TOM’S JOTTINGS - A Turkish Experience June 2002 Arriving at the old Dalaman airport was as confusing as trying to find an apostrophe on a Russian keyboard because it was 3.30 in the morning, there were the shouts from the tour operators and taxi drivers trying to find their clients as well as a plethora of name boards and hotel hoardings. After dodging the smoking throngs of those who have been unable to smoke for four and half hours you are channelled into the area for selecting your destination and hotel. Paying the ten pounds visa fee seemed a cheap way to get into fresh air of beachside Dalaman. So how was it that I had found myself amongst a crowd of sun seeking, beer swilling British holidaymakers in a country I had never visited or
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