyone else and then Debrah suggested the hot tubs. I don’t really like hot tubs – I don’t really see the point of them and I don’t feel very comfortable in them. I half expected ‘Howards Way’ and her husband ‘Sleazy Tony’ to hop out of the bushes with a cheery “What Ho! – hot tubs eh? – do you guys like swinging?”.
We ate at the Beach Club one last time but we were both a bit tired and a bit sad to be leaving really, so it was pretty low key in the end. Allahasmarladic Turkiye - goodbye Turkey.
FINAL GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 9: International Nouveau Riche
Him - like Bob Hoskins playing Aristotle Onassis. Her - well-maintained, designer clad constantly puffing on a Davidoff lady fag. Treated like semi-royalty by hotel staff and owners. We think she may be some minor european aristocracy - she certainly cuts a dash in proper Issey Miyake and a splash of D&G.
VERDICT: WHEAT They just make don't make 'em like that any more and I bet she says 'daaarling' really well
candidate no 10: Charles and Diana
Stuck in a loveless marriage, he is a good 20 years older. She was clearly a trophy wife (English rose, good haircut, eating disorder). We think he might have been in import/export and probably slaps her about a bit. She is probably desperate to escape and is shagging the hired help.
VERDICT: WHEAT - just too interesting to chuck away.
Our last full day and the air felt a little cooler this morning, although the sun still shone brightly and warmly most of the day.
We went to Turunç to find a watch for Christian and get some more cash for final bills and hotel tips. We have decided that Turunç is a bit of a dump really so we wasted no more time than we needed to and got a taxi back as soon as we had got what we wanted.
Back at the poolside and Debrah was stung by a wasp, quite high up on her inner thigh. I think the wasp was on the lounger between her legs and when she pulled her legs together it must have panicked, as one would, and it stung her. Why does it always happen to Debrah? I’d seen the bar staff treating somebody else so asked for their help, so the poor guy had to administer the suction gun (ingenious device that draws the sting and the poison back out) to Debrah’s thigh and then the ointment and the gel before finally giving her an antihistimine tablet in case of an adverse reaction. It must have worked because within an hour the pain seemed to have gone.
We had lunch at the bar and retired to the hammocks for some peace and quiet away from everyone else and then Debrah suggested the hot tubs. I don’t really like hot tubs – I don’t really see the point of them and I don’t feel very comfortable in them. I half expected ‘Howards Way’ and her husband ‘Sleazy Tony’ to hop out of the bushes with a cheery “What Ho! – hot tubs eh? – do you guys like swinging?”.
We ate at the Beach Club one last time but we were both a bit tired and a bit sad to be leaving really, so it was pretty low key in the end. Allahasmarladic Turkiye - goodbye Turkey.
FINAL GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 9: International Nouveau Riche
Him - like Bob Hoskins playing Aristotle Onassis. Her - well-maintained, designer clad constantly puffing on a Davidoff lady fag. Treated like semi-royalty by hotel staff and owners. We think she may be some minor european aristocracy - she certainly cuts a dash in proper Issey Miyake and a splash of D&G.
VERDICT: WHEAT They just make don't make 'em like that any more and I bet she says 'daaarling' really well
candidate no 10: Charles and Diana
Stuck in a loveless marriage, he is a good 20 years older. She was clearly a trophy wife (English rose, good haircut, eating disorder). We think he might have been in import/export and probably slaps her about a bit. She is probably desperate to escape and is shagging the hired help.
VERDICT: WHEAT - just too interesting to chuck away.
Horses
Thursday 11th October
It was a pretty unremarkable day in all respects really. The sun shone, we both finished another book each, Debrah sat in the shade all day and didn’t swim, I sat in the sun all day and did swim and the pool still felt colder than it really ought to have done.
In our room in the evening was an envelope with our departure instructions, which very bluntly brings home that it is all nearly over and that London and Carcassonne and ‘normal’ life is beckoning.
We joined the crowd for the free wine tasting, which I had done last week but Debrah had not. We got chatting to ‘Horses’, or Stuart (architect) and Abby (GP) to give them their real names and ended up sitting and having dinner with them in the hotel restaurant.
That’s it, another day gone.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 8: Horses
Sterling, well bred middle class couple that talk about their polo horses all the time. We like to think they eat a bowl of oats for breakfast and an apple if they've been good.
VERDICT: WHEAT - we had a super conversation about Vola taps and Boffi sinks which is my kind of conversation.
candidate no 9: Mo Mowlem plus one
Bears a striking resemblance to Ms Mowlem and has the biggest filofax I have ever seen. Spent a morning doing diaries with partner (who now has gout!) - they got up to March 08, way to go.
VERDICT: WHEAT - Admirable organisational skills and not to be messed with.
It was a pretty unremarkable day in all respects really. The sun shone, we both finished another book each, Debrah sat in the shade all day and didn’t swim, I sat in the sun all day and did swim and the pool still felt colder than it really ought to have done.
In our room in the evening was an envelope with our departure instructions, which very bluntly brings home that it is all nearly over and that London and Carcassonne and ‘normal’ life is beckoning.
We joined the crowd for the free wine tasting, which I had done last week but Debrah had not. We got chatting to ‘Horses’, or Stuart (architect) and Abby (GP) to give them their real names and ended up sitting and having dinner with them in the hotel restaurant.
That’s it, another day gone.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 8: Horses
Sterling, well bred middle class couple that talk about their polo horses all the time. We like to think they eat a bowl of oats for breakfast and an apple if they've been good.
VERDICT: WHEAT - we had a super conversation about Vola taps and Boffi sinks which is my kind of conversation.
candidate no 9: Mo Mowlem plus one
Bears a striking resemblance to Ms Mowlem and has the biggest filofax I have ever seen. Spent a morning doing diaries with partner (who now has gout!) - they got up to March 08, way to go.
VERDICT: WHEAT - Admirable organisational skills and not to be messed with.
Thursday, 11 October 2007
Whoosh Whoosh Boaty Boat
Wednesday 10th October
Today was the day of the second of our pre-booked excursions. After the trip out on the gulet last week, we had booked a day out on the motor cruiser, or ‘whoosh whoosh boaty boat’, as it had been christened by Debrah and as it will now be forever know.
It is one of those white fibreglass and leather rich man’s toys that is more usually associated with St Tropez or Poole Harbour, which was appropriate as we were going to share our trip with Martin and Jess, retired and living in Poole. Jess was in fact the aforementioned ‘queen bee’ of the hotel and Martin, (“used to be in property management”) was sporting an inaugural Queen Mary cruise polo shirt with the collar turned up – it was going to be a long day.
We idled away from the jetty, before the captain put the twin 715bhp engines to good use and we sped off around the headland, spray flying up on all sides and the massive wake gracefully arching out behind us. To confirm its status as a floating gin palace, a bottle of champagne was cracked open as soon as we left the jetty. We motored along at 21 knots, heading south-west along the Bozburun peninsula. The boat has a top speed of 35 knots and at one point the captain pushed us up to 29 knots before swinging the boat into a fast left and right arc, which had Debrah squeeling on the sun deck at the rear as she was suddenly thrown to one side and back again.
We looked in at Sparrow Bay, which had a very narrow and deep entrance before opening out into a broad bay behind, then continued our journey to Lorimar Bay, where we would stop for lunch. On the headland at the entrance to the Bay were the remains of a 3000 year old settlement and there were three little shack restaurants dotted around in different corners with yachts already moored up in front. We ignored all these and headed for a very small cove on the far side of the Bay where a man waited in a rowing boat. As we got closer the rowing boat came out to meet us and Kemal, for that was his name, took the mooring rope and rowed back to shore to secure it to a rock, Atilla having already secured the boat to a buoy.
We could see, on the shore, a table fully laid for lunch under the shelter of a tree and mats and chairs on the small stony beach. To complete the scene a wild donkey came stumbling along the rocky shore, much to Debrah’s delight – she being a big fan of donkeys and this being the first that we had seen all holiday. Three of us swam ashore but Debrah was into the rowing boat with the bags and coolbox to get to on land as quickly as possible so that she could stroke the donkey’s nose – the donkey was by now beginning to take an interest in the dining area but Kemal put paid to that with a hefty thwack on it’s rump.
So we swam and watched the fish and looked at the sea urchins in the crystal clear water and we had a drink and lay in the sun whilst the crew prepared lunch and Kemal set about barbecuing the fresh fish. It was an idyllic scene and setting. We had mezes and fish and fresh fruit washed down with wine as we looked out onto the sparkling water of the Bay.
We all swam back to the boat; the rowing boat had been a bit too wobbly for Debrah, before towing Kemal back across the Bay to his little house where he lives in splendid isolation with his goats. (We are led to believe the isolation has more than something to do with the opposite sex – hiding might be a better description).
We retraced our steps down the coast and had one final stop an hour later for a little swim and some tea and cake before continuing back to the jetty, timing our arrival with the gulet and the yacht. It had in fact been a pretty good day for sailing and we had passed many yachts with full sails billowed by the breeze and getting along at a good pace. I have no doubt that every single one of them cursed us in the motor launch as we went past and they had to cope with our wake.
We felt quite windswept at the end of it all but it was a fabulous day out and exactly the sort of day we would probably only ever do when on holiday. Debrah had a good nap and was still full from lunch so I had dinner on my own and sadly started to turn my thoughts back to the work that needs doing when I get back to London – all good things must come to an end, I suppose.
But not just yet - still two days to go.
Today was the day of the second of our pre-booked excursions. After the trip out on the gulet last week, we had booked a day out on the motor cruiser, or ‘whoosh whoosh boaty boat’, as it had been christened by Debrah and as it will now be forever know.
It is one of those white fibreglass and leather rich man’s toys that is more usually associated with St Tropez or Poole Harbour, which was appropriate as we were going to share our trip with Martin and Jess, retired and living in Poole. Jess was in fact the aforementioned ‘queen bee’ of the hotel and Martin, (“used to be in property management”) was sporting an inaugural Queen Mary cruise polo shirt with the collar turned up – it was going to be a long day.
We idled away from the jetty, before the captain put the twin 715bhp engines to good use and we sped off around the headland, spray flying up on all sides and the massive wake gracefully arching out behind us. To confirm its status as a floating gin palace, a bottle of champagne was cracked open as soon as we left the jetty. We motored along at 21 knots, heading south-west along the Bozburun peninsula. The boat has a top speed of 35 knots and at one point the captain pushed us up to 29 knots before swinging the boat into a fast left and right arc, which had Debrah squeeling on the sun deck at the rear as she was suddenly thrown to one side and back again.
We looked in at Sparrow Bay, which had a very narrow and deep entrance before opening out into a broad bay behind, then continued our journey to Lorimar Bay, where we would stop for lunch. On the headland at the entrance to the Bay were the remains of a 3000 year old settlement and there were three little shack restaurants dotted around in different corners with yachts already moored up in front. We ignored all these and headed for a very small cove on the far side of the Bay where a man waited in a rowing boat. As we got closer the rowing boat came out to meet us and Kemal, for that was his name, took the mooring rope and rowed back to shore to secure it to a rock, Atilla having already secured the boat to a buoy.
We could see, on the shore, a table fully laid for lunch under the shelter of a tree and mats and chairs on the small stony beach. To complete the scene a wild donkey came stumbling along the rocky shore, much to Debrah’s delight – she being a big fan of donkeys and this being the first that we had seen all holiday. Three of us swam ashore but Debrah was into the rowing boat with the bags and coolbox to get to on land as quickly as possible so that she could stroke the donkey’s nose – the donkey was by now beginning to take an interest in the dining area but Kemal put paid to that with a hefty thwack on it’s rump.
So we swam and watched the fish and looked at the sea urchins in the crystal clear water and we had a drink and lay in the sun whilst the crew prepared lunch and Kemal set about barbecuing the fresh fish. It was an idyllic scene and setting. We had mezes and fish and fresh fruit washed down with wine as we looked out onto the sparkling water of the Bay.
We all swam back to the boat; the rowing boat had been a bit too wobbly for Debrah, before towing Kemal back across the Bay to his little house where he lives in splendid isolation with his goats. (We are led to believe the isolation has more than something to do with the opposite sex – hiding might be a better description).
We retraced our steps down the coast and had one final stop an hour later for a little swim and some tea and cake before continuing back to the jetty, timing our arrival with the gulet and the yacht. It had in fact been a pretty good day for sailing and we had passed many yachts with full sails billowed by the breeze and getting along at a good pace. I have no doubt that every single one of them cursed us in the motor launch as we went past and they had to cope with our wake.
We felt quite windswept at the end of it all but it was a fabulous day out and exactly the sort of day we would probably only ever do when on holiday. Debrah had a good nap and was still full from lunch so I had dinner on my own and sadly started to turn my thoughts back to the work that needs doing when I get back to London – all good things must come to an end, I suppose.
But not just yet - still two days to go.
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Busy doing nothing
Tuesday 9th October
Hmmm…. not much happened, not a lot of interest or of note or out of the ordinary – in other words a pretty good holiday day.
Only two things slightly different occurred.
Firstly, a massive cruise liner crept across the bay at first light heading for Marmaris – it looked as if it was moving so slowly and under the cover of the early pre-dawn mist, it was almost as if it didn’t want anyone to notice it but it was so huge it was impossible not to watch it’s progress.
Secondly, whilst we were down on the beach in the morning, a helicopter approached from out at sea and landed in the grounds of the banker’s mansion, obviously dropping someone off, before taking flight again back across the bay. A few days ago I had overheard the hotel owner discussing whether the hotel should get a helicopter to make trips to places like Ephesus (3 hours by car) or for airport transfers (2 hours) but he was concerned about the noise and disturbance to guests. Well, I can confirm that it would be very intrusive and very noisy – especially if it came and went four or five times a day – but then I know there are plenty of people who would think the opposite and wouldn’t give a damn if they were disturbing anyone else because all they think about is themselves, such is the world.
OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. What else. Just the usual.
Fabulous sunrise.
Beach.
Swimming and reading and sleeping.
Live music night (see last week’s entry for Tuesday)
Bed
Hmmm…. not much happened, not a lot of interest or of note or out of the ordinary – in other words a pretty good holiday day.
Only two things slightly different occurred.
Firstly, a massive cruise liner crept across the bay at first light heading for Marmaris – it looked as if it was moving so slowly and under the cover of the early pre-dawn mist, it was almost as if it didn’t want anyone to notice it but it was so huge it was impossible not to watch it’s progress.
Secondly, whilst we were down on the beach in the morning, a helicopter approached from out at sea and landed in the grounds of the banker’s mansion, obviously dropping someone off, before taking flight again back across the bay. A few days ago I had overheard the hotel owner discussing whether the hotel should get a helicopter to make trips to places like Ephesus (3 hours by car) or for airport transfers (2 hours) but he was concerned about the noise and disturbance to guests. Well, I can confirm that it would be very intrusive and very noisy – especially if it came and went four or five times a day – but then I know there are plenty of people who would think the opposite and wouldn’t give a damn if they were disturbing anyone else because all they think about is themselves, such is the world.
OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. What else. Just the usual.
Fabulous sunrise.
Beach.
Swimming and reading and sleeping.
Live music night (see last week’s entry for Tuesday)
Bed
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
Genuine fakes
Monday 8th October
In total contrast with the previous night, we both had a good sleep, only partly ruined by Debrah getting up to go the loo, asking me what time it was, me saying seven o’clock, us reading and then me realising, on second glance at my watch that it was actually only five o’clock.
I really must get some reading glasses soon.
We decided to head into Turunç this morning, it being the nearest town with shops and us having a typical mid-holiday shopping list to deal with – you know the sort of thing, more sun cream, some moisturiser, stop off at the cashpoint, more fags, gifts for the kids and as many ‘genuine fakes’ as we thought we could get away with.
There were the usual mix of shops selling bags, carpets, sunglasses, watches, jewellery and turkish delight. There were the usual odd mix of amusing signs and sights – the not entirely convincing barbers with ‘Let’s take care of your beauty hair’ or the gift shop proudly listing ‘onyx, ceramik, crystal, leather mask(!)’ – we weren’t quite sure what that meant and didn’t venture in to find out.
Turunç is clearly not totally off the beaten path in all fields of endeavour. The Turunç International Open Darts Championship 2007 was taking place, one sporting event that hadn’t previously crossed my radar.
Several of the bars are decorated with English and Scottish football shirts. As they were such an eclectic mix (Cardiff City, Gillingham, Portsmouth, Barnsley, Glasgow Celtic), it gives you some idea of the clientele – as did the West Ham shirt with ‘SHIT” written across it in felt tip pen. How smug and clever he must have thought he was when he penned that witticism for posterity and how much it says about the average British tourist abroad.
At the second jewellery store Debrah found herself some lovely silver necklaces, which we bought after I’d managed to get 25% of the label prices. She had found a lovely necklace at the first but the owner kept thrusting his thigh into her when ‘helping’ her try on various things, so we politely fled from there.
Likewise we bought nothing in the first sunglass and watch shop, although I did cheekily get the owner to tighten up my sunglasses, but we bought a watch for me, and a new pair of sunglasses for Debrah, at the second. The owner of this shop explained the difference between a cheap fake and a genuine fake, which was interesting – a cheap fake just looks like the real thing but doesn’t have full working parts and is made from inferior material, whereas a genuine fake works just like an original in every detail and is ‘first rate workmanship’. Hmmm – it’s still a fake though and that isn’t genuine oyster shell in the Rolex oyster is it?
We found most of the things we wanted but couldn’t decide between a fez, a watch or sunglasses for Christian so we will probably go back later in the week.
The afternoon was spent back at the hotel and there were only a couple of things of note worth commenting on. The usefulness of internet access allowed me to sort out the parking ticket that Debrah had picked up the day before we left London. Later, as we climbed the steps back up to our room, the elegant German lady staying at the hotel stopped to let us past claiming she needed a rest and was out of breath - whilst continuing to puff on her cigarette.
We ate at the Sea Club once more. The food was as delicious as ever, the air was very still and a little warmer than two nights ago and the music was very chilled. It was such a romantic evening that we had two bottles of wine and went back to bed very happy together.
In total contrast with the previous night, we both had a good sleep, only partly ruined by Debrah getting up to go the loo, asking me what time it was, me saying seven o’clock, us reading and then me realising, on second glance at my watch that it was actually only five o’clock.
I really must get some reading glasses soon.
We decided to head into Turunç this morning, it being the nearest town with shops and us having a typical mid-holiday shopping list to deal with – you know the sort of thing, more sun cream, some moisturiser, stop off at the cashpoint, more fags, gifts for the kids and as many ‘genuine fakes’ as we thought we could get away with.
There were the usual mix of shops selling bags, carpets, sunglasses, watches, jewellery and turkish delight. There were the usual odd mix of amusing signs and sights – the not entirely convincing barbers with ‘Let’s take care of your beauty hair’ or the gift shop proudly listing ‘onyx, ceramik, crystal, leather mask(!)’ – we weren’t quite sure what that meant and didn’t venture in to find out.
Turunç is clearly not totally off the beaten path in all fields of endeavour. The Turunç International Open Darts Championship 2007 was taking place, one sporting event that hadn’t previously crossed my radar.
Several of the bars are decorated with English and Scottish football shirts. As they were such an eclectic mix (Cardiff City, Gillingham, Portsmouth, Barnsley, Glasgow Celtic), it gives you some idea of the clientele – as did the West Ham shirt with ‘SHIT” written across it in felt tip pen. How smug and clever he must have thought he was when he penned that witticism for posterity and how much it says about the average British tourist abroad.
At the second jewellery store Debrah found herself some lovely silver necklaces, which we bought after I’d managed to get 25% of the label prices. She had found a lovely necklace at the first but the owner kept thrusting his thigh into her when ‘helping’ her try on various things, so we politely fled from there.
Likewise we bought nothing in the first sunglass and watch shop, although I did cheekily get the owner to tighten up my sunglasses, but we bought a watch for me, and a new pair of sunglasses for Debrah, at the second. The owner of this shop explained the difference between a cheap fake and a genuine fake, which was interesting – a cheap fake just looks like the real thing but doesn’t have full working parts and is made from inferior material, whereas a genuine fake works just like an original in every detail and is ‘first rate workmanship’. Hmmm – it’s still a fake though and that isn’t genuine oyster shell in the Rolex oyster is it?
We found most of the things we wanted but couldn’t decide between a fez, a watch or sunglasses for Christian so we will probably go back later in the week.
The afternoon was spent back at the hotel and there were only a couple of things of note worth commenting on. The usefulness of internet access allowed me to sort out the parking ticket that Debrah had picked up the day before we left London. Later, as we climbed the steps back up to our room, the elegant German lady staying at the hotel stopped to let us past claiming she needed a rest and was out of breath - whilst continuing to puff on her cigarette.
We ate at the Sea Club once more. The food was as delicious as ever, the air was very still and a little warmer than two nights ago and the music was very chilled. It was such a romantic evening that we had two bottles of wine and went back to bed very happy together.
Monday, 8 October 2007
Lounging about
Sunday 7th October
Lots of things contrived to make a disturbed night for us both – late new arrivals the night before were still clattering around in the early hours in their excitement, too much itching from the bites left by the bugs that always seem to take much more of a liking to Debrah than to me, too much noise from me and my snoring (perhaps it frightens the bugs).
At the risk of sounding monotonous, it was a glorious sunrise. This morning, though, I wasn’t the only one watching – several of the new arrivals were up to see their first – the girl in the next room along a little surprised to see me there as she wandered out onto the terrace to take a photo dressed only in a t-shirt.
One week on from our first morning here and it was a bit strange to be the ones who know where everything is and how it works and where to sit and what’s available for breakfast – it felt a bit like being at college – an old hand welcoming the freshers on their first day.
Down at the beach it was a bit breezier than it has been. Ideal for yachting in fact and this being Sunday there were far more yachts than usual out on the water and far more than usual under full sail rather than motoring along and there is no scene more splendid to look at than a beautiful blue sea filled with white sails all moving in different directions because it is a constantly changing one that can keep you enthralled for hours.
I finished my second book of the holiday – if finishing an unfinished book can count as finishing – I can never finish it because ‘Suite Francaise’ by Irene Nemirovsky was never finished by the author who was shipped off to a concentration camp by the Nazis and, sadly, died there. Everyone I know has read this book and praised it to high heaven whereas I just felt extremely frustrated when I got to the end not knowing, and never ever being able to know, what happens to all the characters and their lives.
At least we don’t miss the bus after lunch today and spend the afternoon as before in a mixture of sleeping, reading, swimming and a bit of work on the computer – today I had to re-send all the photos to i-escape for our Carcassonne apartments web page and send some information to the bookkeeper of my London job.
We had an impromptu pre-dinner on the terrace outside our room consisting of some rather piquant stuffed olives and some very sweet and tasty gherkins washed down by the final glass of red from the bottle we opened last night.
We were both hungry and looking forward to dinner, especially the lamb shanks on today’s menu, but because we don’t follow the herd at 8.00pm on the dot and tend to meander in for dinner a bit later, even though we are hungry, we suffer the consequences – meaning that everyone else had ordered the lamb shanks and there were none left – bugger. I have to say though, that the chargrilled spatchcocked chicken and mash that I had instead was delicious.
From hunger to dinner to tiredness seemed to happen very quickly and so, with an unfinished bottle of wine (!) we headed to bed.
It’s funny how the second week of a holiday always seems to go much faster than the first – today just seemed to disappear in a blur.
Lots of things contrived to make a disturbed night for us both – late new arrivals the night before were still clattering around in the early hours in their excitement, too much itching from the bites left by the bugs that always seem to take much more of a liking to Debrah than to me, too much noise from me and my snoring (perhaps it frightens the bugs).
At the risk of sounding monotonous, it was a glorious sunrise. This morning, though, I wasn’t the only one watching – several of the new arrivals were up to see their first – the girl in the next room along a little surprised to see me there as she wandered out onto the terrace to take a photo dressed only in a t-shirt.
One week on from our first morning here and it was a bit strange to be the ones who know where everything is and how it works and where to sit and what’s available for breakfast – it felt a bit like being at college – an old hand welcoming the freshers on their first day.
Down at the beach it was a bit breezier than it has been. Ideal for yachting in fact and this being Sunday there were far more yachts than usual out on the water and far more than usual under full sail rather than motoring along and there is no scene more splendid to look at than a beautiful blue sea filled with white sails all moving in different directions because it is a constantly changing one that can keep you enthralled for hours.
I finished my second book of the holiday – if finishing an unfinished book can count as finishing – I can never finish it because ‘Suite Francaise’ by Irene Nemirovsky was never finished by the author who was shipped off to a concentration camp by the Nazis and, sadly, died there. Everyone I know has read this book and praised it to high heaven whereas I just felt extremely frustrated when I got to the end not knowing, and never ever being able to know, what happens to all the characters and their lives.
At least we don’t miss the bus after lunch today and spend the afternoon as before in a mixture of sleeping, reading, swimming and a bit of work on the computer – today I had to re-send all the photos to i-escape for our Carcassonne apartments web page and send some information to the bookkeeper of my London job.
We had an impromptu pre-dinner on the terrace outside our room consisting of some rather piquant stuffed olives and some very sweet and tasty gherkins washed down by the final glass of red from the bottle we opened last night.
We were both hungry and looking forward to dinner, especially the lamb shanks on today’s menu, but because we don’t follow the herd at 8.00pm on the dot and tend to meander in for dinner a bit later, even though we are hungry, we suffer the consequences – meaning that everyone else had ordered the lamb shanks and there were none left – bugger. I have to say though, that the chargrilled spatchcocked chicken and mash that I had instead was delicious.
From hunger to dinner to tiredness seemed to happen very quickly and so, with an unfinished bottle of wine (!) we headed to bed.
It’s funny how the second week of a holiday always seems to go much faster than the first – today just seemed to disappear in a blur.
Sunday, 7 October 2007
Beating the Aussies
Saturday 6th October
Another beautiful dawn and another beautiful sunrise, but I never get tired of watching it.
Today is changeover day and this time next week we will be leaving, but for it is the majority of the other guests who are going and a new batch of victims arriving for Debrah to analyse.
In true Debrah fashion, she tries to change our hotel room for a better one but the place is fully booked for the next week so we have to stay where we are.
At the Beach Club we overhear one of our fellow guests, for whom some things are not quite good enough. “This sand’s not quite the right colour, is it?”, he intoned. Oh, please just go away.
Lunch as ever is very good at the Beach Club. Today we share a kofte ekmek, a minced lamb burger with roasted tomato and onion, and a fatoush, a tomato, cheese, basil and bread salad, all washed down with a carafe of rose.
We miss the minibus to come back up to the hotel but one of the staff takes us back in his own car which is very good of him.
I discover that the England v Australia game is being shown on the TV at the hotel and, despite what I said the day before, my sport watching instincts get the better of me. Debrah settles herself by the pool for a while. Agonisingly, for some guests they have to leave before the end of the match to get their flights home – a phone call from reception to the bus driver will have cheered them up. Sadly, there don’t appear to be any Australians staying.
After the game Debrah and I enjoy a glass of wine and a tin of stuffed vine leaves sitting on our terrace in the quiet that always descends at dusk, just as it is at dawn.
We have dinner at the Beach Club. It is a superb setting – the ideal place to completely forget all your cares for a few hours. Debrah forgets to bring a cardigan and the temperature is just slightly cooler than previous evenings, but ever attentive, the hotel staff produce a pashmina for her.
Back at the hotel, I catch the second half of the France v NZ match and witness another fabulous display by a Northern Hemisphere team. Sadly, the only Kiwi at the hotel left this afternoon.
Another beautiful dawn and another beautiful sunrise, but I never get tired of watching it.
Today is changeover day and this time next week we will be leaving, but for it is the majority of the other guests who are going and a new batch of victims arriving for Debrah to analyse.
In true Debrah fashion, she tries to change our hotel room for a better one but the place is fully booked for the next week so we have to stay where we are.
At the Beach Club we overhear one of our fellow guests, for whom some things are not quite good enough. “This sand’s not quite the right colour, is it?”, he intoned. Oh, please just go away.
Lunch as ever is very good at the Beach Club. Today we share a kofte ekmek, a minced lamb burger with roasted tomato and onion, and a fatoush, a tomato, cheese, basil and bread salad, all washed down with a carafe of rose.
We miss the minibus to come back up to the hotel but one of the staff takes us back in his own car which is very good of him.
I discover that the England v Australia game is being shown on the TV at the hotel and, despite what I said the day before, my sport watching instincts get the better of me. Debrah settles herself by the pool for a while. Agonisingly, for some guests they have to leave before the end of the match to get their flights home – a phone call from reception to the bus driver will have cheered them up. Sadly, there don’t appear to be any Australians staying.
After the game Debrah and I enjoy a glass of wine and a tin of stuffed vine leaves sitting on our terrace in the quiet that always descends at dusk, just as it is at dawn.
We have dinner at the Beach Club. It is a superb setting – the ideal place to completely forget all your cares for a few hours. Debrah forgets to bring a cardigan and the temperature is just slightly cooler than previous evenings, but ever attentive, the hotel staff produce a pashmina for her.
Back at the hotel, I catch the second half of the France v NZ match and witness another fabulous display by a Northern Hemisphere team. Sadly, the only Kiwi at the hotel left this afternoon.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
Turunç
Friday 5th October
I adore that ten or fifteen minutes just before the sun comes up. It is daylight but, as yet, there is no sign of the sun – the horizon is still bluey-grey, the sea is flat and calm and the air is still. There are no sounds from the other residents but in the distance is the occasional gunshot from a local hunter and a few muted sounds drift up from the restaurant below as the staff start their early morning duties. Bees, wasps and other insects are going about their business almost silently. The only real noise is the distant crowing of a cock in the valley, the chirping of birds waking up in their nests and the bleating of goats somewhere up on the mountain. The stars are still twinkling in a pale blue sky and the, now, crescent moon is still clearly visible directly above. It is a beautiful time of day.
I was woken by Debrah getting up to go to the loo and then couldn’t get back to sleep because my shoulder was aching and I was afraid of waking Debrah in my attempts to get comfortable. Sitting here typing, my arm doesn’t hurt at all.
Slowly the horizon takes on an orange hue and then the sun almost charges up over the horizon, it comes up so quickly. At first it is muted by the mist and haze lying close to the water and it is very easy to look directly at it. The water in the bay reflects its amber tones. As it climbs higher it imperceptibly brightens. Each time you look at it you have to adjust your eyes to its glare more pronouncedly and each look becomes more of a glance. The first boat motors round the headland and the first car is heard driving down the road. The birdsong gets louder and the insect activity multiplies tenfold. Ten minutes after it has risen it is impossible to look directly at the sun.
After the thunder and lightning of the previous night’s storm there is debris littered everywhere – leaves and twigs and flower petals are strewn about the terrace and a large amount of dead insects that clearly didn’t survive the battering. Yet, looking up at the cloudless sky and the sun slowly climbing into it over a calm and peaceful sea, you wouldn’t have believed there had been a storm at all. The gulet and the cruiser are back at their moorings and look ready for another day of slipping in and out of the bays up and down the coast. When I get down to breakfast there is just one broken palm tree as evidence of the night before – the pool is absolutely spotless, the lounger cushions and towels are in place and the breakfast tables are laid in their pristine white tablecloths. It is as it should be but it is impressive nonetheless.
We spend the morning catching up on computer stuff but are ultimately frustrated by the slow speed of the internet connection. We eat at the bar and continue to read and swim and generally do what one is supposed to do on holiday – not a lot really. In late afternoon we adjourn to the hammocks situated in the gardens down below the pool and drop off for an hour or so.
We take the 7.00pm minibus into Turunç, our first visit to the town in the next bay along. All the shops are still open which is good news for Debrah as she has run out of cigarettes and has been without hair conditioner for a week, which I believe is some sort of crisis. We walk the town, which doesn’t take long. It consists of one long street with shops and restaurants on both sides and the parallel beachside path with restaurants on one side and the beach on the other.
Meanwhile in the street the kids were playing football and riding around on their bikes, dodging the mopeds and ‘taksis’ that passed up and down. There seemed to be a huge number of cats in the town and Debrah spotted one rat making a dash for it from one side of the road to the other.
Most of the bars advertise the English Premiership matches that will be shown live over the coming weekend (you can watch more live games here than in the UK) and a couple are advertising the Rugby World Cup matches, especially the England v Australia game. I am tempted to come back the next day but decide against it – I think my compatriots would probably annoy me and I expect England to lose.
We did a fly-by of every restaurant in town with varying levels of hassle from the staff – some ignored us, some made polite attempts to get us to come in to their establishment and one man tried very hard. “Hello, my name is John, you are my very good friends and very welcome”. We politely decline. “Very good food, very good price, my good friends”, he intoned ‘Good’ was a word he used a lot. We thought we had shaken him off but as we doubled back down the main road he came back out of the other side of the restaurant, which clearly went all the way through to the beach. “Lovely couple, you come eat here, very good food, very good price”. No, you are trying to hard.
We chose a place called Pisces, partly because they made no attempt at all to get us to come in and, then, later on they made no attempt at all to serve us any dessert or coffee. In between though we had a lovely dinner and a good bottle of wine. My starter, ‘manti borek’ was very good – a lightly spiced filo pastry meat pie with yoghurt. The lamb shanks I had as a main course were extremely tender and the rosemary seemed less harsh than that we use in England. It was all delicious.
We took a ‘taksi’ back to the hotel and had a nightcap to end another lovely day away.
I adore that ten or fifteen minutes just before the sun comes up. It is daylight but, as yet, there is no sign of the sun – the horizon is still bluey-grey, the sea is flat and calm and the air is still. There are no sounds from the other residents but in the distance is the occasional gunshot from a local hunter and a few muted sounds drift up from the restaurant below as the staff start their early morning duties. Bees, wasps and other insects are going about their business almost silently. The only real noise is the distant crowing of a cock in the valley, the chirping of birds waking up in their nests and the bleating of goats somewhere up on the mountain. The stars are still twinkling in a pale blue sky and the, now, crescent moon is still clearly visible directly above. It is a beautiful time of day.
I was woken by Debrah getting up to go to the loo and then couldn’t get back to sleep because my shoulder was aching and I was afraid of waking Debrah in my attempts to get comfortable. Sitting here typing, my arm doesn’t hurt at all.
Slowly the horizon takes on an orange hue and then the sun almost charges up over the horizon, it comes up so quickly. At first it is muted by the mist and haze lying close to the water and it is very easy to look directly at it. The water in the bay reflects its amber tones. As it climbs higher it imperceptibly brightens. Each time you look at it you have to adjust your eyes to its glare more pronouncedly and each look becomes more of a glance. The first boat motors round the headland and the first car is heard driving down the road. The birdsong gets louder and the insect activity multiplies tenfold. Ten minutes after it has risen it is impossible to look directly at the sun.
After the thunder and lightning of the previous night’s storm there is debris littered everywhere – leaves and twigs and flower petals are strewn about the terrace and a large amount of dead insects that clearly didn’t survive the battering. Yet, looking up at the cloudless sky and the sun slowly climbing into it over a calm and peaceful sea, you wouldn’t have believed there had been a storm at all. The gulet and the cruiser are back at their moorings and look ready for another day of slipping in and out of the bays up and down the coast. When I get down to breakfast there is just one broken palm tree as evidence of the night before – the pool is absolutely spotless, the lounger cushions and towels are in place and the breakfast tables are laid in their pristine white tablecloths. It is as it should be but it is impressive nonetheless.
We spend the morning catching up on computer stuff but are ultimately frustrated by the slow speed of the internet connection. We eat at the bar and continue to read and swim and generally do what one is supposed to do on holiday – not a lot really. In late afternoon we adjourn to the hammocks situated in the gardens down below the pool and drop off for an hour or so.
We take the 7.00pm minibus into Turunç, our first visit to the town in the next bay along. All the shops are still open which is good news for Debrah as she has run out of cigarettes and has been without hair conditioner for a week, which I believe is some sort of crisis. We walk the town, which doesn’t take long. It consists of one long street with shops and restaurants on both sides and the parallel beachside path with restaurants on one side and the beach on the other.
Meanwhile in the street the kids were playing football and riding around on their bikes, dodging the mopeds and ‘taksis’ that passed up and down. There seemed to be a huge number of cats in the town and Debrah spotted one rat making a dash for it from one side of the road to the other.
Most of the bars advertise the English Premiership matches that will be shown live over the coming weekend (you can watch more live games here than in the UK) and a couple are advertising the Rugby World Cup matches, especially the England v Australia game. I am tempted to come back the next day but decide against it – I think my compatriots would probably annoy me and I expect England to lose.
We did a fly-by of every restaurant in town with varying levels of hassle from the staff – some ignored us, some made polite attempts to get us to come in to their establishment and one man tried very hard. “Hello, my name is John, you are my very good friends and very welcome”. We politely decline. “Very good food, very good price, my good friends”, he intoned ‘Good’ was a word he used a lot. We thought we had shaken him off but as we doubled back down the main road he came back out of the other side of the restaurant, which clearly went all the way through to the beach. “Lovely couple, you come eat here, very good food, very good price”. No, you are trying to hard.
We chose a place called Pisces, partly because they made no attempt at all to get us to come in and, then, later on they made no attempt at all to serve us any dessert or coffee. In between though we had a lovely dinner and a good bottle of wine. My starter, ‘manti borek’ was very good – a lightly spiced filo pastry meat pie with yoghurt. The lamb shanks I had as a main course were extremely tender and the rosemary seemed less harsh than that we use in England. It was all delicious.
We took a ‘taksi’ back to the hotel and had a nightcap to end another lovely day away.
Friday, 5 October 2007
Gulet Trip
Thursday 4th October
Well, wouldn’t you know. The day of our gulet boat trip is the day the weather decides to take a break from it’s routine. It is the day of the storms.
Not that the day was entirely a washout – we still went on our boat trip and we had some sunshine but we also had a bit of trauma and a bit of excitement that wasn’t part of the planned activity for the day.
At first light it looked promising but there was soon a bit of thunder rumbling about and a big black cloud came over the mountain behind us and dumped its contents. By the time we went down to breakfast, which had to be taken in the undercover Nar restaurant, the paths were sodden and covered in small puddles but the rain had stopped.
During breakfast they set up a small griddle and dough board outside on the floor and two of the hotel staff set about making small folded spicy potato pancakes – exactly the sort of activity they should have done the previous evening for the Turkish evening. It was fascinating to watch their skill as they rolled, filled and cooked the pancakes – they were still so hot from the griddle that a lot of blowing on them and passing from hand to hand was required in their consumption. Delicious they were too.
It was still a bit overcast and threatening as we set off from the jetty and moody clouds were spilling over the tops of the mountains giving the scene an equatorial feel – “looks like Ecuador”, said Debrah.
On this first leg of our journey, with cloud still overhead and a good breeze blowing, it was still a little cool. When one of the other guests was brought a blanket after jokingly pretending to be cold, Debrah threw a (partially) pretend strop and sulk, which was spotted by the captain and rewarded with a blanket of her very own. You would be hard pressed to find a happier and more content woman than Debrah at that moment.
Our first stop was Goat Island and one of the crew was first in the water to encourage the rest, who were a little sceptical about the temperature. I followed next. Nothing to worry about – it actually felt warmer than the hotel pool, as the sea does at the Beach Club too. It was also incredibly clear – Debrah remarked that how easy it was to see me under the water when I had dived in off the side of the boat.
As we carried on up the coast, passing across the Bay of Marmaris, a sudden rain shower swept across and had everyone scrambling to the stern under cover, but by the time we reached our lunch stop in Paradise Cove, the sun was at last peeking through the clouds and the temperature began to rise. The hillside around the cove was covered in lush vegetation and the overnight and morning rain seemed to have lifted all the colours, bringing out the contrasts between the greens and browns that had been hardly noticeable before.
We were given an excellent lunch of meze, naturally, followed by a white fish stew with rice and green salad. It was a shame the company wasn’t as good as the food – Debrah and I were soon having to defend London against a group of so called country locals moaning about how Londoners had ruined their communities, as they all sat there on their second holiday of the year, clearly not struggling to feed or clothe themselves – what a bunch of hypocrites.
Having avoided a fight, we all relaxed into a post lunch slumber on the deck as the motor was turned off and the sails raised. We spent a peaceful hour listening to the creaking of the ropes and the flapping of canvas – not going anywhere very fast, there being very little wind at this point of the afternoon.
By the time we all stirred again, we were pulling into the cove where we would make our final stop of the day and where our troubles would begin. A swim and some tea and cake and, uh-oh, a broken throttle cable. There was much shouting and arm-waving and running about the boat looking for tools, dropping the anchor again and then a bit of head-scratching. A couple of the Brits couldn’t help going to offer their opinion. After twenty minutes or so, a temporary fix was effected that would hopefully get us back to harbour, but it meant forward and reverse could only be used by manually jumping into the hold to change the cable over on the levers. The skies were already darkening, the first rumbles of thunder could be heard and lightning was zagging down to the sea in the distance.
The storm chased us all the way into Kumlumbuk Bay and was clearly travelling faster than we were and coming at us from two sides. Halfway between the headland and the jetty it hit, a massive squall blew the boat sideways and everyone and everything with it. We all grabbed our belongings and made our way to the cover of the stern whilst the crew battened everything down.
As we neared the jetty we could see the local coastguard in their inflatable issuing instructions to all boats (we later found out that they were ordering all boats into marinas and harbours for safety reasons). Without full throttle control and the wind now battering us, it was always going to be a difficult docking. The first attempt failed as the anchor was dropped, cautiously, too far out and the wind took us past the jetty before we could get a rope over to one of the many hands waiting to help. There was more shouting and arm-waving – they knew what they were doing – they just deal with these situations in a different way – but it didn’t do anything for Debrah who was becoming a bit scared and very nervous.
They raised and then dropped the anchor once more as the rain started to fall. As we backed nearer the jetty one crew member had to jump into the hold to switch from reverse to forward whilst the other secured the anchor at the bow and ran to the stern to throw the rope – it missed – but one of the shore crew leapt from the jetty into the water to retrieve it and, after being hauled up back onto the jetty, secure it. He then leapt onto the gangplank as he realised another pair of hands was needed on board – what a hero (we later found out that his name was Attila!). The extra pair of hands meant one man could stay in the hold for throttle control and two men could handle the ropes on both port and starboard at the stern and very quickly they now got us docked, well, sort of.
The rain was by now lashing down, lightning flashed all around, thunder boomed overhead and the boat was thrashing about on its ropes. Happily, everyone made it across the very slippery and wobbly gangplank to the jetty without accident and up into the safety of the minibus. As soon as everyone was off, they released the ropes from the jetty to let the gulet ride the storm more easily.
When we finally got back to the room, the view of the bay was entirely obliterated by the clouds and rain. The storm went on for another few hours and the lightning spectacle from the safety of dry land was incredibly impressive.
All in all, quite an eventful and exciting trip – can’t wait to do it again, but I’m not sure Debrah is so enthusiastic.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 7: The Fat Couple
Both young, gifted and fat, this couple from Manchester swim 80 lengths each morning, followed up by a couple of Marlboro and an enormous breakfast.
verdict: WHEAT - they are both completely charming
Well, wouldn’t you know. The day of our gulet boat trip is the day the weather decides to take a break from it’s routine. It is the day of the storms.
Not that the day was entirely a washout – we still went on our boat trip and we had some sunshine but we also had a bit of trauma and a bit of excitement that wasn’t part of the planned activity for the day.
At first light it looked promising but there was soon a bit of thunder rumbling about and a big black cloud came over the mountain behind us and dumped its contents. By the time we went down to breakfast, which had to be taken in the undercover Nar restaurant, the paths were sodden and covered in small puddles but the rain had stopped.
During breakfast they set up a small griddle and dough board outside on the floor and two of the hotel staff set about making small folded spicy potato pancakes – exactly the sort of activity they should have done the previous evening for the Turkish evening. It was fascinating to watch their skill as they rolled, filled and cooked the pancakes – they were still so hot from the griddle that a lot of blowing on them and passing from hand to hand was required in their consumption. Delicious they were too.
It was still a bit overcast and threatening as we set off from the jetty and moody clouds were spilling over the tops of the mountains giving the scene an equatorial feel – “looks like Ecuador”, said Debrah.
On this first leg of our journey, with cloud still overhead and a good breeze blowing, it was still a little cool. When one of the other guests was brought a blanket after jokingly pretending to be cold, Debrah threw a (partially) pretend strop and sulk, which was spotted by the captain and rewarded with a blanket of her very own. You would be hard pressed to find a happier and more content woman than Debrah at that moment.
Our first stop was Goat Island and one of the crew was first in the water to encourage the rest, who were a little sceptical about the temperature. I followed next. Nothing to worry about – it actually felt warmer than the hotel pool, as the sea does at the Beach Club too. It was also incredibly clear – Debrah remarked that how easy it was to see me under the water when I had dived in off the side of the boat.
As we carried on up the coast, passing across the Bay of Marmaris, a sudden rain shower swept across and had everyone scrambling to the stern under cover, but by the time we reached our lunch stop in Paradise Cove, the sun was at last peeking through the clouds and the temperature began to rise. The hillside around the cove was covered in lush vegetation and the overnight and morning rain seemed to have lifted all the colours, bringing out the contrasts between the greens and browns that had been hardly noticeable before.
We were given an excellent lunch of meze, naturally, followed by a white fish stew with rice and green salad. It was a shame the company wasn’t as good as the food – Debrah and I were soon having to defend London against a group of so called country locals moaning about how Londoners had ruined their communities, as they all sat there on their second holiday of the year, clearly not struggling to feed or clothe themselves – what a bunch of hypocrites.
Having avoided a fight, we all relaxed into a post lunch slumber on the deck as the motor was turned off and the sails raised. We spent a peaceful hour listening to the creaking of the ropes and the flapping of canvas – not going anywhere very fast, there being very little wind at this point of the afternoon.
By the time we all stirred again, we were pulling into the cove where we would make our final stop of the day and where our troubles would begin. A swim and some tea and cake and, uh-oh, a broken throttle cable. There was much shouting and arm-waving and running about the boat looking for tools, dropping the anchor again and then a bit of head-scratching. A couple of the Brits couldn’t help going to offer their opinion. After twenty minutes or so, a temporary fix was effected that would hopefully get us back to harbour, but it meant forward and reverse could only be used by manually jumping into the hold to change the cable over on the levers. The skies were already darkening, the first rumbles of thunder could be heard and lightning was zagging down to the sea in the distance.
The storm chased us all the way into Kumlumbuk Bay and was clearly travelling faster than we were and coming at us from two sides. Halfway between the headland and the jetty it hit, a massive squall blew the boat sideways and everyone and everything with it. We all grabbed our belongings and made our way to the cover of the stern whilst the crew battened everything down.
As we neared the jetty we could see the local coastguard in their inflatable issuing instructions to all boats (we later found out that they were ordering all boats into marinas and harbours for safety reasons). Without full throttle control and the wind now battering us, it was always going to be a difficult docking. The first attempt failed as the anchor was dropped, cautiously, too far out and the wind took us past the jetty before we could get a rope over to one of the many hands waiting to help. There was more shouting and arm-waving – they knew what they were doing – they just deal with these situations in a different way – but it didn’t do anything for Debrah who was becoming a bit scared and very nervous.
They raised and then dropped the anchor once more as the rain started to fall. As we backed nearer the jetty one crew member had to jump into the hold to switch from reverse to forward whilst the other secured the anchor at the bow and ran to the stern to throw the rope – it missed – but one of the shore crew leapt from the jetty into the water to retrieve it and, after being hauled up back onto the jetty, secure it. He then leapt onto the gangplank as he realised another pair of hands was needed on board – what a hero (we later found out that his name was Attila!). The extra pair of hands meant one man could stay in the hold for throttle control and two men could handle the ropes on both port and starboard at the stern and very quickly they now got us docked, well, sort of.
The rain was by now lashing down, lightning flashed all around, thunder boomed overhead and the boat was thrashing about on its ropes. Happily, everyone made it across the very slippery and wobbly gangplank to the jetty without accident and up into the safety of the minibus. As soon as everyone was off, they released the ropes from the jetty to let the gulet ride the storm more easily.
When we finally got back to the room, the view of the bay was entirely obliterated by the clouds and rain. The storm went on for another few hours and the lightning spectacle from the safety of dry land was incredibly impressive.
All in all, quite an eventful and exciting trip – can’t wait to do it again, but I’m not sure Debrah is so enthusiastic.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 7: The Fat Couple
Both young, gifted and fat, this couple from Manchester swim 80 lengths each morning, followed up by a couple of Marlboro and an enormous breakfast.
verdict: WHEAT - they are both completely charming
Quiet Day
Wednesday 3rd October
After the tiring journey here and a bit of rushing about and getting our bearings in the last few days, it was inevitable that we would have a non-event day and so it proved to be today.
In the morning, we mooched around the hotel pool and read our books, we idled in the library and checked our emails and played a bit of pool and we had a simple salad lunch at the bar. In the afternoon we went down to the Beach Club and mooched about on the beach and read our books and had a swim and fell asleep.
It was the first day that we had seen any cloud and in the evening it started to build into a more angry looking and meaningful mass. Some thunder rebounded around the mountainsides and far off lightning high up in the clouds continued to briefly light the horizon, but in the end we only had a brief and light shower to contend with at ground level.
We ate in the separate Nar restaurant, where a Turkish tasting menu was being prepared for a fixed number of guests. The idea was to introduce Turkish cuisine from all areas of the country.
We expected a Turkish themed night with the room dressed in traditional Turkish manner with carpets and cushions and lamps and music. We arrived to find a sort of open barn with a harsh tile floor and plastic canopy sides, lights on full beam and a distinct lack of atmosphere. We persuaded them to turn down the lights, which were fortunately controlled by a dimmer switch, and to light the candles on each table and someone put a wailing Turk on the music system. It was better, but it could have been so, so much better.
The food was very good and well cooked and we had the accompanying wine that was recommended. It was hard to tell, though, what was local produce and what was from further afield as it all seemed to be along the same theme as everything we had eaten so far on this trip – and a lack of any notes or information on the menu didn’t help either. Likewise more information on the wine and its origin would have been good but maybe we are an exception in wanting to know all this and most people aren’t really concerned.
At the end of the dinner, we chatted briefly with some new guests, who had just arrived from 4 days in Istanbul. They were an elderly couple and she turned out to be a reviewer with ‘House and Garden’ magazine. After, we retired to the bar for a Turkish coffee and almond liqueur, but we were tired and the company was annoying, so we took our drinks with us to bed.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 6: Peter Andre and Jordan
Bizarrely misplaced Antipodean couple. Both shiny and glossy in that Southern Hemisphere kind of a way - both crashingly dull and misinformed and very very loud. Way too over-friendly and opinionated for most of the Middle England lot here - they just stand and look dazed and out-gunned as the antips bang on about the beauty of life and second time relationships.
verdict: CHAFF - should have stayed in Marmaris NB - he is actually called Peter, astonishingly
After the tiring journey here and a bit of rushing about and getting our bearings in the last few days, it was inevitable that we would have a non-event day and so it proved to be today.
In the morning, we mooched around the hotel pool and read our books, we idled in the library and checked our emails and played a bit of pool and we had a simple salad lunch at the bar. In the afternoon we went down to the Beach Club and mooched about on the beach and read our books and had a swim and fell asleep.
It was the first day that we had seen any cloud and in the evening it started to build into a more angry looking and meaningful mass. Some thunder rebounded around the mountainsides and far off lightning high up in the clouds continued to briefly light the horizon, but in the end we only had a brief and light shower to contend with at ground level.
We ate in the separate Nar restaurant, where a Turkish tasting menu was being prepared for a fixed number of guests. The idea was to introduce Turkish cuisine from all areas of the country.
We expected a Turkish themed night with the room dressed in traditional Turkish manner with carpets and cushions and lamps and music. We arrived to find a sort of open barn with a harsh tile floor and plastic canopy sides, lights on full beam and a distinct lack of atmosphere. We persuaded them to turn down the lights, which were fortunately controlled by a dimmer switch, and to light the candles on each table and someone put a wailing Turk on the music system. It was better, but it could have been so, so much better.
The food was very good and well cooked and we had the accompanying wine that was recommended. It was hard to tell, though, what was local produce and what was from further afield as it all seemed to be along the same theme as everything we had eaten so far on this trip – and a lack of any notes or information on the menu didn’t help either. Likewise more information on the wine and its origin would have been good but maybe we are an exception in wanting to know all this and most people aren’t really concerned.
At the end of the dinner, we chatted briefly with some new guests, who had just arrived from 4 days in Istanbul. They were an elderly couple and she turned out to be a reviewer with ‘House and Garden’ magazine. After, we retired to the bar for a Turkish coffee and almond liqueur, but we were tired and the company was annoying, so we took our drinks with us to bed.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 6: Peter Andre and Jordan
Bizarrely misplaced Antipodean couple. Both shiny and glossy in that Southern Hemisphere kind of a way - both crashingly dull and misinformed and very very loud. Way too over-friendly and opinionated for most of the Middle England lot here - they just stand and look dazed and out-gunned as the antips bang on about the beauty of life and second time relationships.
verdict: CHAFF - should have stayed in Marmaris NB - he is actually called Peter, astonishingly
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
Shopping in Marmaris
Tuesday 2nd October
Very briefly this morning, I had an internet connection up in our room but it didn’t last long and the excitement was soon over. Oh well, back to the daily mountain trek to post this blog – at least my calf muscles have adapted if not my lungs – am still out of breath when I reach the top.
Today we went on a ‘shopping trip’ to Marmaris, organised by Annabelle. This consisted of Annabelle dragging a group of 14 to four different shops in Marmaris with whom she has a special arrangement – Annabelle is not one of those people who does anything for free. I’m sure that she must get commission on our purchases (and two groups a week for the whole season must add up to a fair bit) and the gold and diamond ring on her finger that the jewellery store gave her as a 40th birthday present last year confirms that she must put quite a bit of business their way.
The day started out pleasant enough though with a 50 minute boat ride from the beach club. We pootled out of the bay and around the headland, gliding past the private Amos resort and then the town on Turunç, before joining the boat superhighway into and out of Marmaris. Most craft were heading out for the day – off to find a quiet little cove to stop for some lunch and swimming. The red and white crescent and star emblazoned flag of Turkey flies proudly from the back of all these craft and its colour against the deep blue sea and sky allows it to stand out prominently and distinctively. As Debrah would say, “It’s a top bit of branding”.
When we reached Marmaris we had a five minute walk along the seafront to our first shopping stop. On the left was the beach stacked with deckchairs, loungers and sweaty sunbathers and on the right were cafes and bars and restaurants, all gaudily decorated and offering a varied ‘international cuisine’. One such was advertising ‘liver, onions and gravy’ – a combination you would be hard pushed to find in the UK. Outside all these places were their owners or staff who are very persistent and in your face about trying to entice you in – you just have to remain strong and focused and brush them aside or you will get stuck for ages.
Our first stop was the Vogue diamond and jewellery centre, with a branch in Brighton apparently. We were given a free drink and a sales spiel emphasising the relaxed nature and no pressure atmosphere, which only confirmed the hard sell nature of the place. Debrah is very hard to please and try as our sales assistant might there was very little that he could show her that took her fancy. There was one £3,000 necklace but that was way out of our league and one pair of gold earrings which at a discounted price of £295 was still too steep – besides I think we could find the same in London for much less – the prices start very high here to give the illusion of a good deal when the discount is applied. Shop 1: Jewellery : no sale.
We were driven to the smart marina behind the old town where we had a brief lunch stop before wandering around the usual array of clothes, shoes and bag shops that you tend to find in a modern marina development. Debrah was sold a pair of shoes by a transvestite, which was a new and interesting experience. When she remarked in her deep voice that she also had size 8 feet, I very nearly blurted out “That’s because you are a man”, but thankfully stopped myself. Nice shoes though. There was no joy for the owner of the ‘genuine fake’ bag shop.
A five minute walk from the marina brought us to the old town and the bazaar. Our next stop was the pashmina shop and at £10 a go, I could tell that good business would be done here and so it proved with all the women buying something. Debrah sensibly managed to just buy two although I wouldn’t have objected to more. In fact, two was a good decision as the next shop contained even more leather goods, both real and fake leather and design. After a thoroughly civilised haggle, and an iced apple tea, we settled on £180 for a new handbag for Debrah and a pair of shoes for me. We came close to buying another bag from a different shop but couldn’t settle on the price and sensibly walked away – the end of the shopping experience.
There is no doubt that Marmaris has expanded along the shoreline in a very grim way, like many a costa town in Spain, but the old town and marina areas have more than enough charm about them to pass an interesting day there. The two heavily armed and serious looking guards next to an army bus were a bit scary and the public toilet attendant fast asleep in his booth at the entrance to the loos was very funny – business must have been slow.
After the return boat trip we headed up the hill for a lie down before the evenings live music entertainment – a band called ‘Five in the City’ – and the meze dinner. It seemed that virtually everyone in the hotel had decided to stay in for the event as the place was far more crowded than on any other night. We ended up sitting with in a four with Catherine and Irene – the boring Scots to my right and brides, who turn out to be Polish, not Russian, behind. Oohh, how we all gossiped, which I am sure Debrah will tell you all about. As for the band, well they weren’t that good really and tried to play something for everyone and some of their own tunes – they stuck to belting out some well known covers later on, which was better, or had we just had more to drink by then?
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 5: Tantric Yoga Mistress
Fit, brown and forty something. Works for the Bank of England and clearly one of those Thatcher girls who forged forward with her career and forgot to get married and have kids. An obvious target for City blokes to have an affair with. i suspect she will be always the bridesmaid and never the bride.
verdict: WHEAT - given the benefit of the doubt as she is too nice for her own good.
Very briefly this morning, I had an internet connection up in our room but it didn’t last long and the excitement was soon over. Oh well, back to the daily mountain trek to post this blog – at least my calf muscles have adapted if not my lungs – am still out of breath when I reach the top.
Today we went on a ‘shopping trip’ to Marmaris, organised by Annabelle. This consisted of Annabelle dragging a group of 14 to four different shops in Marmaris with whom she has a special arrangement – Annabelle is not one of those people who does anything for free. I’m sure that she must get commission on our purchases (and two groups a week for the whole season must add up to a fair bit) and the gold and diamond ring on her finger that the jewellery store gave her as a 40th birthday present last year confirms that she must put quite a bit of business their way.
The day started out pleasant enough though with a 50 minute boat ride from the beach club. We pootled out of the bay and around the headland, gliding past the private Amos resort and then the town on Turunç, before joining the boat superhighway into and out of Marmaris. Most craft were heading out for the day – off to find a quiet little cove to stop for some lunch and swimming. The red and white crescent and star emblazoned flag of Turkey flies proudly from the back of all these craft and its colour against the deep blue sea and sky allows it to stand out prominently and distinctively. As Debrah would say, “It’s a top bit of branding”.
When we reached Marmaris we had a five minute walk along the seafront to our first shopping stop. On the left was the beach stacked with deckchairs, loungers and sweaty sunbathers and on the right were cafes and bars and restaurants, all gaudily decorated and offering a varied ‘international cuisine’. One such was advertising ‘liver, onions and gravy’ – a combination you would be hard pushed to find in the UK. Outside all these places were their owners or staff who are very persistent and in your face about trying to entice you in – you just have to remain strong and focused and brush them aside or you will get stuck for ages.
Our first stop was the Vogue diamond and jewellery centre, with a branch in Brighton apparently. We were given a free drink and a sales spiel emphasising the relaxed nature and no pressure atmosphere, which only confirmed the hard sell nature of the place. Debrah is very hard to please and try as our sales assistant might there was very little that he could show her that took her fancy. There was one £3,000 necklace but that was way out of our league and one pair of gold earrings which at a discounted price of £295 was still too steep – besides I think we could find the same in London for much less – the prices start very high here to give the illusion of a good deal when the discount is applied. Shop 1: Jewellery : no sale.
We were driven to the smart marina behind the old town where we had a brief lunch stop before wandering around the usual array of clothes, shoes and bag shops that you tend to find in a modern marina development. Debrah was sold a pair of shoes by a transvestite, which was a new and interesting experience. When she remarked in her deep voice that she also had size 8 feet, I very nearly blurted out “That’s because you are a man”, but thankfully stopped myself. Nice shoes though. There was no joy for the owner of the ‘genuine fake’ bag shop.
A five minute walk from the marina brought us to the old town and the bazaar. Our next stop was the pashmina shop and at £10 a go, I could tell that good business would be done here and so it proved with all the women buying something. Debrah sensibly managed to just buy two although I wouldn’t have objected to more. In fact, two was a good decision as the next shop contained even more leather goods, both real and fake leather and design. After a thoroughly civilised haggle, and an iced apple tea, we settled on £180 for a new handbag for Debrah and a pair of shoes for me. We came close to buying another bag from a different shop but couldn’t settle on the price and sensibly walked away – the end of the shopping experience.
There is no doubt that Marmaris has expanded along the shoreline in a very grim way, like many a costa town in Spain, but the old town and marina areas have more than enough charm about them to pass an interesting day there. The two heavily armed and serious looking guards next to an army bus were a bit scary and the public toilet attendant fast asleep in his booth at the entrance to the loos was very funny – business must have been slow.
After the return boat trip we headed up the hill for a lie down before the evenings live music entertainment – a band called ‘Five in the City’ – and the meze dinner. It seemed that virtually everyone in the hotel had decided to stay in for the event as the place was far more crowded than on any other night. We ended up sitting with in a four with Catherine and Irene – the boring Scots to my right and brides, who turn out to be Polish, not Russian, behind. Oohh, how we all gossiped, which I am sure Debrah will tell you all about. As for the band, well they weren’t that good really and tried to play something for everyone and some of their own tunes – they stuck to belting out some well known covers later on, which was better, or had we just had more to drink by then?
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 5: Tantric Yoga Mistress
Fit, brown and forty something. Works for the Bank of England and clearly one of those Thatcher girls who forged forward with her career and forgot to get married and have kids. An obvious target for City blokes to have an affair with. i suspect she will be always the bridesmaid and never the bride.
verdict: WHEAT - given the benefit of the doubt as she is too nice for her own good.
Beach Club
Monday 1st October
We had decided the night before that we were going to make use of the beach club facilities today, which meant a leisurely 10.30 am departure on the minibus.
It was another glorious sunrise and promised to be another beautiful hot day. A cock crowed somewhere in the valley and a goat bleated on the hillside behind.
After the dreadful summer in England and the poor summer in the Languedoc, its good to be somewhere for two weeks where the weather promises to be just right every day. Mind you, whilst we suffered in a cool and wet way in Western Europe, they suffered the opposite extreme here in Turkey with heat registering over 40 degrees in the shade for most of June. Ouch!
We meandered down to breakfast and then realised what a mistake we had made by not bringing everything with us that we needed for our trip to the beach. It meant that we had to go back up to the room, which meant going back up the 162 steps between the bar and the front door. After just two days both of us were suffering badly with solid aching calves – the steps had certainly taken their toll on muscles that we obviously hadn’t used to that extent in such a short space of time. I’m sure they will be better in a couple of days but for now, well, just getting up from a chair is an act of strong will with gritted teeth. There is certainly no need to go near the gym.
The minibus journey down was the first time that we had seen the whole valley in daylight from the bottom of the hill. The resort is built high up on the mountain above a deep ravine – hence the need to drive up and around the mountain to get to it - the ravine plunges straight down from the edge of the hotel premises. All the buildings are stone built with tile roofs, which mean they blend into the hillside extremely well. The route down to the beach isn’t particularly attractive and could best be described as scruffy
On the private hotel beach are twenty or so square wooden decks laid out in two rows across the browny-grey sand. Each deck has two triangular bolsters and two lounger mattresses and two enormous square cushions, all covered in the same taupe fabric. A small table and raffia umbrella complete the scene. A ‘bed on the beach’ is how Debrah would describe it, much happier sitting here, with the gentle sea breeze tempering the heat and the repetitive sound of the waves splashing on the beach making her eyes close at every opportunity.
So it was, we passed away the hours of the day – reading, sleeping, swimming, watching the boats passing to and fro across the bay.
A number of gulets came into the bay at lunchtime and anchored up for their guests to swim or enjoy the dubious pleasures of ‘doughnuts’ or ‘bananas’ – trying to hold onto a large inflatable whilst it is pulled along through the water by a speedboat. A local ferryboat announces it’s arrival with very load Turkish music from its loudspeakers. The Marmaris – Rhodes hydrofoil ferry causes a sudden surge in the wave size after it has crossed the bay on its daily journey.
The beach slopes quite quickly once you enter the water, which is the clearest Mediterranean blue and warm and soft and extremely buoyant. It must be quite saline because there is no real need to tread water when you stop swimming – you just lie there floating.
We ate lunch at the Beach Club – salad and chips and a carafe of white wine – and had a bloody mary at the bar at the end of the day as we waited for the bus to take us back up to the hotel. There was only one other passenger waiting by this time – everyone else had either left after lunch or had jumped on the bus for the gulet passengers or had taken a taxi because they couldn’t wait. The other passenger was a lady called Catherine and, naturally, we all got chatting. The bus had the two young lovers on it on their way back from Turunç, which they described as ‘crap’ – although they did pick up some cheap fags and booze!
Coming down for dinner before Debrah, I bumped into Catherine and her holiday companion, Irene, at the bar and they introduced me to Emma, the 25 year old nanny working for the hotel owner and his wife. There was a discussion going on about the Turkish language, which I couldn’t join in because I know only about two words and I’m sure that I don’t pronounce them very well.
Dinner was OK and the local red wine I chose was not the best, which was a shame, but we got our computers and got Debrah logged on the network and drank a nightcap whilst both tapping away on the bar. Somewhere in the dark an owl hooted repeatedly.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 4: Crazy Frog
Oh dear - desperate, ex-husband bashing, bitter divorcee who seems to latch on to any vaguely good looking bloke regardless of their hovering wives. She then spends the next two hours not letting the poor sap get a word in edgeways whilst she goes into scarily personal details of her tawdry family life. She and her son don't get on apparently - I'm with him, and the poor ex-husband. When he walked out on her it was a total surprise, she said. Not to anyone else, love. Dreadful, dreadful woman.
verdict: CHAFF to be disposed of and burnt immediately
We had decided the night before that we were going to make use of the beach club facilities today, which meant a leisurely 10.30 am departure on the minibus.
It was another glorious sunrise and promised to be another beautiful hot day. A cock crowed somewhere in the valley and a goat bleated on the hillside behind.
After the dreadful summer in England and the poor summer in the Languedoc, its good to be somewhere for two weeks where the weather promises to be just right every day. Mind you, whilst we suffered in a cool and wet way in Western Europe, they suffered the opposite extreme here in Turkey with heat registering over 40 degrees in the shade for most of June. Ouch!
We meandered down to breakfast and then realised what a mistake we had made by not bringing everything with us that we needed for our trip to the beach. It meant that we had to go back up to the room, which meant going back up the 162 steps between the bar and the front door. After just two days both of us were suffering badly with solid aching calves – the steps had certainly taken their toll on muscles that we obviously hadn’t used to that extent in such a short space of time. I’m sure they will be better in a couple of days but for now, well, just getting up from a chair is an act of strong will with gritted teeth. There is certainly no need to go near the gym.
The minibus journey down was the first time that we had seen the whole valley in daylight from the bottom of the hill. The resort is built high up on the mountain above a deep ravine – hence the need to drive up and around the mountain to get to it - the ravine plunges straight down from the edge of the hotel premises. All the buildings are stone built with tile roofs, which mean they blend into the hillside extremely well. The route down to the beach isn’t particularly attractive and could best be described as scruffy
On the private hotel beach are twenty or so square wooden decks laid out in two rows across the browny-grey sand. Each deck has two triangular bolsters and two lounger mattresses and two enormous square cushions, all covered in the same taupe fabric. A small table and raffia umbrella complete the scene. A ‘bed on the beach’ is how Debrah would describe it, much happier sitting here, with the gentle sea breeze tempering the heat and the repetitive sound of the waves splashing on the beach making her eyes close at every opportunity.
So it was, we passed away the hours of the day – reading, sleeping, swimming, watching the boats passing to and fro across the bay.
A number of gulets came into the bay at lunchtime and anchored up for their guests to swim or enjoy the dubious pleasures of ‘doughnuts’ or ‘bananas’ – trying to hold onto a large inflatable whilst it is pulled along through the water by a speedboat. A local ferryboat announces it’s arrival with very load Turkish music from its loudspeakers. The Marmaris – Rhodes hydrofoil ferry causes a sudden surge in the wave size after it has crossed the bay on its daily journey.
The beach slopes quite quickly once you enter the water, which is the clearest Mediterranean blue and warm and soft and extremely buoyant. It must be quite saline because there is no real need to tread water when you stop swimming – you just lie there floating.
We ate lunch at the Beach Club – salad and chips and a carafe of white wine – and had a bloody mary at the bar at the end of the day as we waited for the bus to take us back up to the hotel. There was only one other passenger waiting by this time – everyone else had either left after lunch or had jumped on the bus for the gulet passengers or had taken a taxi because they couldn’t wait. The other passenger was a lady called Catherine and, naturally, we all got chatting. The bus had the two young lovers on it on their way back from Turunç, which they described as ‘crap’ – although they did pick up some cheap fags and booze!
Coming down for dinner before Debrah, I bumped into Catherine and her holiday companion, Irene, at the bar and they introduced me to Emma, the 25 year old nanny working for the hotel owner and his wife. There was a discussion going on about the Turkish language, which I couldn’t join in because I know only about two words and I’m sure that I don’t pronounce them very well.
Dinner was OK and the local red wine I chose was not the best, which was a shame, but we got our computers and got Debrah logged on the network and drank a nightcap whilst both tapping away on the bar. Somewhere in the dark an owl hooted repeatedly.
GUEST BLOGSPOT
candidate no 4: Crazy Frog
Oh dear - desperate, ex-husband bashing, bitter divorcee who seems to latch on to any vaguely good looking bloke regardless of their hovering wives. She then spends the next two hours not letting the poor sap get a word in edgeways whilst she goes into scarily personal details of her tawdry family life. She and her son don't get on apparently - I'm with him, and the poor ex-husband. When he walked out on her it was a total surprise, she said. Not to anyone else, love. Dreadful, dreadful woman.
verdict: CHAFF to be disposed of and burnt immediately
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
First Day
Sunday 30th
I awoke just before seven and as I pulled back the curtain to see for the first time what we had before us, the sun popped up over a mountain across the bay, like a piece of toast from a toaster, and lit up the most impossibly beautiful view one could hope to have from a hotel room.
Kumlumbuk Bay is a semi-circular arc situated on a peninsula in such a way that our view is back along the Turkish Lycian coast. Ranges of mountains and islands rise before us in various shades of bluey-grey, one stacked on top of another. At this time of the morning the sea looks very flat and calm and there was only one solitary yacht making its way out of the bay. Behind us the mountain rises, covered in rocky outcrops and scrubby bushes, up to a glorious cloudless blue sky. Fantastic.
Inside the room, things aren’t quite so perfect for Debrah’s design sensibilities, but it is comfortable and functional and the only thing we intend to do in the room is wash and sleep. It has a carved front door with the ubiquitous Turkish eye symbol above it, used to ward off evil spirits. This leads into a living/sleeping area with a separate washing and toilet facilities beyond. It has a large window, which makes the most of the dramatic view and a small terrace with chairs and a table, which does the same. It has a pretty fair copy on the walls of the sort of stipple shite I have encountered in France, prompting Debrah to remark that I could have these walls smooth by the time we leave! In fact, I had had to do some toilet maintenance already in the middle of the night – the ball cock got jammed and wouldn’t close off properly such that the water was running constantly – now sorted.
Being our first day we decided to stay in the hotel, get our bearings on where everything was and how it worked, get our first dose of sunshine, our first swim and catch up on much needed sleep. There was to be an introductory talk from our reps after breakfast about the hotel and available activities and excursions, but first we wanted some breakfast.
Breakfast is laid out buffet style in the restaurant next to the pool – bowls of fresh fruit, yoghurt, honey and nuts on one table, plates of tomatoes, cucumber, olives and cheese on another (the breakfast salad as Debrah terms it) and a small cooker where staff whip up an omelette or scrambled eggs on another. There is a small wood-fired oven behind from which comes a steady stream of freshly baked Turkish flatbreads and small rolls covered in sesame seeds and the like. Unlike Spain, there was no breakfast wine or cava available, which is a good thing, but you can have a steady supply of good Turkish coffee to get your day started with a buzz and shaky hands.
In the bar area afterwards we met Ata, the local Tourist Board and Exclusive Escapes representative, as well as Annabelle and another rep. Their talk didn’t tell us much that we didn’t already know but gave us a chance to continue assessing our fellow guests who appeared to be mostly mature couples, some who had clearly been to this resort before, two single ladies travelling together, two young lovers etc etc. Debrah will give a greater insight into our guests at the end of this piece and all future pieces as my guest blogger for the duration of this trip.
We immediately booked up a couple of dinners and a shopping trip to Marmaris, which I will describe as we go along, and then hot-footed it down to the spa and treatment centre as Debrah was keen to book some stuff there as well. We had been led to believe that this gets very booked up in advance but found a bored looking young lady with a clearly empty appointments book in front of her. An hour later found us both face down on a treatment table – Debrah getting a pre-tanning exfoliation and body scrub (having a good wash?) and me a full body massage and very good it was too.
We had, by now, managed to fill our first morning without so much as sun lounger or pool involved. It was obvious where the afternoon would be spent. Naturally, there were by now no clean pool towels and belongings were strewn across loungers in all directions. There is a common misconception about the Germans always grabbing the best spots with their beach towels out early – in my experience the British are no less ridiculous in rushing down before breakfast to stake a claim to a lounger whether they are actually using it for the next few hours or not.
We had a simple bar lunch of salad and toasted sandwich and chips and then dipped in and out of the pool all afternoon in-between sleeping and reading – heaven.
In the early evening, I sorted out the internet connection on my computer with the hotel staff, to allow me to post this blog on a regular basis and then hauled my way back up the mountain to find Debrah still fast asleep 15 minutes before we were due to leave for the Beach Club for supper. Ten minutes later and Debrah was dressed, made-up and looking beautiful – what a girl!
The Beach Club is owned by the same owners as the hotel but is run as a separate operation. It is exclusive to the hotel during the day but the restaurant is open to other visitors at night. The terrace there has a lovely setting just metres from the shore and there is nothing nicer than eating dinner in the open air with just the sound of your fellow guests and the waves gently lapping on the beach – in fact we could do without the fellow guests to be honest. But then we wouldn’t be able to watch them and make up our own stories about them, would we?
We also had the sound of the hotel’s gulet boat turning over its engines with a deep burble burble every so often. They were getting it ready to take out on an all day cruise the next day and we will be doing the same on Thursday.
We passed a lovely evening under the stars, eating fabulous food – mezes, sea bream, rack of lamb – and drinking a sumptuous bottle of Turkish red wine from the Ankara region that would compete with ease with the best from the Languedoc. Rounding the day off in the style that it had started, the horizon very suddenly lightened with a ghostly luminescence and with enormous speed the moon rose from across the bay casting its magical silvery light, initially in a narrow beam across the water and then, as it rose higher, across the whole bay. We attempted to round off our dinner with two tempting desserts of chocolate pudding and berry fruit ice cream and a Turkish coffee pannacotta with vanilla ice cream, but it turned out to be a step too far and far from rounding it off, it finished us off for the night.
•••••••GUEST BLOGSPOT•••••••
For two weeks only I am doing the guest spot on this blog - not that I am an interfering control freak or anything... anyway, I thought i might introduce all Peters blog readers to a little game we play called 'wheat or chaff'. The premise is, of course, a little bit mean, but we find it invaluable for passing the time on long journeys, holidays etc. Simply put, all you do is a sweepiing assessment on the people around you and decide whether they are 'wheat' (worth keeping) or 'chaff' (to be thrown away at the first opportunity)....mean...but fun.
Here are the first conclusions from the observation deck that is our holiday so far:
candidate 1 - "howard's way"
"Howards way" is a lady so stuck in the 1970s she is almost 'fashion foward'. We can't help but hum the theme to 'howards way' as she sashays into breakfast, hair like Farrah Fawcett Majors, flowing skirts, cheese cloth halter neck and sunglasses that could be from Marc Jacobs current retro collection but, I sense, are from the original decade...
verdict: WHEAT
candidate 2 - "russian brides"
Endlessly entertaining, there are two glamourous baltic type ladies here on the arms of two dreary essex types. These chaps can hardly believe their luck and genuinely think the gals are fascinated and amused by their dull conversation. The men have at least twenty years on the lasses and probably run a small building company and drive one of the lower class of mercedes. The girls giggle and flatter the gawping dullards whilst clearly spanking the poor saps credit cards every weekend and ordering taxis, cocktails and gucci outfits like they are going out of fashion. It'll be good til the money runs out .. but hey, I'd expect plenty before I went down on one of them - you go girls - they are working hard for the money.
verdict: WHEAT, and then some...
canidate 3 - "queen bee"
Frightful old bag that acts like visiting royalty..."Mehmet, how laaavely to see you again...how is nina? would you be an absolute daaarling and bring me a gin and tonic, change the direction of the sun and have that tree cut down - it's blocking my view". She does have a husband but we've yet to hear a peep out of him. the poor man obviously decided it was pointless expressing views of his own and probably hasn't spoken since about 1982. bugger off back to Barbados love and leave us in peace.
verdict: CHAFF
more to follow
I awoke just before seven and as I pulled back the curtain to see for the first time what we had before us, the sun popped up over a mountain across the bay, like a piece of toast from a toaster, and lit up the most impossibly beautiful view one could hope to have from a hotel room.
Kumlumbuk Bay is a semi-circular arc situated on a peninsula in such a way that our view is back along the Turkish Lycian coast. Ranges of mountains and islands rise before us in various shades of bluey-grey, one stacked on top of another. At this time of the morning the sea looks very flat and calm and there was only one solitary yacht making its way out of the bay. Behind us the mountain rises, covered in rocky outcrops and scrubby bushes, up to a glorious cloudless blue sky. Fantastic.
Inside the room, things aren’t quite so perfect for Debrah’s design sensibilities, but it is comfortable and functional and the only thing we intend to do in the room is wash and sleep. It has a carved front door with the ubiquitous Turkish eye symbol above it, used to ward off evil spirits. This leads into a living/sleeping area with a separate washing and toilet facilities beyond. It has a large window, which makes the most of the dramatic view and a small terrace with chairs and a table, which does the same. It has a pretty fair copy on the walls of the sort of stipple shite I have encountered in France, prompting Debrah to remark that I could have these walls smooth by the time we leave! In fact, I had had to do some toilet maintenance already in the middle of the night – the ball cock got jammed and wouldn’t close off properly such that the water was running constantly – now sorted.
Being our first day we decided to stay in the hotel, get our bearings on where everything was and how it worked, get our first dose of sunshine, our first swim and catch up on much needed sleep. There was to be an introductory talk from our reps after breakfast about the hotel and available activities and excursions, but first we wanted some breakfast.
Breakfast is laid out buffet style in the restaurant next to the pool – bowls of fresh fruit, yoghurt, honey and nuts on one table, plates of tomatoes, cucumber, olives and cheese on another (the breakfast salad as Debrah terms it) and a small cooker where staff whip up an omelette or scrambled eggs on another. There is a small wood-fired oven behind from which comes a steady stream of freshly baked Turkish flatbreads and small rolls covered in sesame seeds and the like. Unlike Spain, there was no breakfast wine or cava available, which is a good thing, but you can have a steady supply of good Turkish coffee to get your day started with a buzz and shaky hands.
In the bar area afterwards we met Ata, the local Tourist Board and Exclusive Escapes representative, as well as Annabelle and another rep. Their talk didn’t tell us much that we didn’t already know but gave us a chance to continue assessing our fellow guests who appeared to be mostly mature couples, some who had clearly been to this resort before, two single ladies travelling together, two young lovers etc etc. Debrah will give a greater insight into our guests at the end of this piece and all future pieces as my guest blogger for the duration of this trip.
We immediately booked up a couple of dinners and a shopping trip to Marmaris, which I will describe as we go along, and then hot-footed it down to the spa and treatment centre as Debrah was keen to book some stuff there as well. We had been led to believe that this gets very booked up in advance but found a bored looking young lady with a clearly empty appointments book in front of her. An hour later found us both face down on a treatment table – Debrah getting a pre-tanning exfoliation and body scrub (having a good wash?) and me a full body massage and very good it was too.
We had, by now, managed to fill our first morning without so much as sun lounger or pool involved. It was obvious where the afternoon would be spent. Naturally, there were by now no clean pool towels and belongings were strewn across loungers in all directions. There is a common misconception about the Germans always grabbing the best spots with their beach towels out early – in my experience the British are no less ridiculous in rushing down before breakfast to stake a claim to a lounger whether they are actually using it for the next few hours or not.
We had a simple bar lunch of salad and toasted sandwich and chips and then dipped in and out of the pool all afternoon in-between sleeping and reading – heaven.
In the early evening, I sorted out the internet connection on my computer with the hotel staff, to allow me to post this blog on a regular basis and then hauled my way back up the mountain to find Debrah still fast asleep 15 minutes before we were due to leave for the Beach Club for supper. Ten minutes later and Debrah was dressed, made-up and looking beautiful – what a girl!
The Beach Club is owned by the same owners as the hotel but is run as a separate operation. It is exclusive to the hotel during the day but the restaurant is open to other visitors at night. The terrace there has a lovely setting just metres from the shore and there is nothing nicer than eating dinner in the open air with just the sound of your fellow guests and the waves gently lapping on the beach – in fact we could do without the fellow guests to be honest. But then we wouldn’t be able to watch them and make up our own stories about them, would we?
We also had the sound of the hotel’s gulet boat turning over its engines with a deep burble burble every so often. They were getting it ready to take out on an all day cruise the next day and we will be doing the same on Thursday.
We passed a lovely evening under the stars, eating fabulous food – mezes, sea bream, rack of lamb – and drinking a sumptuous bottle of Turkish red wine from the Ankara region that would compete with ease with the best from the Languedoc. Rounding the day off in the style that it had started, the horizon very suddenly lightened with a ghostly luminescence and with enormous speed the moon rose from across the bay casting its magical silvery light, initially in a narrow beam across the water and then, as it rose higher, across the whole bay. We attempted to round off our dinner with two tempting desserts of chocolate pudding and berry fruit ice cream and a Turkish coffee pannacotta with vanilla ice cream, but it turned out to be a step too far and far from rounding it off, it finished us off for the night.
•••••••GUEST BLOGSPOT•••••••
For two weeks only I am doing the guest spot on this blog - not that I am an interfering control freak or anything... anyway, I thought i might introduce all Peters blog readers to a little game we play called 'wheat or chaff'. The premise is, of course, a little bit mean, but we find it invaluable for passing the time on long journeys, holidays etc. Simply put, all you do is a sweepiing assessment on the people around you and decide whether they are 'wheat' (worth keeping) or 'chaff' (to be thrown away at the first opportunity)....mean...but fun.
Here are the first conclusions from the observation deck that is our holiday so far:
candidate 1 - "howard's way"
"Howards way" is a lady so stuck in the 1970s she is almost 'fashion foward'. We can't help but hum the theme to 'howards way' as she sashays into breakfast, hair like Farrah Fawcett Majors, flowing skirts, cheese cloth halter neck and sunglasses that could be from Marc Jacobs current retro collection but, I sense, are from the original decade...
verdict: WHEAT
candidate 2 - "russian brides"
Endlessly entertaining, there are two glamourous baltic type ladies here on the arms of two dreary essex types. These chaps can hardly believe their luck and genuinely think the gals are fascinated and amused by their dull conversation. The men have at least twenty years on the lasses and probably run a small building company and drive one of the lower class of mercedes. The girls giggle and flatter the gawping dullards whilst clearly spanking the poor saps credit cards every weekend and ordering taxis, cocktails and gucci outfits like they are going out of fashion. It'll be good til the money runs out .. but hey, I'd expect plenty before I went down on one of them - you go girls - they are working hard for the money.
verdict: WHEAT, and then some...
canidate 3 - "queen bee"
Frightful old bag that acts like visiting royalty..."Mehmet, how laaavely to see you again...how is nina? would you be an absolute daaarling and bring me a gin and tonic, change the direction of the sun and have that tree cut down - it's blocking my view". She does have a husband but we've yet to hear a peep out of him. the poor man obviously decided it was pointless expressing views of his own and probably hasn't spoken since about 1982. bugger off back to Barbados love and leave us in peace.
verdict: CHAFF
more to follow
Monday, 1 October 2007
Two weeks in Turkey
Saturday 29th
It was a bad start, a very bad start. Debrah, who had been forced out of bed and onto the sofa because of my snoring, burst into the room.
“The cab’s here, we’ve overslept, why didn’t you set the alarm?”
I did set the alarm but I didn’t turn it on – so, it didn’t go off. What an idiot.
There followed twenty minutes of rushed dressing and partial washing and hurried final packing. Thankfully we had most things sorted the previous evening but still, no time for a shower and that nagging doubt that in the panic something was overlooked.
And so at 6.15am (not 5.45am as planned) we set off on a dark and very wet end of September morning on the miserable journey to Gatwick Airport. I say miserable because of all the London terminals it is the one that is hardest for us to get to from North London and because of the interminably depressing suburbs of South London that seem to go on forever and because the weather was filthy and because we sat in almost near silence the whole journey because Debrah was in such a foul mood with me for firstly snoring and forcing her out of bed and secondly, cocking up the alarm setting so comprehensively. It couldn’t have been a worse start to the trip.
We were still in time for the flight but probably only just. We found the XL Airways desk and joined the queue where we were spotted by the Exclusive Escapes rep – you know the type – seen better days, pursed lips, high heels, too much make-up, world weary expression. She once probably had the energy and youth to be a rep abroad but too much living and age has forced her back to the UK shepherding passengers around an airport terminal with her mocking fixed welcome smile. Well today the smile couldn’t disguise anything and we were already fearing the worst before she confirmed it.
There was a three hour delay due to ‘operational problems’, which loosely translated means the plane has a problem and we don’t have another so we are desperately phoning around the airlines of Europe begging to borrow anything they might have that’s going spare – and seeing as they are probably using their best planes (you just would wouldn’t you) I started to wonder what sort of plane might turn up – would it even be a jet? I decided not to mention this to Debrah who isn’t the best of flyers – and anyway, her anger and frustration had just reached new levels and, I think, it was all my fault. Still, it wasn’t all bad. We were generously given a £4 food voucher, each, with which to sate our needs for half a day in the most expensive tied-in food and drink area in the world.
The terminal was packed, absolutely rammed. There were queues everywhere, for the shops, for the toilets and for the restaurants and fast-food outlets. After much indecision and even more cursing about common people (let’s face it, wherever we actually sit in the social strata of life, there are always people and groups of people whom we believe are less worthy than ourselves) we finally settled at a table in Est and passed a couple of hours away with the paper, some coffee and a full English breakfast that wasn’t too bad – and it only cost three times the value of our vouchers.
By now the rush of early morning flights had departed and the terminal had calmed down a bit. It was time for a bit of essential shopping at Boots (sun cream, bite cream, headache tabs etc) followed by a packaging audit of the drinks and perfume sections of the duty free shop – I didn’t say this wasn’t a working holiday. Debrah did think about buying some new perfume but ended up with so many different scents on her that we couldn’t remember which was which and they were all merging together – so she didn’t.
Eventually the indicator boards changed from ‘Delayed until 11.45’ to ‘Go to Gate 24’. As this change only happened at 11.40 it was clear that we were going to be further delayed. Out at Gate 24, being fuelled and catered for our journey was a 25 year old Boeing 757 in the proud national colours of Slovakia, a country that came into existence after the plane did. Wonderful, all the frantic telephoning had unearthed was a second-hand old crate belonging to Air Slovakia.
Actually, it wasn’t as bad as I am making out. Sure, the plane had seen better days and was a bit tatty round the edges and it sounded like there were two midgets underneath winding the wheels up and down by hand, but it was a smooth flight and the cabin crew were very good and very charming (and dressed in proper old fashioned stewardess uniforms complete with pale blue silk scarves – a style in keeping with the age of the plane I felt) and they were very proud to be looking after us. I know that because they told us before take-off and after take-off and again on landing. Good for them.
If only our fellow passengers had been as charming and considerate. The arse in front of me continually rammed his seat back into my knees despite me asking him to please not do so. The guy in front of the lady next to me jumped up and down on his seat like an over-excited schoolboy on his first flight and all along the aircraft were selfish people fast asleep at window seats missing out on the geography lesson of flying across Europe with clear skies when I was stuck in an aisle seat. We were both in aisle seats but seven rows apart because of our late-ish check-in – so another four hours of our travelling day was spent not talking to each other. In fact there were two empty aisle seats opposite each other in the row behind. I mentioned this to Debrah half way through the flight when she came down to see me and one of the couples behind, who had spread themselves out across three seats by now, overheard us. He said something to her, which I couldn’t hear and she replied “Well it’s not our problem”. Well thank you very much. When she gets to the pearly gates compassion and generosity won’t be on her attribute list – and she was a chinless ugly ginge. Ha.
Long after we should have been sipping our first drink at the hotel bar and contemplating dinner, we started our final approach to Dalaman airport. The sun was setting and the airport is right on the coast giving the impression that touchdown would be either in the water or directly into the mountains that were looming up on all sides. Of course, neither happened. The last of the sun disappeared as we made our way into the terminal. I had to, firstly, queue for a visa which cost me £10 – Debrah still had a valid visa from her recent work trip to Ankara – then we joined the passport control queue which took an absolute age. By the time we had cleared that, picked up our, by now, already waiting bags and negotiated our way via 4 different Exclusive Escapes reps to our minibus it had gone 8.00 pm local time and we still had a two hour journey to go! Somehow, we managed to be sat apart again – our third journey of the day with little or no communication.
It was such a shame that it was already dark. My first impression of Turkey was a preference for neon and strings of lights – every roadside bar, shop and restaurant had them strung up outside. After an hour we reached Marmaris, a gaudy seaside resort full of tourist shops and English pubs, from where the mainly straight road turned into a series of vertiginous mountain hairpin bends as we climbed over and down each promontory. The town of Turunç came into view far below us with a magnificent backdrop of a three quarter moon over the moonlit bay. We descended into and through and out again up the next hill and over into Kumlumbuk, our resort town – but then confusingly we started climbing again up the mountain overlooking the bay. I had not realised quite how far up above the bay our hotel was located.
We were welcomed by Annabelle, one of the local reps, and the hotel owner, who offered us a free drink whilst our bags and rooms were sorted. The restaurant at the beach club – back down the hill, obviously, - had been kept open to provide an evening meal after our long day but, after some indecision, we plumped for getting to our room asap. This turned out to be more of an ordeal than we had bargained for because it was someway back up the mountain via a series of steps. “You have got a great view though” said Annabelle rather too smugly for my liking. We stopped en-route at the honesty mini-market but didn’t fancy anything – knowing full well we had Debrah’s emergency plane sandwich and a bag of crisps, still unconsumed in her bag.
So it was that we arrived, finally and breathlessly, at our hotel room high above the Mediterranean, with a dazzling moon lighting up a starry sky and a sparkly sea. We ate crisps and nuts and the sandwich and drank the complimentary bottle of Turkish red wine and listened to the silence.
There was, however, one last hiccup. To round off an absolutely memorable day for me, ten minutes after arriving I managed to lock us out of our room, which meant going back down to the bar. Apparently, I am by no means the first to do that which made me feel a bit better and, fortunately, they took pity on me and drove me back up to the room.
Not long after that we crashed into bed. What a day.
It was a bad start, a very bad start. Debrah, who had been forced out of bed and onto the sofa because of my snoring, burst into the room.
“The cab’s here, we’ve overslept, why didn’t you set the alarm?”
I did set the alarm but I didn’t turn it on – so, it didn’t go off. What an idiot.
There followed twenty minutes of rushed dressing and partial washing and hurried final packing. Thankfully we had most things sorted the previous evening but still, no time for a shower and that nagging doubt that in the panic something was overlooked.
And so at 6.15am (not 5.45am as planned) we set off on a dark and very wet end of September morning on the miserable journey to Gatwick Airport. I say miserable because of all the London terminals it is the one that is hardest for us to get to from North London and because of the interminably depressing suburbs of South London that seem to go on forever and because the weather was filthy and because we sat in almost near silence the whole journey because Debrah was in such a foul mood with me for firstly snoring and forcing her out of bed and secondly, cocking up the alarm setting so comprehensively. It couldn’t have been a worse start to the trip.
We were still in time for the flight but probably only just. We found the XL Airways desk and joined the queue where we were spotted by the Exclusive Escapes rep – you know the type – seen better days, pursed lips, high heels, too much make-up, world weary expression. She once probably had the energy and youth to be a rep abroad but too much living and age has forced her back to the UK shepherding passengers around an airport terminal with her mocking fixed welcome smile. Well today the smile couldn’t disguise anything and we were already fearing the worst before she confirmed it.
There was a three hour delay due to ‘operational problems’, which loosely translated means the plane has a problem and we don’t have another so we are desperately phoning around the airlines of Europe begging to borrow anything they might have that’s going spare – and seeing as they are probably using their best planes (you just would wouldn’t you) I started to wonder what sort of plane might turn up – would it even be a jet? I decided not to mention this to Debrah who isn’t the best of flyers – and anyway, her anger and frustration had just reached new levels and, I think, it was all my fault. Still, it wasn’t all bad. We were generously given a £4 food voucher, each, with which to sate our needs for half a day in the most expensive tied-in food and drink area in the world.
The terminal was packed, absolutely rammed. There were queues everywhere, for the shops, for the toilets and for the restaurants and fast-food outlets. After much indecision and even more cursing about common people (let’s face it, wherever we actually sit in the social strata of life, there are always people and groups of people whom we believe are less worthy than ourselves) we finally settled at a table in Est and passed a couple of hours away with the paper, some coffee and a full English breakfast that wasn’t too bad – and it only cost three times the value of our vouchers.
By now the rush of early morning flights had departed and the terminal had calmed down a bit. It was time for a bit of essential shopping at Boots (sun cream, bite cream, headache tabs etc) followed by a packaging audit of the drinks and perfume sections of the duty free shop – I didn’t say this wasn’t a working holiday. Debrah did think about buying some new perfume but ended up with so many different scents on her that we couldn’t remember which was which and they were all merging together – so she didn’t.
Eventually the indicator boards changed from ‘Delayed until 11.45’ to ‘Go to Gate 24’. As this change only happened at 11.40 it was clear that we were going to be further delayed. Out at Gate 24, being fuelled and catered for our journey was a 25 year old Boeing 757 in the proud national colours of Slovakia, a country that came into existence after the plane did. Wonderful, all the frantic telephoning had unearthed was a second-hand old crate belonging to Air Slovakia.
Actually, it wasn’t as bad as I am making out. Sure, the plane had seen better days and was a bit tatty round the edges and it sounded like there were two midgets underneath winding the wheels up and down by hand, but it was a smooth flight and the cabin crew were very good and very charming (and dressed in proper old fashioned stewardess uniforms complete with pale blue silk scarves – a style in keeping with the age of the plane I felt) and they were very proud to be looking after us. I know that because they told us before take-off and after take-off and again on landing. Good for them.
If only our fellow passengers had been as charming and considerate. The arse in front of me continually rammed his seat back into my knees despite me asking him to please not do so. The guy in front of the lady next to me jumped up and down on his seat like an over-excited schoolboy on his first flight and all along the aircraft were selfish people fast asleep at window seats missing out on the geography lesson of flying across Europe with clear skies when I was stuck in an aisle seat. We were both in aisle seats but seven rows apart because of our late-ish check-in – so another four hours of our travelling day was spent not talking to each other. In fact there were two empty aisle seats opposite each other in the row behind. I mentioned this to Debrah half way through the flight when she came down to see me and one of the couples behind, who had spread themselves out across three seats by now, overheard us. He said something to her, which I couldn’t hear and she replied “Well it’s not our problem”. Well thank you very much. When she gets to the pearly gates compassion and generosity won’t be on her attribute list – and she was a chinless ugly ginge. Ha.
Long after we should have been sipping our first drink at the hotel bar and contemplating dinner, we started our final approach to Dalaman airport. The sun was setting and the airport is right on the coast giving the impression that touchdown would be either in the water or directly into the mountains that were looming up on all sides. Of course, neither happened. The last of the sun disappeared as we made our way into the terminal. I had to, firstly, queue for a visa which cost me £10 – Debrah still had a valid visa from her recent work trip to Ankara – then we joined the passport control queue which took an absolute age. By the time we had cleared that, picked up our, by now, already waiting bags and negotiated our way via 4 different Exclusive Escapes reps to our minibus it had gone 8.00 pm local time and we still had a two hour journey to go! Somehow, we managed to be sat apart again – our third journey of the day with little or no communication.
It was such a shame that it was already dark. My first impression of Turkey was a preference for neon and strings of lights – every roadside bar, shop and restaurant had them strung up outside. After an hour we reached Marmaris, a gaudy seaside resort full of tourist shops and English pubs, from where the mainly straight road turned into a series of vertiginous mountain hairpin bends as we climbed over and down each promontory. The town of Turunç came into view far below us with a magnificent backdrop of a three quarter moon over the moonlit bay. We descended into and through and out again up the next hill and over into Kumlumbuk, our resort town – but then confusingly we started climbing again up the mountain overlooking the bay. I had not realised quite how far up above the bay our hotel was located.
We were welcomed by Annabelle, one of the local reps, and the hotel owner, who offered us a free drink whilst our bags and rooms were sorted. The restaurant at the beach club – back down the hill, obviously, - had been kept open to provide an evening meal after our long day but, after some indecision, we plumped for getting to our room asap. This turned out to be more of an ordeal than we had bargained for because it was someway back up the mountain via a series of steps. “You have got a great view though” said Annabelle rather too smugly for my liking. We stopped en-route at the honesty mini-market but didn’t fancy anything – knowing full well we had Debrah’s emergency plane sandwich and a bag of crisps, still unconsumed in her bag.
So it was that we arrived, finally and breathlessly, at our hotel room high above the Mediterranean, with a dazzling moon lighting up a starry sky and a sparkly sea. We ate crisps and nuts and the sandwich and drank the complimentary bottle of Turkish red wine and listened to the silence.
There was, however, one last hiccup. To round off an absolutely memorable day for me, ten minutes after arriving I managed to lock us out of our room, which meant going back down to the bar. Apparently, I am by no means the first to do that which made me feel a bit better and, fortunately, they took pity on me and drove me back up to the room.
Not long after that we crashed into bed. What a day.
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