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We felt some earth tremors in Datca.
"Its nothing", smiled the locals,"Don't worry". At 6 O'Clock on the Tuesday morning there was an earthquake measured at 5.6 on the Richter scale.
I woke first with the bed shuffling beneath me. Linda awoke with a squeal a couple of seconds later. We hugged each other frozen on the bed as the earthquake proceeded for perhaps 10 or 15 seconds. We were shaken both up and down and from side to side at the same time, accompanied by a muted clinking as the contents of the room brushed and rubbed against their neighbours. Subsequently our memories include a distant rumble but I cannot discount the possibility that this has been added by our imaginations.
After the quake we laid on the bed for a few minutes lodging somewhere between shock and surprise.
Noises came up from outside and I went on the balcony to find that the rest of the town had abandoned their beds in favour of the street. In retrospect I considered this a reasonable strategy and we formulated a plan of action for any future occurrence.
A decent aftershock at about 7am persuaded us to
vacate the building. This was the only time the town had appeared busy with all the restaurants full.
Of course, once the seismic activity has occurred you never know if there is worse to come. There were 5 or 6 further aftershocks that day and tremors continued, with declining frequency, over the next 7 to 10 days.
Some Turks were spooked that first morning and could be seen packing their cars for an early drive home. We could not quantify the risks of Datca versus anywhere else so it seemed sensible not to let it affect our itinerary (such as it is).
The longer we stayed in Datca, the more we liked it.
At the end of 2 weeks I thought that should be enough and bought a bus ticket to Marmaris. Then at the bank the cash machine swallowed my card and Linda was up all night with a severe tummy upset. I can take a hint. We stayed another week.
Even then it was difficult to to leave. By then we had made friends with the waiters on the beach to the extent that they were saving sun loungers for us and
bringing us a free tea at lunchtime.
The grape vines on our balcony were still burgeoning even though we had a bunch nearly every day for 3 weeks. We took 2 large bunches with us, leaving plenty for the next guy.
The road from Datca to Marmaris is along a mountainous peninsular with sweeping bays appearing on either side at the bottom of pine clad slopes. For the first time a pension owner quoted us a silly price and I had to put my bargaining skills into action (down from £18 to £13 for a scruffy room and no breakfast). Sellers market.
I suppose Marmaris is the less sophisticated of the resort towns we have visited so far. Beach, bars and fish N chips. The shallow beach was crammed with sunbeds along its entire length. A lot more flesh was on display than we had previously been used to.
The laws of supply and demand were neatly exemplified.Just about everything was expensive except for beer (55p a pint) and English breakfasts (£1 with a little searching). We took the opportunity to indulge in one and overindulge in the other.
Marmaris is a
great place for a package holiday, ideally located to see some of the best of Turkey, but it was not worth worth than a couple of days of our time.
Only an hour away is the lakeside town of Koycegiz (pronounced Kojz) but it is barely on the touristic map. We had been there a week before we spoke to another native English speaker.
Koycegiz sits on the northern tip of of a large freshwater lake which runs into the Mediterranean sea. The waters are a curious and changing shade of green, probably due to a rich mineral content and the angle of incident light.
Arriving in town we hardly saw saw a soul as we trudged along a main road towards the pension. This time we got a balcony, lake view, AC, and breakfast for the by now typical sum of £11 per night.
As we investigated the town that afternoon some workmen were erecting a large screen and setting out a couple of hundred chairs in the main square. We had arrived on the first day of a 4 day film festival which bought out the whole town and surrounding hamlets to
be entertained.
Each evening began with with a slide show and lecture by a Turkish photojournalist, who had a book to sell, followed by a documentary and then a feature film. We kept an eye on proceedings but there were only subtitles for one film (which was pretty good).
On most afternoons a wind whipped in from the Med at about 4pm and created some decent waves on the lake which made swimming a bit more interesting, particularly if you can ignore the fronds of weeds wrapping around your legs.
Everything in the town was particularly good value. Internet access was 40p per hour. Coffee and cakes in a patisserie was £1.60. We found a particularly good lokanta restaurant serving chef quality food at canteen prices (£5 for an excellent meal for 2).
For £4 each we joined a boat excursion to the perfect beach where the lake joins the sea returning via the famous Lycean tombs carved into the cliff walls at Dalyan and a mud bath and hot spa (yes we did). A decent BarBQ lunch was included.
The pension provided bikes for guests use. Unfortunately there were no pumps or adjustment spanners
so that, out of a collection of 24 bikes, we could not find any that suited our dimensions. Nonetheless we cycled(uncomfortably) to the next village and sat in the tiny cafe while the local men played the Turkish game of Okay (which we have yet to fathom).
We were ready to leave after 5 days however now it was my turn to to suffer from a major stomach upset and we hung around for another 4 days. During this time there were 2 wedding parties by the lake at which all comers could join in with the dancing.(Arms in the air, swing the shoulders was the uniform technique for all).
Another 90 minute bus journey along the coast brought us to Fethiye a major market town The pension was a half hour walk walk from the town centre but the peaceful location and lovely sea view made up for it. Fethiye is an ideal base for all sorts of touristic activities, so we started to do the rounds.
The first day we went to the beach at Olu Deniz. This is famed for its lagoon, all but separated from the sea by a long spit. These days
you have to pay to get to the lagoon so we didn't bother. I don't remember being impressed when I was here 20 years ago. The main beach is long and stony but the sea was producing waves up to 10 feet high so it was good fun for me and we planned to return.
The next day we went to the abandoned town of Kayakoy. This was once a substantial town inhabited by several thousand Greeks. In the 1920s the borders between Greece and turkey were formalised, resulting in a large movement of both nationalities into their respective lands. The town was not reinhabited by Turks and so was left to decay, resulting in an interesting relic today. We virtually had the whole place to ourselves.
On the Monday we decided to take a day trip to the Saklikent gorge. Unwittingly we found we had boarded a bus doing a tour instead of a direct bus. First it took us to a cave complex, then on to the ancient city of Tlos set on a mountain top in a dramatic vista. Then up towards the top of a mountain where ice cold spring water erupted from the
ground and was channelled through an imaginative array of pools and ponds.
We arrived at Saklikent at around 3pm and the rest of the group decided to have a buffet dinner. This didn't suit us so we headed for the gorge. After paying 80p each to get in there is a board walk suspended above the river running through the gorge. This arrives on a patch of stony shingle where preparations are made to wade through the running stream and venture further into the gorge.
At this point I turned, tripped and stumbled along the waters edge, coming to rest prostrated around a large boulder. I knew straight away that my right arm was useless.
A Turkish man helped me up and we checked that I could open and close my fingers etc. I sat down, winded, for 10 minutes until I got my breath back. It was only when I stood up that I realised that my arm was hanging at an unusual angle and then that the bone had been displaced from its socket.
We returned to the entrance of the gorge seeking medical attention, but there was none. We then found
the tour driver who called a fellow dolmus driver and we headed back to Fethiye on this public transport with Linda supporting my arm across her chest. The journey took about 1 hour and the driver kindly diverted from his usual route to drop me off at the front door of the Letoon Hospital.
I was taken into a reception room where I took off my shirt for the first time to witness the stub of my bone pushing against the skin above my shoulder blade. I was sent for an X-ray and then a small collection of doctors and nurses gathered to assess me and the results as I lay prone on a trolley bed.
The arm was replaced under general anaesthetic. Someone was tapping my forehead and saying my name, I responded and was wheeled into a private room to come around. I heard Linda admitted and, after some groggy communication I asked her to take my photograph. My camera was still in my pocket and she withdrew it in pieces.
Once fully conscious, I went to the admin office to complete the insurance details. The procedure had cost over £400, double what
I paid for the travel insurance. And we are still covered for the rest of the trip, jammy or what!
My arm was trussed up in a sling which I was told to wear for a month - somewhat inconvenient when you are travelling in a hot country and sweating buckets daily.
I was surprised to find the next day that I felt fine so we scouted around Fethiye market to buy some front fastening shirts (nice ones £4.50 each down from £10. Linda got some fashionable sandals for £2). We also found a shop which would exchange our paperbacks. I bought a Turkish language course so they generously exchanged the books on a 1 for 1 basis.
I have completed the Turkish Linguaphone course that I brought with me and, along with other bits and pieces that I have picked up, can communicate in Turkish at a level sufficient to meet my daily needs. I can ask the questions, the usual problem is understanding the answers.
In need of some R and R we moved on to Patara, a big beach with a small village down the road.
Twenty years ago I remember sitting
on the wide, empty sands thinking that this fine beach would inevitably become lined with prestigious hotels. I am glad to report that I was wrong. The area has been saved by a combination of nesting turtles and significant archaeological remains.
The beach is not a hidden gem as buses regularly convey holidaymakers from nearby towns, but it remains virtually undeveloped, boasting a cafe at each end, 17 km apart.
The village of Patara consists mainly of a collection of pensions, hotels and restaurants and would be considered unremarkable were it not for the laid back atmosphere created by its friendly inhabitants. This works well for them as many of the visitors we met, mostly retired, return year after year.
We took a pensýon wýth a swýmmýng pool. Rightly or wrongly I thought this might be good for some gentle exercise of my shoulder, and over the next few days there was a notable improvement in the range of mobility of my arm. During the first week I could do the breast stroke and I introduces a gentle crawl as my confidence increased. By the time we left I could do 30 lengths of the
pool with no trouble. (It was a small pool).
On the second day Cliff and Cecelia from Bristol arrived at the pension. Cliff was recovering from illness, but Cecelia turned out to be a streak of pure energy wrapped in the body of a 68 year old. She reminded me of Q from Star Trek.
Over the next two weeks we spent nearly every waking hour in her company, only retreating occasionally for a rest. We visited both ends of the beach and negotiated over sand dunes to an alternative entry point. When Cecelia led the way on walks around and about the village no-one was unaware of her passing.
Finally we returned to Saklikent gorge. I inspected the location of my accident and was surprised to discover that I had stumbled along the waters edge for a good 5 metres before wrapping myself around a prominent rock. Cecelia and I then hired a pair of inner tubes to float down the river through isolated scenery for a few kilometres.
Linda and I the moved on to Kas(h), where our main objective was to renew our visas for another 3 months by day tripping to
Greece.
After 2 days "hanging out" on our own, Cliff and Cecelia joined us for the boat trip to Meis (aka Castellorizo to the Greeks). Meis town consists of little more than a stretch of shops and restaurants around a harbour, overlooked by a small harbour. Quaint is the word. There is a duty free shop but prices are cheaper still in Turkey.
Back in Kas, I noticed a camera of the same model as that I had smashed in a camera shop. I asked the guy how much it was."£300" he replied. I produced the carcase of my damaged camera and told him I had paid £100 for it 3 months ago. "OK, £100" he said, and I was back in business.
I visited a doctor (consultation fee £33) because a longstanding fatty lump on my chest had become angry and inflamed. She diagnosed an abscess (as I suspected) and prescribed 5 days of antibiotics in the hope that it would go away.
Next stop Olympos, a stretch of pensions in a mountain valley adjacent to the ancient site. These pensions are romantically advertised as treehouses when, in fact, each pension has a
couple of dodgy looking treehouses out front and untold rows of wooden cabins around the back.
There is accommodation for well over 1000 people and I was surprised to discover that this is firmly on the student trail and full to capacity in high summer.
For our £15 we got a cabin with bathroom, breakfast and dinner. We also got live throbbing music into the small hours, 24 hour cock-a-doodle dooing and inadvertent exposure to the vacuous chit-chat of bonding 20 somethings fresh out of university.
Receipt of dinner involved queueing up and having your portion ladled onto your plate. Natural enough for those recently out of an institution I suppose, but for me it lacked the personal touch. Fortunately, it made up in quantity what it lacked in quality.
We marked Linda's birthday by climbing the hillside at Cirali to witness the eternal flames coming out of holes in the ground. These have been recorded since ancient times when they were used as a navigation aid at sea. There were about 15 flames presumably fuelled by natural gas escaping from an underground reservoir. Apparently they ignite spontaneously when they reach the surface, although it is
not known why.
Antalya is the on this stretch of coast, and our last stop before heading inland. We alighted from the tram at the edge of the old city (Kaleici) and headed through the narrow streets to find a pension, of which there are plenty. As we booked in the pension owner asked how long we would stay. I explained that I didn't know as I had to see a doctor about my abscess.
"Ah, my friend will see to that for you" he said, and got straight on the phone.
"He will be here at 5 O'Clock" he said as he completed the call.
"OK" I replied, hoping this would be a bona fide doctor.
At 5pm I presented myself to the distinguished looking gentleman waiting in reception. He spoke no English so all communications were interpreted by third parties, which complicated things slightly.
He had a look at the abscess, asked a few cursory questions and then we went in his car to the hospital. Before I knew it I was on the operating table table being injected with local anaesthetic. I heard a "phwrr" as the pressure was released, then
lots of pressing and cutting as firstly he dealt with the abscess and then extracted the fatty lump. Procedure completed we returned to his car and he dropped us off near the pension at around 6pm. Thats what I call service.
The operation and aftercare cost £116, which I am sure the insurers will find very reasonable. I had a couple of follow up visits and now I am flying solo with a bottle of iodine, a packet of swabs and a slight queasy feeling when I remove the plaster each morning to reveal a neat little hole in my chest.
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