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As a boy, I had itchy feet and, I reckon, I
still have the same need to be on the move now as I had then, so I
travel a lot. As a result, I am often asked where my favorite haunt
is. Frankly, it is an impossible question. I have loved so many places
and have such a store of good memories, that I really can't decide.
I must admit to having enjoyed the delights of Turkey (pun intended) and, with the exception of my problem with the
language; notaries and excessive bureaucracy, I loved the place and the
people.
My first visit was to Kusadasi, in 1986, where I purchased a
Ketch designed by William Garden from an extraordinary American/Australian couple called
Sour.
'Large' is a word that would not go amiss in a
description of the pair.
They were a formidable couple. Mrs. Sour told me, enthusiastically, that she had been a warden in an Australian
prison and had won an award for maintaining discipline. The awesome Mr.
Sour fixed me with his steely gaze and drawled "Yup, it wuz a man's prison at
thet".
Having returned to London and organised payment,
we flew back to Turkey to take possession of the boat. We moved
our luggage aboard, exchanged pleasantries with the Sours and went
off to have lunch.
On our return, I enquired as to when the couple would be leaving.
I was informed that they were going nowhere until confirmation of payment had
arrived. I had paid their lawyer, by bank transfer, ten days
previously. It transpired that Mr. Sour didn't trust his lawyer and so
there would be a stalemate, until his bank had confirmed
receipt of payment.
In the time it took to sort out this mess, I had the
opportunity to explore, and discover, fabulous Turkey.
Kusadasi is about 50 kilometres South of Ismir, on the Turkish coast, opposite the Greek Island of
Samos. There is a good modern marina with everything you would expect to find
- fuel, showers, chandlers, restaurants and at that time,
unfortunately, a dancing bear.
Turkey was, and I am sure still is, great value for
money.
If you are a dyed-in-the-wool North European muncher, it might
take you a little time to acquire a taste for the local food,
however, the ever present American 'fast food' was available if you
had to have 'French fry's and a bun.
Our first taxi drive into town, to see the notary and look around, was made easy by a toothless taxi driver who owned a
'mobile meringue' of a huge 1950-something Buick. He had more English than I had Turkish, so we
stuck with him for the duration of our stay. I have never met a
tee-totaller who laughed as much as he did, We christened him 'Gummy'.
About five miles south of the marina, is the 16th century
Oasis, in which travellers would stop to water their camels, in the big courtyard, and rest, in the many rooms on the first
floor. It is much the same to-day, only the traveler generally has a car instead of a
camel. The big courtyard has some really stunning palms reaching for the blue sky above the
fort. We had a cold beer at the huge bar, surrounded by fragrant bushes and vines, and we decided it might be a good idea to drop in
there again on the way home.
We continued south, on dusty roads and, as the
noonday sun beat down on the roof of the old Buick, the interior became like an
oven. I indicated an air-conditioner lever on the dashboard. 'Gummy' responded with roars of laughter and wound his window
down. After five minutes of being sandblasted we chose the oven.
We arrived in Mugla at what, I reckoned, was lunch
time. 'Gummy' insisted that we dine in the sootiest of restaurants, with a huge kiln-like oven, open to the
view of the diners. From the reception we had, I suspected that 'Gummy' and the
restauranteur might be related.
It was a memorable meal, albeit different. After a cold beer to wash the dust
down, we enjoyed the plumpest mild black olives and some cheeses,
served with bread, crisp and mellow on the outside and with a wonderful texture
within. The red wine that accompanied this was so good as to resemble what I would describe as a
big, clumsy, Burgundy and was far too good to hurry.
Then the lamb Kebabs arrived, sizzling, a shiny chestnut colour on the exterior;
pink and perfect inside; divided by succulent sweet onions, red and green
peppers.
The huge salad bowl contained a wealth of
goodies and the fabulous yoghourt, with mint and garlic, was
accompanied by yet another bottle of heaven.
Well, all good things must come to a pause and we had to see the
notary. His office was on the third floor of an old building that could have been rather lovely, had he not tried to modernise
it. I can't tell you the problem I have, trying to look interested in the official workings of
bureaucracy. Oh, the tedium! What I considered should have been a
"Hello, thank-you, goodbye" jobby, actually entailed me returning three times, much to the delight of
'Gummy'.
After leaving the notary, we wandered down old streets with shopkeepers politely offering to show us their stock of whatever they dealt
in. When we declined, they simply smiled and bid us well. After buying a couple of
Kelim rugs, at dusk, we set off for Kusadasi.
'Gummy' pulled into the Oasis, we opened the huge arched door and were greeted by the pungent odour of Turkish
tobacco and lascivious-sounding music. In the middle of the square, in the glow of subtle lighting, there gyrated an uncommonly well-built lady wearing
diaphanous leggings and a heavily sequined halter top that couldn't quite contain all that it
should. Her outrageously mascara-laden eyes peered seductively over a transparent veil.
I looked around, half expecting to see Sydney Greenstreet, wearing a fez
and sitting at one of the dimly lit tables, swatting flies with a zebra
switch.
The entertainment, throughout the evening, was hypnotic and I realised that, although I was well-traveled, in a European sense, this was the first time I
had felt that I was in a 'foreign' land, everything so different and exciting...
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