Invasion

The Turkish festival of Eid ai-Adha or Kurban Bayram is on us. Migros and other supermarkets are packed with families seeking the holiday offers (“Bay-ram Get One Free”). Born to Barbecue. Double parking is rare. Triple parked is the usual now.

My mobile dings with a message from the Road Safety Directorate advising me not to drive if I am tired and sleepy.

It is Friday 31st July. The roads will be filled with tired Turks from Ankara, Izmir and Istanbul tailgating, speeding, overtaking on bends hell bent on getting to their holiday. Many will prefer to put their trust in Allah than follow the advice of the Road Safety Directorate. Unfortunately. It is day one of the four day Bayram and the worst possible day to venture out on the roads. Only a fool would do it.

So at 4 pm I set out to drive to Dalaman Airport.

My period of Sultanhood is ending and the real ruler is returning to Leto Towers. I am off to collect the Special One, Mon Amour, the Memsahib, Queen of the Dessert (her plum clafoutis is amazing) returning from a two week tour of duty with the grandson Seb. I have dedicated my last day to ensuring the deck is swabbed down, the cordage neatly stowed, the heads scrubbed and everything shipshape and Bristol fashion.

The traffic is hell. Göcek, where I break for a burger at the West Bar ( don’t knock it until you have tried it. Heaven!), is a sweaty bustling hell too.

But all of that falls away at the airport when the Arrivals door opens and out steps a vision in pink striped capri pants and pastel cotton tee shirt (with matching face mask). Our eyes meet. She lowers her mask and utters the three words, that short sweet declaration,

“God it’s hot!”

And it is. Too darned hot.

We greet and head for the car. The journey back is worse as it is dark. Perhaps I should quit these airport drives while I am ahead. They are far more dangerous than anything air travel can throw at you.

“So tell me about anything in the garden that has died” K says. “That way I will not have to get upset when I discover it tomorrow.”

These are ominous words. Ominous words. I am no green fingered plant whisperer. I only have to look at a plant and it wilts. I do my best. That’s it. I have just done a fourteen stretch, every day a scorcher with temperatures in the mid 30s and a spluttering joke of a water supply. Bound to be a casualty or two.

However, the butcher’s bill is remarkably light. A couple of begonias have croaked and the passion flower, which was already in intensive care, is now in a hospice but that’s it. Under the circs nothing short of a miracle.

I have been a very busy boy actually during my two week bekarlık. I do not want you to think that I am showing off. I want you to be certain of it; two rooms decorated, a large stretch of land levelled and a new firepit and gravel patio constructed. Although I should acknowledge the help of Ramazan Usta who did the brickwork, design and the really heavy lifting on the firepit/patio project.

And there was some seriously heavy lifting! We struck a bloody enormous boulder in the firepit that could not be broken out. It was the tip of a huge rock and the only way was to drill and chip bits off with a lump hammer. It took Ramazan Bey one and a half hours of patient slog. I could only watch and drink lime soda whilst offering every form of verbal encouragement (I am excellent at this).

It was 845 by the time we packed his car in the dark after a twelve hour day. I was a broken man.

When I see the Turks and how they work, I am not surprised we had to abandon Çanakkale (Gallipoli to the Anzacs and British). I am just surprised we hung on as long as we did.

My Very Own loved all the improvements. Peace and love reign at the Towers. To complete the picture we have a new arrival this very morning. A frog has taken up residence in the pond along with Country Joe and the Fish. We have not seen it just heard it. It lowers periscope and dives everytime we try to sneak up. So exciting. Should we expect an invasion?

As for the other invasion, the Turkish Visitor phenomenon, we shall have to see where this goes. It is quite a shock to see the area full of local visitors and the streets jammed with expensive German cars. I suspect that having discovered the delights of villa holidays local tourists will be back in numbers again next year. Staycations are in. I did not hear a single English voice in Göcek. Not one!

The tectonic plates have shifted. The days of “Kalkanshire” as the wits of Kaş like to dub it are over. Kalkan is well on the way to being a Turkish resort with an important British following. In my view anyway. Overall, a good thing, as long as the authorities get on top of the traffic issues.

This is Turkey. Few things remain unchanged for long.

And talking of continuity remind me to tell you next week about the 10th (yes tenth!) Mouse Island Swim that we hope to do on Saturday 3rd October if we can get the permissions.

In the meantime enjoy your bayram however you like to take it.

Şerefe