the Turkish coast

Whatever you might say about the unstable air that is passing through this region these final days of January, it surely has not caused us much trouble. And of course, everything is just a touch kinder, gentler, if it comes packaged in warm air. While Madison is battling the Arctic, we're battling Aegean air currents at near 60 degree temperatures.

But are we getting just a bit complacent? Ed looks at the weather maps and says -- most of the rain clouds have moved on. Have they? Judging by the view out the rooftop breakfast room, yes. The windows are thrown wide open and sure enough, there is sunshine, dappling the table, the room, my face!






That's a notable point about this breakfast: there is sunshine indeed!

Two other points have to be made as well: our breakfast is stupendous! The staff person (who speaks no English, but we get by) brings us our breakfast plates and I have to say, I cannot believe this hotel! All this? For the wee price that it charges?






And the second point -- this one isn't specific to breakfast -- this second point concerns the cats of Bodrum. They're numerous, they look like life is good to them, Ed loves them. And so if you see a disproportionate number of cat photos today, it's because we've encountered a mighty large number of cats in our ramblings.

Including at breakfast. Through the open window, I notice some felines out on the roofs...






And within minutes, one makes her way up, up to the clothesline outside our window.






Of course, Ed shares our foods. She's particularly keen on the meats, but feta cheese is also acceptable. She rejects the fried foods and we didn't save enough of the omlet to share.






What, no more? Well okay then, good bye...






After breakfast, we go out for a Bodrum walk. You may think this is tame, but Bodrum is a sprawling town. It goes on. And on. And on. Past the harbor. Past the small fish market.






...and shops with spices...






...even windmills. Yes, there are those, too.






And when you think surely there is no more, it turns out that there is more. White houses, multiplying like rabbits along the coast.





As we climb one hill, go down the next, we are assailed by an announcement over the loudspeaker system. Of course, loudspeakers sounding a call for prayer -- that's normal Turkish fare. But we are hearing a woman and she is saying something quite urgently. In Turkish.
Ed says -- maybe she is announcing some storms?
We look at the southern hills. Threatening skies!

So is that what it is? A statement about the coming of storms? Well that's just fine! We're at the city's edge. Not much going on here except for the occasional crossing of the road by a rooster.






Should we look for shelter? No matter. We're turning around now anyway. Heading back to the center of Bodrum. Surely we'll make it back! She must have given people time to seek shelter!

We are walking through Bodrum's older neighborhoods. With  numerous mosques, ancient water cisterns, people working in small shops, seemingly oblivious to the yachts and casinos of this town.





















The skies ahead still look dark, but so far, whatever is coming is holding back just a little.

One shop is visited by a peddler and I peek inside to watch the transactions. Woolen clothes, draped over his shoulder, for sale. Straight from the sheep's back?






I buy a pair of socks from him. He's happy. I like that he's happy.

In the meanwhile, Ed continues to be taken in by the cats.



a wee cat



a behind the bars cat




two cats


...and the clouds continue to roll in and the boats begin to whistle and  sing and now we really should head straight home.






Still, I can't help but ask a waiter, standing by the curb and listening to the same announcements, coming once again over the loudspeaker -- what is it? A storm warning? I'm picking up that it's something about Bodrum. And the not too distant city of Ismir. Also in the path of storms?
The waiter smiles: she is announcing a football match today. Bodrum against Ismir.
Oh.

No wonder everyone's so nonchalant about the whole thing. Chatting away, smoking a cigarette, sipping tea...





Okay, time to take a rest too. We head back to the hotel. And I take a nap! But a brief one.

It's after 4 now and I know that Ed will soon give in to sleep, except his sleep wont be of the nap kind. I ask him to go out for a short walk first and after mulling it over for a bit, he agrees to come along.

It had rained mighty heavily while we were in, but though the sidewalks are wet, the showers are now elsewhere. Behind those hills to the east. And the white buildings are bathed in western sunshine!






And in these minutes of twilight, people come out again. They brush off the water from the tables and set up the backgammon boards.






And one gentleman corners Ed into a conversation. Ed bends down to hear. Then his new friend steps up to meet him halfway.











And so the sun sets, brilliantly, over the Bodrum peninsula.





...and I tell Ed -- I'm ready for supper. And that's how we break the cycle of early sleep: without a plan, without intention. We pass a restaurant, study the menu, go inside.

And I have an eating companion again. Sure, a little bleary eyed, but there, across the table from me.






He eats mushrooms, I eat fish and the waiter hovers and in that hour of our meal the rains come down again. No matter. We are not far from home. And it's easy enough to run into a bakery for cover. And for a small bag of cookies.






P.S. Again, thank you, Ocean readers  for your thoughtful, wonderful, funny, kind comments! And yes, you're right. I should have caught that: the rain in Turkey stays mainly on the Muglian plain!

to Bodrum

I say to Ed -- Akyaka is to Bodrum like Cassis is to Cannes. Maybe I exaggerate, but not by much. In Datca, in Akyaka, your shopkeeper may know a few words of English. Or not. In Bodrum, they've heard it all. Bodrum has a lovely old quarter, but it also has casinos and restaurants where you can spend a lot of money. And for this reason, it's really hard to find a perfect and perfectly inexpensive place to stay there.

Still, it is time to move on. This is our crazy hopscotch along the Aegean coast. Two days in Akyaka and now it's time to leave. And Bodrum is next in line.


*****

Breakfast. Ed is filling his plate again. This is the time when he really eats. And so I ask him: have you switched to mornings only? 
Depends.
And I understand that: managing your days' meals is a tricky business. Our new default position, at least on this trip, appears to be a bottom heavy eating style. With an early bedtime. And I mean really early. Doesn't 5 pm seem a touch too early?
But it isn't that way for me and so we need to figure out how best to adjust to both. I'm thinking maybe we'll get it right by the end of the trip.





*****


The rains came and went, all night long. The TV screen at the side of the breakfast room shows the damage these downpours have caused: flooding, yes, that. Washed out mountain roads. To us, it's a vacation juggle. To others, it's a menace. But right now, the clouds have breaks in them here in Akyaka. Will we be lucky again?


*****


Our ever so helpful hotel staff person gives us a ride to the bus station. He hurries. He wants to put us on the 11 a.m. bus to Mugla. There, we'll change for another bus to Bodrum. But as we arrive at the bus stop, we see a bus, but no driver. It's 11:03.
I think this must be the 11:30 one, our hotel guy mumbles.
That's okay, we'll wait.
I was going to tell him to help you find the Bodrum bus.
We'll figure it out. 
Just ask anyone...

He's off. And I look at the schedule and I see that there is no 11:30. The next one is at noon. Ed stays and reads, I go down to the sea for one last look at the Aegean, from the point of view of Akyaka.








(bus driver's seat, Akyaka to Mugla)


*****


Bodrum is in the middle of the Bodrum Peninsula. It's just like the Datca Peninsula to the south (in fact, on a good day, you should be able to look at one from the coast of the other): a ribbon of land extending into the sea. Only it's completely unlike the Datca Peninsula. Bodrum is easy to get to. It has an airport and a highway running right to the main town and it has an enormous marina, which tells you something.

To get from Akyaka to Bodrum, you have to cross a small mountain range. And as the little bus climbs, the clouds came down to greet us. By the time we are near the crest, the rain is coming down hard again.

And, too, it continues as we pull into Mugla -- a provincial capital spreading over a plane. You really understand that the rain in Turkey stays mainly on the plane. Because whatever cloudbreaks we had had on the coast, do not translate into cloudbreaks here, on the Muglian plane.

We get off at the last stop, inquire about the Bodrum bus, are directed to another stop, inquire again and there, a man is shouting Bodrum, Bodrum!? -- in an inquisitive manner.
Yes, Bodrum! I shout back.
Stay here, he says.
Ed takes that to mean that he is offering to take us there for a price. Ed has been hanging around Central America or Poland for too long (probably the former).

I never understood what the caller's role was in the scheme of things, but he has the same question for anyone who passed by the stop: Bodrum, Bodrum?! And one, no, two other people join us in the wait.
Ten minutes, the caller shouts to us.

A half hour later, I am stamping from foot to foot. Because -- did I tell you? It's raining heavily here! We are huddled at a protected bus stand, but the rain is coming  in sideways and, too, the Muglian plane's temperatures are a good ten degrees cooler than by the sea.

The small van (I think it seats a maximum of twenty passengers) for Bodrum arrives. It's been traveling all the way from Fethiye -- a coastal town some four hours south of us. And it is almost full. Just three empty seats and Ed and I, as the first comers, according to the Bodrum, Bodrum caller, plus one other person get on. The fourth engaged in some discussion with the caller and I assume another bus is not too far behind, because she did not show the disappointment I would have felt had I been told to get back under the shelter for another "ten minutes."

Our fellow traveler takes a seat in the middle, Ed scoots back to the last row and I join an older woman sitting toward the front.


 


The bus is tiny, the seats are tiny and I try hard not to invade her space. She smiles and urges me to move in. Okay, but I don't want to be all American-like, commanding more than my share of what's there (at least that's what I always worry others assume we do on this planet). The old woman will have not of it. She puts her black cloaked arm around me and pulls me to her, with a warm, encouraging hug and a flurry of words which I of course do not understand.

I wonder if I ever would, on the bus ride from Madison to O'Hare, hug a stranger to show them they are welcome there.


*****


We get off in Bodrum and it is still raining, though not in torrents. Our hotel is only 7 minutes away from the bus, but you have to know which way to turn. It's in the old part of Bodrum and the streets here are nothing more than alleys, twisting in ways that even Google maps have trouble mimicking.

We find it: the tiny, adorable, newly converted Mia Butik Hotel. It will be the perfect place for us. It meets all our requirements for out brief stay here: central, but in a quiet alley. Small. Fresh and clean. Fast internet. At 40 Euro ($52) per night, taxes and breakfast included.

Our room is on the ground floor, but it is so very ideal. There is no sitting area, not in the room, not on the ground floor, but the delightful stairs...






...lead up to the breakfast room and you can surely sit there at any time and well, let me show you this glass enclosed space and the view that goes with it:






Perfect. All of it is just perfect.


*****

There appears to be a lull in the rains. We set out for a walk through town.

I was in Bodrum with my younger girl some six or seven years ago. But that was June and the days were sunny and hot. Bodrum is an entirely different experience in January. Especially on this day, when the rains come on and off, like a dysfunctional shower stream and the wind lashes out in fury at the unfairness of it all.

It's an unusually brutal day. We watch the water splash through the cafe decks, rolling right inside when the wave gets too big. I'm thinking -- there is no way you'll get me in a boat in this kind of weather. Not a chance. We have two days before the sailing date. Let's just hope that our luck holds.












*****

A Mediterranean marina is a place of endless fascination for Ed. It recalls his sailing years and even though his own boat was rather modest, much like his car is rather modest, he does love to gawk at bigger stuff. Had I brought him to Bodrum for this purpose, he would have protested: the place is too resorty, too cosmopolitan, too polished. But we are here out of necessity and now we are at the harbor and if the weather was just a touch dryer, he could lose himself for many many hours just staring at boats.






But, the wind is fierce and though it's warmer than on the Muglian plane, it's not exactly strolling weather.






We admire the tiny fish market (meaning the place by the water where a handful of fishermen are selling their day's catch)...










... and retreat back to our hotel where, you guessed it, within an hour, Ed is fast asleep.

But I'm psyched for this lonely ritual now! I'm off to find dinner, while the bear sleeps.


*****

I go to a place that is one of many in a horseshoe of fish eateries (this one is called "Meyzen"). Oh, some Tripadvisor people especially liked this one but I think these things are sort of random. On another day it could have been its next door neighbor.

Heat lamps. That's good. I can eat "outside." The waiter hovers.  
Which appetizers? Greens? How about a mixture? Then? Not too much? How about the shrimp? With some fried octopus?
Fine, fine, all fine.  
Wine too?
Yes, so long as I don't have to finish it (meaning I can take the remains home.) And not anything expensive.

The rain now is brutal. It pounds against the awning, slashes into anything in sight. To think I walked over under the light of shining stars! No rain just a few minutes ago. Just cats. In the dark alleys where we are staying, there are the nocturnal cats of Bodrum, waiting, waiting for a handout.





At the restaurant, a waiter comes. Another serves. The owner stops by just to ask if all is well.
Good, very good... 

And now I'm between courses and the main waiter is back, asking the Turkish "how are you" (i.e. where are you from).

And so we talk. I learn he is from central Turkey. That his uncle cut him a break two years ago by hiring him here. That he learned English in school. He learns that I'm American. 

So I ask: after all, Bodrum is so cosmopolitan! Where are all the visitors from?
England. Definitely England. And in the past -- Ireland. Dutch people too, but mostly English. 
Ah yes, the English have an interesting relationship with travel to the continent... Where else? 
Recently, Bodrum sees Scandinavians. And some French.
Not Americans?
No. I have never seen an American here.
I think he is joking. Bodrum is a destination! It's no backwater place. They have Starbucks here, for God's sake!

So I offer him an explanation. I tell him: we have these two oceans, one on each side. It's scary to cross an ocean and venture out into the unknown.
He smiles. I think Americans like where they live and so they don't come here. I only have seen Americans in Istanbul. On business.

I know of course that he must be just plain wrong. As I am mulling this over, he continues:

In my village, all my life, I learned that nothing good came from America. Nothing. Wars, problems, nothing good.

I consider this. Because it is so inconsistent with what I encounter here, in Turkey.  
So why is everyone so kind to us when we travel here? 
You are our guest! If you came to my village, we would do everything to make you feel welcome. We would be so honored! We would probably bring you gifts to take home!

I remember the hug coming from the old woman on the bus. I was a foreigner. Her instincts were to draw me closer.


It's not raining when I walk back to the hotel. No moon tonight though. At least none that I see. Just cats. The stealthy cats of Bodrum.



 

in four parts

Part One

I didn't wake up to just rain. It was a downpour! A steady pounding on roofs and parapets, a wind lashing out at the world, with thunder for dramatic effect!



looking out





beyond the balcony





the mountains to the north, in clouds and fog



Well now, the weather predictors were right. How about that!

But as we go down to breakfast...










...(a lovely buffet and yes, finally, plenty of oranges and fresh orange juice too  -- a nod to this regions numerous groves), our friendly hotel staff person is smiling. As if it weren't pouring buckets out there!
Oh, that's just for an hour or so. It will stop.
But the weather forecast said all day!
Maybe on the Datca Peninsula. Not here.

Now where is that confidence coming from? My weather.com has the Akyaka village in the system and their hour by hour says rain. Still, I look out and I see that there appears to be a crack in the gray sky...


Part Two

Where will you go today? -- the same supremely helpful staff person asks.
Not far! In case it rains. I'm still doubtful of his "one hour only" claim.
Maybe you want to go to the next village? Gokova. They have their bazaar today. It's just five or six kilometers up the road.

I tell Ed -- let's do it. With rain gear (meaning my hiking rain jacket and Ed's recent Walmart acquisition in my day pack). And quickly, while we seem to be in a rain pause. I mean, I'm okay with rain, but that downpour was something else!

We follow the road to Gokova. And we're fine, it's not raining, my camera hangs from my neck waiting for that scene that''ll make me click, yes, it's all good...


 







...but when a mini-bus comes from behind and I see that it has the name of our destination on it, I say to Ed  -- let's go! I wave my hand, the driver stops, we run.
Ed asks between pants -- didn't you want to walk?
Yes, but it may rain and this was just such a godsend!

The mini bus is crowded and I ask, directing this to no one in particular, if this indeed is the bus to Gokova. Several people instantly offer help. One older woman tells us -- I speak little English. I say yes in Gokova.  Another man with a very full mustache takes out a coin and points to the driver, indicating to us what we should pay. They all are very aware of our odd presence and I am sure they are intensely curious how Ed can navigate the world being as tall as he is. (It's difficult for him to squeeze into a mini bus, for example.) But as always, every last one tries as best as he or she knows how to be of help.

And now we're at the bazaar. And it is as every bazaar should be -- full of people eager to buy, sellers shouting, calling to you, making claims, I'm sure, about the wonderfulness of their stuff. It's not a small market, even as Gokova is a very small village, so I have to think this serves a bigger region. The fruits, vegetables are neatly arranged. Presentation matters here!

We spend a good hour strolling between the stalls and I have to say it really feels like a slice of Turkey has fallen into our lap on this day.































I do buy something: a coveted spice (I buy the Turkish version; I could have chosen the one from Iran -- both were being offered). But mainly, we just watch. Noting the differences in purchasing habits. Take the white cheeses: they're sold in packed bins. The vendor will scoop out whichever one you like. But which one? An older gentleman eyes all the options and then proceeds to reach in with his fingers (let's not even imagine where those fingers have been since their last washing) and scrape some out to try. First this one, then the next. If that doesn't cause you to cringe, you're made of tougher stuff than me. Though of course, I've worked in food preparation. I know how cooks skirt regulations behind the scenes. Still, eating crumbled feta may for a long while recall this scene to me.






In general, I was surprised how accepting people are of me and my camera. In Istanbul, vendors are tough: if you buy, you can shoot all you want. Otherwise, you get a growl. But here, in this small village not too far from the sea, people are not as camera averse. Often times, I would, if caught in the act, get an extra smile or a nod.
















Okay. enough market photos. Time to walk back. The clouds are still hovering, but they are definitely receding for now and I'm thinking -- this is incredible! All travel days should be this grand!

We walk back past farms, and bee hives, and relics of ancient grave stones. We hug the river most of the time and we continue to be impressed with the utter clarity of this rushing stream. It is a brilliant walk -- one where photos are certainly inadequate, even as they surely help kindle one's imagination.

































a real sheep shed!













We arrive finally at our hotel, but there is no rain in sight yet and so I throw down my jacket and we continue: we go up the hill toward what we think must be our village's heart. And it is! Some two kilometers away from the water's edge -- this is where the commercial hub lies. A few food shops, two bakeries, the mosque, an ATM -- all here!











Part Three

We could have retreated then, but no. I want to keep going: to get to the beach up the coast that had been described to us yesterday. To walk, walk, walk -- because the sun is 50% there, the temperatures are surely near sixty, luck is very much with us (even as the dark clouds hang low over the mountains to the west, to east...).

We continue. And eventually, we get to the shore.











In a sense, the walk is better than the destination. When we finally do reach the distant beach, we give it no time at all and turn right back.






I am getting nervous about the clouds hovering basically everywhere but over our heads. So we hike back and we turn in toward the Akyaka beach, familiar from yesterday's river walk and it is such a terrific set of hours that I have to say, if it rains for the rest of the trip, I still will think of us as having lucked out with the weather here.
















Part Four

By late afternoon, we are back in the hotel and Ed promptly falls asleep. 

And so now I face the same dilemma: come dinnertime, should I wake him? I try. He's groggy. Not up for a meal. Go. He tells me. And then falls asleep again.

No, not a good solution. To go back to yesterday's place to eat a fish by myself? Seems like I would need to explain. "My partner has fallen asleep, so it's just me today." I could do this in Istanbul, I could do this in just about any place on the planet, but not here, in tiny Akyaka, where we already stand out like a sore thumb. So I ask instead at the hotel if the kitchen is still functional. It is! And so the lovely staff person fixes a supper that's more like a Turkish feast -- a grilled fish, salads, vegetables -- all delivered to our room on trays, while Ed sleeps, oblivious to it all.

I explain -- he just got tired. And so the respectful staff person sets up the meal and asks in hushed tones -- you want fire in the fire place? 
And I say -- no no, that's okay... 
But he decides to ignore my protests and lights one anyway and then tiptoes out, thinking for sure he has set the stage for a most romantic evening. Except that Ed just snores through it all and it is not until the very end that I nudge him to try some food and he does, sort of, reluctantly and then promptly goes back to his long and heavy nap.





We leave tomorrow. There'll be one more brief stop on the Turkish coastline. It's supposed to rain heavily again. Or not.