Parking is such sweet sorrow

Andrew has been sailing for more years than he cares to remember, actually more years than he can remember now. Bless him. He likes to reminisce but is a bit fuzzy after 1985. I’m the same. Memory is like that, the recent bits sort of fall out of the top of the bin, but the older bits - the words of all the songs playing in the summer when you met your first love; - who starred in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, sit snugly at the bottom and are easily dredged up. You know the sort of thing “ I remember the summer of 75, no wait it was 76, really hot , me and Elsie Ramsbottom.......” he doesn’t really talk like that but you get the gist.

Anyway we were sailing round the Ionian Isles. Some lovely names – Lefkas, Nidri, Scorpios ( Onassis’ island) Meganisi, Cephalonia and Ithica. I’ve always wanted to go to Ithica, it was the birthplace of Homer and his hero King Odysseus, and of Odysseus’ queen , my namesake, Penelope. So I had to see that and eat at Penelope’s restaurant. She isn’t the original Penelope though. After swanning off for 10 years to the Trojan wars, and spinning some story about sirens and goddesses kidnapping him, Oddy came back, didn’t like the way that she had carried on and bumped Penny off. The current Penelope’s hubby is a nice chap, sort of round and Greek looking, and I can’t imagine any Circe fancying him much, but I can’t imagine him bumping off the missus either.

We called in to Frikes, a small harbour full to overflowing with charter yachts in August, as is the whole Ionian area it seemed. We got in early and enjoyed the spectacle of the late afternoon wind causing panic amongst flotilla crews, and despair in flot captains. It should be called Fracas. Anxious wives/ girl friends nervously clutching ropes, as the skipper for a week, screaming instructions, hurtled towards a wall or another boat, to the enraged shouts of local greek boat owners. “You not anchor there“, “You go back, you go forwards, you go away”

Andrew and I of course have years of experience so we don’t need to communicate much. After 3 weeks we were hardly talking at all! Andrew’s boat is lovely but it doesn’t go too well in reverse ,he says. I don’t know cos I am not allowed to park it, it requires the special ‘parking lobe’ that men think they have in their brains. It’s next to the cricket appreciation lobe. He says his boat was made to go forwards; it certainly goes sideways OK.

We tried to find quiet places to drop anchor. Not easy in the Ionian, they mostly resemble a parking lot in Croydon, but on Ithica we found the perfect place. A bay called Sarakiniko. Just a little beach and a few fishing boats moored with a line ashore. That was our plan. Andrew doesn’t like doing it ‘cos he worries about scratching the boat on the shore. But I hopped into the dinghy and tied a line to a rock. He had anchored some way off so it was quite a long line, about 70/80m., with three fenders attached to it. We really were not going to scratch any rocks, but we did annoy an incoming fishing boat as our line was half way across the bay. So I was told off to row back whilst he reparked. What happened was not my fault, I was gathering up 80m of heavy rope and 3 fenders, watching him re-anchoring , and a rock bit the dinghy. It was a sharp little bit just below the surface, and the dinghy went “psssssssssssssssssssss”. Uhoh I thought. I started rowing out towards the boat , he was still anchoring, so I shouted calmly , “ I’m sinking’ , “what” , “I’m sinking”, “ go back , you’re a hazard “, “I’m effing sinking”.

By the time he had re-anchored, I only had half a dinghy, the seat had collapsed, and one oar and the other half were under water. Of course the boat wasn’t near to where I had tied on so I had to paddle half a dinghy back to the shore, with one hand clutching miles of rope and fenders, to find another rock to tie to.

“Not that one, that one there is better”, he shouted. “***** “ .

When I got back some time later, he was very concerned. Not about me. “My god” he said “ its an enormous gash” ,(less than a centimetre actually), “its irreparable, its too close to the towing point , it needs a specialist, we’ll have to go back to Lefkas”. We did. The dinghy repair man was very happy to agree it was almost irreparable. He arrived with his little repair outfit, explained the intricate process involved, (I didn’t understand of course) and charged 85euros. I think his hourly rate is more than my dentist gets.

The good thing of course that this incident will quickly fade from our memories.

“It was fun sailing in the Ionian wasn’t it “ , “yes, er....... when was that ?”

A Night At The Opera

Two nights actually, and quite contrasting. The first, at Marmaris, was in the amphitheatre, advertised as a performance of Othello by Shakespeare, but the performance was actually a modern ballet danced to the, recorded, score from an opera by Verdi. First of course the inevitable speeches. The audience were remarkably patient. Perhaps the half hour they lasted contained some interesting insights into the work of Guiseppe Verdi, perhaps. I think there was a mention of a promise of chairs next year, but cushions would be quite ok. And would raise some money for the organisers to put on more events. Because they are a welcome and enjoyable alternative to karaoke and disco music.
This performance, choreographed by Ugur Seyrek was imaginative and dramatic. Desdemona put so much into it she had to take a shower at the end. On stage . You need to have seen it to understand, but it worked and the audience all left having seen something unique.
Next day I went over to Aspendos with some friends to see ‘Carmen’ in the magnificent 2000 year old roman amphitheatre. Our hotel, booked on the internet, because it said ‘our staff have smiley face’, hadn’t told the staff of their unique selling point. In fact it appeared they hadn’t told the staff they were running a hotel, but it was near Aspendos and the beds had towels twisted into heart shapes on them. After a lovely meal overlooking a cascading river we arrived, a bit late, at Aspendos. The opera hadn’t started but I had forgotten you do need to get there early, and most other people had. The weekend, in retrospect, involved an awful lot of scrambling up things. In this case about 200 rows to get to some empty seats. Not for the unsteady or vertiginous. The view was great, and, amazingly from so far away, the acoustics and the power of the performance meant that we could hear pretty well. Carmen is always magnificent but in Aspendos the word awesome has to be used. Not in the way it is now used to describe everything from a burger to a ford focus, but really truly inspiring awe. The colours, the music and the voices in that setting are, well, awesome.
On the way back next day we stopped off to go up the Tahtali Mountain by cable car, at 2500m it is quite a climb over wooded ravines and rock outcrops. At the top a modern restaurant gives marvellous views across the whole of the south coast. There are three restaurants so we decided to climb the stairs to the second one. It was closed, so we climbed to the top one. That was closed as well, a sign would have been helpful, but the experience was, er, truly awesome.
Then off to Olympus to stay in a tree house. I was expecting to be up in the foliage chatting to sloths and gibbons but it turned out that tree houses there are houses made out of trees, ie log (plank) cabins . Nice though, and set in lovely wooded areas behind the beach. Olympus is famous for the Chimera, the everlasting flame. So we had to go and see it. After a nice meal and a couple of bottles of wine, it seemed like a good idea. Actually after a nice meal and a couple of bottles of wine it isn’t a good idea. On the map on the wall in the village it looked like a short walk. It’s really about an hours climb up a near vertical rock-strewn track. In the dark. Emma’s feet were already resembling someone with elephantiasis (a chronic filarial disease resulting in lymphatic obstruction, characterized by marked enlargement of the parts affected, esp. of the legs and scrotum, transmitted by mosquitoes - look it up), and my flip flops were not the best foot gear. Reminded me of Blair Wich, especially the swearing, But we made it - to see a a group of semi-nude back packers roasting sausages over a BBQ. Hang on, there were lots of BBq’s going. Everlasting Barbies, Out of the ground in lots of places came flames, natural gases somehow spontaneously and apparently permanently combusting. Everyone was walking around saying it how awesome it was. And in the dark under the starlit sky ...it was.

Revenge of a ninjad turtle

About 30 years ago an amazing lady called June Haimoff arrived on the Iztuzu beach in Dalyan, fell in love with it and took up residence in a beach hut. Her neighbours turned out to be Sea Turtles, Caretta Carettas. She became something of a naturalist, so when a developer started laying the foundations of an Hotel on the beach she realised the implications , bad ones, for the turtles. She chronicled her battle , against the odds, to stop the building and save the turtles nesting site, in her book ‘Kaptan June and the Dalyan turtles’.
From 1988, the beach has been protected , in 2008 it received the Sunday Times ‘Best Open Space , Europe’ award and , of the hotel, only the foundations remain . There is now though, a new building on those foundations . Completed just 2 weeks ago, the first Sea Turtle Rescue and Rehabilitation Centre in Turkey was opened , on the very site where 25 years ago that holiday village was about to destroy the environment they had occupied for thousands of years.
I went with Kaptan June, now aged 85 but still a campaigner for the environment , to visit the centre and meet Associate Professor Dr. Yacup Kaska, from the Pamukkale University , in Denizli, who is in charge . Dr Yakup is a worthy successor to June and a man of action. Noticing my car was covered in sun- dried mulberries, he told me they could damage the paintwork and promptly took out a bucket of water and a cloth and cleaned it for me, whilst his assistant Fikret showed me round. It wasn’t surprising to learn that , with the support of the Dalyan Belediye, and the help of some local business, and tank makers Armaplast, the good doctor got the centre built in just two days.
I also met the first two patients. A 40 year old male was recovering in one tank and showed the scars of being badly beaten. He had taken a hooked fish and been impaled on the hook. The beating, leaving him with a damaged shell and head, was inflicted by some fishermen trying to get back the hook. He had been left for dead, but fortunately was found by some caring people and bought to the centre.
The other inmate was a 25yr old female now called Nazli. She was found with a hook in her flipper and fishing line wrapped tightly round her neck. You can see the awful scars it left. She is not quite an adult and soon to mate for the first time and lay her eggs on the beach where she herself was hatched. It is nice to think that she may well have started life when June was battling the developers, and has been doubly saved.
The centre will be open for visitors every day between 10.00am and 6.00pm. Dr Yakup told me that they want people to come and see the centre, meet the turtles and find out more about them . The aim is to spread awareness and understanding of these amazing creatures, as well as provide a close up experience of them. Children and dads will be thrilled by them , and for mums it will also be a great experience though I can’t promise that the dishy doctor will be on hand to wash every car.
To find out about the centre visit http://caretta.pamukkale.edu.tr or email Dr Yakup at caretta@pau.edu.tr . To get details of Kaptan Junes book, and find out about her environmental conservation foundation, email me at pennysail@gmail.com

Stuck in my Gullet

I have to apologise. I recently rudely suggested that gullets never set their sails. Well, in 25kts of wind this chap (pictured) put up all he had and the result was stunning to look at and I imagine marvellous to be aboard. Sorry Mr gullet captain, I think you are wonderful.
Did I ever mention I am a qualified yacht mistress. I have a certificate ! It says I am competent. I think I got it cos I admired the examiners feet. He had the most amazingly prehensile toes. A halyard got stuck and he stepped out of what I imagine were once deck shoes, and climbed up the mast, gripping it with his toes. I just mentioned it cos I have taken two weeks to get from Marmaris to Bodrum which you might think suggests something lacking in the navigational department. Well actually it was intentional. We hopped across from gulf to island to gulf, then back again.
Ironically we didn’t do too much sailing. The wind always managed to contrive to be coming from exactly where we wanted to go, but not very strong. If we tried to be sneaky and go with it, it promptly packed up shop and went home.
The gulf of Hisaronu and particularly Orhaniye are amongst the most beautiful places I have visited . Anchoring behind the island under the stars doesn’t have an adjective that can describe it. Gokova gulf I thought was less stunning but lots of pretty coves and we found one with a holiday village. Hobie cats , water skiers and trainee wind surfers fell into the water with alarming frequency and occasionally had to be rounded up and returned back to the bay by a patient ‘speed dog’ boat .
The ‘village’ was strangely attractive. Hidden discretely amongst the trees, it had manicured lawns, signs everywhere and three, yes three restaurants. Turkish , International and Thematic. Before you look at Patrick Moores guide to the galaxies let me tell you that Thematic isn’t in the nebula Andromeda. It means ‘themed’ ( of course you knew that didn’t you ?) The night we went the theme was Indian. It was reeeally bland. More Kumars at no 35 than Bradford on a Friday night, but ok and lovely views.
And today on the way back. Well I’ve just had, well I am having, one of the nicest days of my life. We sailed up from Gokova to an island off Bodrum to stop for lunch. It was idyllic. Ok the gullets and ice cream vendors , and banana speed boats, wouldn’t figure in an ad for bounty bars, but after a swim in really crystal clear waters we had champagne and feta cheese and salad and crunchy bread. The we went below and relaxed. We had to stop relaxing cos the anchor dragged, but the 25 knot wind blew us to Bodrum at 7 kts on just the genoa. It was exhilarating and my hair will recover eventually. Now at anchor off Bodrum the sun is setting behind the castle and the colours of the hills and the gullets blend into the darkening to make the shore lights look boring.
A bottle of Fleurie, some bri and Bob Dylan’s latest cd will see off the disco’s that are about to assail our eardrums. I love sailing.

OOps, I thought you said 'yes'

I've just been sailing between Greece and Turkey, from Marmaris to Bodrum via Simi and Kos and the differences are quite remarkable. You can see Greece from the Turkish mainland, and Turkey from the Dodecanese islands, but they look and feel,very different places.
The Greek islands are mostly a brown, almost barren dryness, broken only by scrubby plants and grey olive trees. The towns though are a tumble of beautiful gleaming white houses, decorated with brilliant flowers, reds, yellows, blues and blue painted doors. Pretty white fishing boats bob on the blue sea, decorated with colours as bright as the flowers. The beaches tho' could do with a clean. Everywhere there are signs of their EU zoneness. New marinas, new roads,(not always finished ), lots of new cars and smart new shops. It's a lot more expensive than I remembered, and people seem a bit less interested in you, bored with tourists but happy to take the valuable euros, in the hours that suit them to open.
The Turkish coast, as you get nearer to Marmaris becomes greener and greener, pine forests reach down to the sea, and the mountains rear up in a blue haze. The Gullets that ply the sea on the 'blue cruise', look impressive but you rarely sea a sail actually set to grace the tall masts. The towns and villages, when you reach them, have an almost temporary look to them, lots of square concrete, and they don't begin to compete with nature.
It isnt so prosperous either, new cars do appear now, but there are still a lot of old ones, and most of the boats that offer trips , or are still used for fishing look a bit worn, less cared for, more used.
The shops though sell great fresh vegetables and meats, and a less international, more challenging, variety of food. Everyone is very friendly. In some places perhaps a bit too keen to entice you in, but its good natured and fun, and you feel very welcome.
The languages, given the physical closeness and the historical mixing, are surprisingly quite quite different. I couldn't even begin to pronounce fron the written greek. It really is all greek to me. Turkish letters I mostly recognise, though after five years I still pronounce them wrongly . Today Greeks vote for Turkish songs and Turks for Greek songs in the Eurovision song contest, so the ancient antagonism seems to be lessened but I realised in a flash of insight, that the language is and has long been, the cause of so much trouble. The greek for 'yes' is 'Nai', pronounced 'Nay', the turkish for ' what' is 'ne' . also pronounced 'Nay'. 3000 years ago the trojan wars were fought between Greeks and Trojans in what is now western Turkey. I bet it all happened because when Paris said ' I say Menelaus old chap. can I shag helen' Menelaus' response of ' NE!!!' meaning 'WHAAAT!!!', was taken as 'nai' meaning 'yes', The rest is history.

The Flowers that bloom in the Spring - Tra La

As I have just had a big moan about trying to get an insurance claim sorted out, I thought I should try to inject a more positive note into this edition. Lets face it, getting an insurance company to pay up , anywhere, is like getting blood out of a rock. In fact, as I recently donated some of my blood to a rock, I think its even harder.
So - Its warm and sunny, I shower in hot water from my solar panel . Summer is here !! Harika; woohooooooooo; at last. I felt really sorry for the eager yachties going out in their flotillas last Saturday, in cloud and rain, and spending the next 3 days in cloud, and rain. Imagine, you spend the winter in England or Germany or Wales even, in soggy coldness, dreaming of drifting across blue seas under blue skies in sunny Turkey, and then , what do you get – soggy coldness ! But Thursday it all changed. We drove over the peninsula to Selimiye, a beautiful little harbour on the Hisaronu gulf. Deep red poppies were everywhere, green fields had a sheen of red on them. All that rain has produced a wonderful display of wild flowers, and Osmans teeth were gleaming in the sunshine. Thats nothing to do with the rain. Harbour master/ restauranteur Osman has a full set of gold teeth, which he flashes frequently.
When I first came here, having often holidayed in Greece, I couldn’t believe the greenness. When you sail in from the west, as you leave the brown islands, barren apart from the grey of olive trees, you see the land get greener and greener as you head up the Turkish coast. The stunning combination of towering mountains, blue seas and green slopes is always breathtaking.
Right thats positive enough, I’m beginning to sound like a travel brochure. Won’t do at all.
The other signs of summer are also here of course. Signs saying ‘English breakfast served here’, cries of ‘ cheap as chips’, in the bazaar, smiling waiters trying to persuade you to eat in their restaurant , just by using their eyes. And Bar street. I like bar street. I can hear it from the boat, but it doesn’t keep me awake. In fact I often wake up when it stops. The repetitive deep base thud thud, must be like a heartbeat lulling me to sleep. Thats from half a mile away of course, I doubt anyone sleeps much closer by. But thats Marmaris, and Bar Street is a fun place to go and people watch . Chubby pink English girls in tops and skirts neither of which go down far enough to cover much, but no doubt go down quickly enough at some point in the evening. Glamorous glum Russians, tall bemused Dutch, and jolly round Germans. The handsome Turkish men who loll deciding whether to go for glam glum or chubby pink, give it all an air of slight , but safe, excitement.
The marina has changed too. Everything has been varnished at least 10 times and lots of the liveaboards have set off for other places. Now the summer lot are taking their place. They tend to be slightly more elegant, there isn’t much room for an extensive wardrobe if you are living on board a yacht, and of course many are the 1 or 2 weeks a year sailors eager to party and enjoy their holiday. New Crew Save clothes and deck shoes abound. And you can hear the sound of gin splashing into tonic as the sun goes down.
To get into the spirit I jumped in the sea off Turunc this week. Voluntarily and intentionally for a change. Well I was badgered into it by being called a wimp, but Iwasn’t pushed . It was surprisingly warm, and my heart didn’t stop with the shock. Good job , as I haven’t bothered with medical insurance either.

Pussies Galore

My friends think I have turned into the archetypal English middle aged spinster. I live in Turkey but I live alone, I paint, I wear gloves for gardening , I go for long walks with my dog, and I have four cats. Help. The next thing you know I will be collecting money for animal charities and working in a charity shop. Well actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about. You would think that four cats is probably more than enough , but I have just met someone who has sixty times that number, the actual number varies between 200 and 250.
Her name is Jeannie Thirkill, and she runs a cat neutering centre just on the edge of Armutalan. There, in grounds of about 6000 donum, on the hillsides surrounded by olive trees, about 250 cats live in little huts. Some are permanent residents, some are being treated for illness, and some are street cats, there whilst they are neutered , before being returned to the streets. When I visited to see if I could help, my dog bit Jeannies’ dog, but I hope she is still going to let me help. There was an article in the post about Jeannie and the work she does recently, so I won’t repeat that, but she does need help, not more cats - donations, volunteers to help in the care and maintenance of the centre, or in fund raising. If you want to help, you can contact her at : info@allaboutmarmaris.com Please help.
My cats of course are pampered pussies, and now they have settled into our new home in Beldibi, they are demonstrating their gratitude by bringing me gifts of local bird and wild life. Occasionally in pieces, Sweeet. They keep me warm at night though(the cats not their gifts), a necessity at the moment as the electricity is a bit variable. It seems that some dispute has prevented the houses being properly taken over by the electricity company, so it’s on a sort of temporary ( and expensive) basis - If other people have their heaters etc on, which they do in the evenings, there isn’t enough power to get to mine. Or, and I don’t understand why, my trip just trips, frequently. Its been like this for 3 years apparently. I find that an amazing facet of life in Turkey, the acceptance by my Turkish neighbours that things just won’t work, and nothing can be done about it. They don’t even moan about it. The expats moan of course, but like me end up going round in circles trying to find out how it can be sorted out. Then sigh and pour another beer.
When I got over the frenzy of moving I realised it was February. I hate February – Even here the skies are grey, it rains a lot, and it’s cold. I know England is in the grip of a second ice age, but it is supposed to be a miserable place. Here isn’t . In England I would of course have a cold or flu now, and I always managed to do something silly around this time of the year - get married, divorced, fired etc. I don’t have a cold or flu now but I have done something silly . I was performing one of my spinster duties – walking the dog, and she leapt lithely up some rocks so I lithely followed. It was a bit wet at the time and I lithely slipped. Unfortunately I lithely slipped backwards, and landed on my back on another rock. As I lay there whimpering , thoughts rushed through my head – the incredible stabbing pain must be a ruptured kidney or liver ? I must have broken some ribs ? I don’t have my phone! Could I crawl the half mile back to my house? Had I got my lipstick for the ambulance? I remembered the Turkish for ‘pain’ –‘agri’, and’ back ‘- ‘surt’. And ‘owwww s...t ‘ , ‘owwwww lanet olsun’.
A friend helped me back and went to the chemist to get me some pain killers and I have perfected a method of getting out of bed without screaming too much. It involves a sort of sideways roll off, onto my knees, then a slow lift from the hips, rather like praying. I get it wrong sometimes and then I do invoke my makers help. “Aaaaah God.” I’ve been told that the act of praying on your knees is actually a good way to exercise and stay supple. . Wish I had done more of it. So now I don’t just do middle aged spinster things, I walk like one ! I get ladies coming up to sympathise with me in supermarkets. I wont be doing a lot of sailing for a while, so finding ways to raise some money to help needy Kits will be a good way of occupying my time. This time of the year is the leanest for them as well.

A Moving Experience

I had a crowd of friends round for a pre Xmas drink and also as a sort of farewell ‘ forgotten but not gone’ party, before I move from Dalyan to Beldibi. It was a mixed crowd of people, English,Turkish Dutch and German . There seemed to be more women than men and I realised that seven of the women there, Turkish and yabanci, had been invited as couples, but none of their partners had come. The partners are all Turkish men. Now they all speak English, most are friends of mine as well, and I wouldn’t call any of them shy, but they didn’t come. I remembered one asking me if it would be all yabanci, I said no there would be Turkish friends, male friends, but he didn’t look convinced. If they had come then they would have been in Turkish company, but the Raki that I had bought went unopened and they missed a fun evening.
I know that it has been the tradition for men and women to socialise separately, but none of these men appear to be traditional. In Britain immigrants are often criticised for remaining in their ethnic groups; that happens here as well, but there is a large element of the local culture forcing that separation, which is really sad. It rather reminded me of Yorkshire in the 1960’s, with separate bar lounges for men and the twain ne’er meeting. Actually according to the Daily Mail (this is the only time you will ever hear me quote it, ever) in Yorkshire the sexes still go out separately , but to get drunk. Wonder what it will be like here in 40 years time ?
Turkish boat owners were conspicuously absent from the marina Xmas party as well. I know it was Xmas and that’s not celebrated here, but the yabancis happily go to Byram parties . OK - most yabancis will go anywhere where there is booze. The local TV station were doing interviews at the party. Isn’t it strange that if someone sticks a microphone in your face you lose the ability to talk sensibly. I just simpered blondily, and said, In answer to the question ‘ what do you want for 2009’, “well I should say world peace, haha, but I just want to enjoy myself, and do something nice”. Doh! Bet Hilary Clinton or Mrs Obama would have come up with something a bit more meaningful. In fact I bet Page 3 girl Jordan would have come up with something more meaningful.
We all won a prize in the draw at the marina party. The Star prize was a bike, but Offshore Skipper Dave didn’t win that, he won a sailing course which pleased him no end. I got a glass hedgehog and a glass thing with an engraving of a legless golfer. It might be a para olympics trophy ? Make a nice present for someone next year I think. I know a few sailors who are frequently legless.
I woke on the boat in Netsel marina on xmas morning, to find an enormous cruise ship blotting out the sun . It made a startling contrast to the picturesque scene of the castle and its surrounds sparkling in the bright sunshine. The revellers from the ship straggled through the marina mall. Italian women in stilettos, French in hats and chic boots and English in shorts and wellies. Quite a lot of passengers stood on the quay side, I suppose they just came for what must be one long party, and weren’t interested in seeing the places that they stop at. The boat is really just an enormous floating hotel, and it could probably not bother to go anywhere, just sail it round in gentle circles, and everyone would be happy.

Then the big day, moving to Marmaris .A friend had found a real removal firm. He had never met them or heard about them but he assured me they were professional. They were due at 9.00 but turned up at 11.15 - they had had a puncture ! But the lorry was big and they seemed to know what to do. They didn’t want to walk through the gardens from the front so they built steps out of rocks so they could climb over the back wall and take everything that way. I had packed most stuff , but I needed a couple more boxes. They didnt have any. They had instead rolls of cling film. Giant cling film They didn’t take the books out of the book case, they cocooned it all in cling film and carried it out like a giant fly caught in a web. I left them to it and when I got back found that they had gift wrapped everything including the rubbish bags I had put outside, the crockery I had left for the lady buying my house , and the cat food left for Faz to feed the cats, and it was all on the lorry.
They stopped for a late lunch on the way to marmaris, then they got stopped by the gendarma check point. . They waved me through but I stopped and said it was my furniture , I explained I was moving to Marmaris and a very nice gendarme, said 'Welcome to Marmaris' and let them through. Then they got stopped by a police road block. I tried the ' its my furniture' routine again, but this time the policeman said they had to check their papers , but it would only take 10 minutes. I let lucy dog out for a stretch and she charmed the policeman. He introduced me to the police captain and when I said I was a yacht captain they took my tel number and made a date to come sailing with me. Aren;t Turlish policemen wonderful.
We finally got there at 4.00 to find the lorry was too big to get down the narrow road to the house. After much muttering and climbing over walls they all disappeared , to reappear 15mins later with a small truck which they used to ferry everything from the big truck, and then drop it over the wall at the back. They were amazing . One man effortlessly carried the bookcasecocoon on his back from the ferry lorry and up 2 flights of stairs ! They finished in darkness, but everything was in one piece apart from a box of food stuffs. They had put it intact on on the floor and when I picked it up the bottom fell out depositing a mixture of rice, soy sauce and cereals ( bran flakes and fruit ) on the floor. I gave them an extra extra big tip - they were worth it.
Before I left I went for a last walk along the Iztuzu beach in Dalyan. This time of the year it is perfect, empty of people, and unspoilt by sunbeds, umbrellas and litter. It does have a new and rather worrying sign though. About half way along. It says - ‘It is forbidden to swim in this area as it is out of control’ . On the walk back I kept looking over my shoulder to see anyone was about to attack me . No-one did. I hope I’ll be safer in Beldibi.