Tuesday 6th May 2008 Antalya

Tuesday 6th May 2008.
And now, the end is near and so we face the final morning.

It’s our birthday. We woke up and wished each other a happy one.

We had to be up at six, this didn’t go down well with either of us. I got up with a hanging feeling of dread. I wasn’t looking forward to this trip at all because I felt as though we’d taken too much on.

We were flying home today and after being up at six, spending all day out in the blistering heat, having no room to come back to and then having to get to the airport and spend all night travelling I figured we were asking for trouble.

Today’s trip was to the city of Antalya. The airport is also at Antalya. This meant travelling the same long journey there and back and there again to get our flight all in the same day.

And then there was the whole toilet issue. I’d been absolutely fine since my one bad do... but I convinced myself that I was going to have the galloping trots all day and if I was sick with it, well, I’d be suicidal. I don’t do public toilets at the best of times. I have retained all manner of screw-ups from my time in care. We slept eight to a dorm and the only time I could use the toilet was between the hours of three and five in the morning because that’s the only time I could get any privacy. It left me with a psychological feeling that toileting was dirty and something to be undertaken furtively. I can’t even pee in a public loo in case anybody else comes in, the thought of anything else just isn’t happening. And that’s without even thinking about my other toilet hang-up about hygiene. And I can’t ever forget my biggest hang-up of all; we were going on a coach and sometimes people get travel sick on coaches. Whenever I use any form of public transport I have to talk myself down from the thought that somebody might be sick in the confined space, trapping me between their vomit and the exit. That’s a problem easily solved, you might think, just make sure you sit right at the front where you can get off and if anybody’s ill, it’s behind you and you can’t see it.

Er… no! That’s much worse, isn’t it? Somebody might puke right behind me and it might hit me at the back of the head and tangle up in my hair and drip down my forehead and be all warm and smelly on my neck, good God no.

So with all things taken into consideration I wasn’t sure about going on this trip at all.

I had no idea what to wear. We’d been told that if we wanted to shower or change later that we’d have to use the Relaxation Centre. Russ picked out his clothes for the trip, his clothes for before we left and his clothes for coming home. That was three outfits, and of course he couldn’t use the same footwear for all three events. To hell with that, it seemed like way too much messing around to me. We had to leave our stuff in a lock-up by the gatehouse, which would mean backwardsing and forwardsing from one side of the complex to the other.

I declared that I was picking out one outfit and it would damned well do me from the second we left the room until the second I walked through my front door at home. Hell, I’ve done festivals, I could hack it. I’d been fantasising about a hot bath for days and roughing it for twenty four hours would just make it all the better when we got home.

“Okay,” said Russ doubtfully, “But you know what you’re like for changing your knickers.”

Hmm, good point, I’d brought twenty one thongs for one week. Sitting on a hot sticky coach all day, wandering around a hot dusty city, waiting in a hot sweaty airport, having a hot, humid kinty after a week of accelerated sexual activity. It’d be a breeding ground for infection.

“Oh, you decide then,” I said ungraciously. Sometimes when I’ve either got my ‘fat bastard’ head on or just can’t make up my mind Russ chooses what I’m going to wear for any given occasion. It gives me a target to fire at if I feel uncomfortable about anything later.

He chose two outfits for me. One would do for the trip and in-between time and one to travel home. For the trip I wore a strappy blue t-shirt dress over a bikini and flip flops.

“But it shows my tattoos”

“You look fine.”

“I look like a freak.”

He threw a purple cardigan at me, “Can we just go?”

“No, the purple of the cardy clashes with the turquoise of my dress.”

“Out!” he bellowed.

“How inconsiderate, shouting at six in the morning,” was my parting shot as we finally left the room with three minutes to walk three miles of walkway to the hotel lobby, (okay, I admit, I exaggerate) with three ton of luggage.

The day is one that will stay with me for the rest of my life. With the exception of two boring bits it was the most fantastic day.

Our guide for the day was Eren, he could blab on a bit but he was a lovely young man and it was good to see him again. He remembered our names. He must see hundreds of people every week and if he can remember the names of all of them he must be a walking encyclopaedia. The drive to Antalya was uneventful. Most of it was motorway. Eren told the story about the ketchup and the house building again and it was an opportunity for me to relax and for Russ to catch up on the breakfast he’d missed from the picnic I’d prepared.

The first stop was a waterfall.

I should have learned to be more open-minded after I didn’t want to see the amphitheatre after already visiting the ancient city. The two were very different. I’d already seen one impressive waterfall, what was the point of doing another one? I was wrong Manavgat and Antalya falls are as different as cheesecake and a cheese sandwich.

The Timotei falls are tropical. They were more beautiful than impressive. Yes, if you had nothing to compare them with they were high and gushing … but for sheer grandeur they were nothing compared to the cliff falls of Antalya. But then, the Antalya falls would never give the feeling of being in a special, magical place that the Timotei falls do. They each scored ten out of ten from me but for very different reasons.

We got out of the coach in a park at the top of a cliff. The noise was deafening and although we couldn’t see the falls because we were standing on top of them, we could certainly hear them. The Antalya falls are an immense clashing of titans, the meeting place where river and sea join in combat. We had to walk down a heavily fenced walkway to get slightly down wind of the falls themselves. Planners had given thought to the impact they wanted to make by planting hedgerows to block the view of them until you hit the exact point at which they looked their most impressive. Suddenly the bushes gave way to the vista of sea and falls. To the left the cliff rose hundreds of feet from the sea and from a dam at the apex the water cascaded over the cliff face to crash into the sea on the rocks at the bottom. It took my breath away. Nature had only been given a slight nudge by the hand of intervention to make something that could surely go head to head with Niagra and hold its own. I wondered how many people had disregarded the fencing and had taken their lives over that cliff. It was nature at it’s wildest and in three seconds we were covered in sea-spray and salt. We’d been given an hour to walk down the trail and enjoy the views. The falls themselves were impressive, but the sea from this vantage point was spectacular. I love the sea at Morecambe where I lived for some years. I think of her as an old sea, She’s bitter and mean. This sea was young and playful with it’s blue and green coral reefs spreading colour and the illusion of warmth. We took some amazing photographs and I felt sad that in twenty-four hours I’d be back in England where our town seems colourless and bleak.

The next two visits did bore me.

Next stop was an enormous jewellery factory. Dull, dull, dull. After being in there for two minutes and seeing the prices I realised that there was absolutely no opportunity for gift buying and just wanted to get out into the sunshine with my book for half an hour. Unfortunately that wasn’t so easy.

I had a halfhearted glance into one of the display cases and a man appeared at our shoulder. This man wasn’t like one of the market traders. He wore a designer suit. He was sixty, grey haired and paler than most Turks. He had ample middle age spread and wore a watch and bracelet that hadn’t come out of a lucky bag. His shoes were crocodile skin and I expect they were real ... well that was never going to endear him to me. He was polite and charming but after five minutes I wanted to punch him in his jowly chops.

Fine jewellery leaves me cold. It does absolutely nothing for me at all. I have one decent ring that Russ bought me after we’d been together for a year. I love that because it meant so much to him to give it to me. It is insured for two hundred quid and let me tell you, you couldn’t buy a single thing in that factory for that price.

To me good jewellery carries responsibility. I’m not good with responsibility. I love my jangles as much s the next woman but my three quid market stall diamonds sparkle just as brightly when they are new as this man’s five hundred thousand pound diamonds do.

He lectured us on the history of Turkish gold, where it is mined, how it is graded and the method of manufacture. This was all very interesting and I didn’t mind listening to him for five minutes. He dragged us through room after room of obscenely valuable displays and after the first room my attention lapsed. Russ made the fatal mistake of telling the man that it was our joint Birthday and, spotting a sales opportunity, Blingman went in for the hard sell. The cheapest jewellery on offer began at about three hundred and fifty English pounds. The factory was raking it in with the five euro entrance fee, like the restaurant a few days earlier they copped for every coach load passing thorough, as did the textile factory that we were dragged around next. However apart from the turnstile revenue I couldn’t see them doing much tourist trade at those prices. But then again one man on our coach did buy his lady a lower end ring at several hundred pounds so I suppose if they get one sale from every coach, it pays somebody’s wages.

I’d had enough and wanted to get out in the sun. At this point I was still smiley smiley polite and thanked the man very much. We shook hands and Russ and I made to walk away.

We made it about five paces across the room. “Sir, sir, the lady she like this one, is only fifteen thousand euro. Try it on. Try it on.” We’d already tried on dozens of rings, my finger had swollen in revolt.

“No thank you … Russ get me out of here.”

We saw an exit sign and followed it.

It took us into another display room.

“This one is very beautiful sir.” He appeared at our shoulder again.

We saw an exit sign and followed it.

It took us to another display room.

“This emerald here is only Nine thousand euro, perfect Birthday present, momento of Antalya.”

We saw an exit sign and followed it.

It took us into another display room.

“Ahh sir, the watch room. Is very expensive David Backham watches. This watch is one and a half million euro. Sir Like?”

I remember once trying to drive out of Corfu old town. For two hours every road we took somehow led us straight back into the Old Town square again. Here every exit sign just led through the warren of identical display rooms, in fact we’d probably been going around in circles and had glazed through the same room ten times. After the initial few minutes all the jewellery looked the same. And always that insidious man was there trying to get us to buy something that we’d already told him we could never afford. Couldn’t he see he was flogging a dead donkey? Just because it was our Birthday didn’t mean that we’d automatically sell a kidney each to be able to buy one of his stupid rings. At the exit to every room we shook his hand and said goodbye, we’d pass through the marble arch and there he’d be again with a brand new sales pitch.

Back on the coach we were sitting on the backseat. I did a quick check of the luggage area behind us in case he was lurking there with a glint in his gold tooth and a sapphire in his hand. Rarely do I get the urge to physically assault smiling people who have been nothing but pleasant to me. This was one of the exceptions.

The textiles factory was nowhere near as bad. In fact I quite enjoyed that one because we were treated to a full on fashion show. It was just like being on America’s Next Top Model. The show was spectacular and the leather was far removed from dull old black leather jackets.

I was ashamed to be British when a mob from Bolton, or somewhere similar thought it was clever to insult the models. The people involved weren’t on our coach so luckily we were on the other side of the runway to them, but they were horrible.

“Look at her, calls herself a model. Fuck me she’s ugly. Oi, you got any knickers on under there missus? Don’t give up your day job love.”

And to the men.

“Grrrr get `em off. Show us your cock. Ooh I wouldn’t mind getting in that coat with him.”

I felt so sorry for the models who were very professional and carried on regardless. I made a point of trying to look interested and smiling at them when they made eye contact with me. This was very embarrassing though; it meant that one of the male models flirted with me. Part of their act was to be very ‘arrogant’. The girl’s kept their cool despite all the cat calling and the men glared at them. But they’d obviously been told that if a woman makes eye contact with them to single her out and make her feel ‘special’. This was just a little bit condescending and I felt myself blushing furiously as these gorgeous twenty year old’s said with their eyes and posture, “Oh, old, fat, wrinkly, ugly woman, If you’d only buy one of these leather coats you would be so beautiful that you’d outshine any of these stunning models. I’d want to rip your clothes off and make love to you.” On his last walk he even looked me right in the eye and ran his hand over his privates. Russ thought it was hilarious because normally I’m un-shockable and don’t get embarrassed by anything. You can’t manage a sex shop and have a thin skin. I don’t know why this made me squirm so much, the lad was only acting a part but I was crimson.

I couldn’t help smiling, as I remembered the time, not so long ago, when Chris Owen, the owner of London’s top modelling agency, interviewed me (Jane Doe two). He said that I’d left a more lasting impression that most of the top models he interviewed. And okay he didn’t sign me up to walk beside Naomi Campbell, but he did like my shoes and it goes down as one of my top five most bizarre days.

After the show we were frogmarched into the factory. I picked up a gaudy red leather cape. A man was there instantly flinging it around my shoulders. It cost two grand. He saw my reaction to the price tag and wasn’t going to waste a second more of his precious time on me. Now that’s the way to do it. I felt like chasing him across the floor and kissing him.

We experienced a familiar problem when three seconds later, having seen al that we wanted to, we tried to get out. The exit led to another show room, and another and another. Finally we found the café and souvenir shop. But even these were four of five times more expensive than the shops in Belek, selling exactly the same merchandise. Russ wanted to buy a Hello Kitty beach towel for Tia, but it was over fifteen pounds in English money. I persuaded him against it and said that he’d probably find the same thing for a fiver in Antalya. Nobody bought anything from the textile factory.

That was the worst part of the day over.

We didn’t stop again until we reached Antalya Old Town. This part of the city dated back to Roman occupation and began at Hadrian’s Gate. The gate, only a modest three arches, still stands. It was a tunnel, possibly ten feet long, you entered in two thousand and eight and alighted the other end in thirteen hundred and something. Getting off the coach we’d had to side step Turks in trainers and hoodies. Thirty footsteps further on and the locals wore traditional dress. This was probably a publicity stunt for us tourists, but I didn’t get the impression that this was a mock-up. It felt as thought the people we were mingling with actually lived on a day-to-day basis like this. We saw very few women. I asked Eren about this and he said that traditional Muslim women stay in the home. It’s unseemly for them to walk in the street. What kind of repressed life must those poor women lead? And what did the men think of me and my kind, parading through their neighbourhood with my knees bare and my cleavage on display?

The old town was wonderful. It was dirty and the poverty apparent but the people all seemed so happy and unencumbered by life. Men sat smoking outside the hookah cafes and dingy taverns. Most of the trade was textile orientated. Rug making was highly in evidence and the clothes shops were all traditional. The men wore the long stripy kaftan type things and intricate head coverings. Flies feasted on the measly arrangement of fresh produce on display outside the greengrocers. There were knife grinders, bread and fish sellers walking the streets with two baskets hanging from a rod across their shoulders and the shoe shine men called their trade as we passed. The streets were narrow and cobbled and the only structure that showed any opulence at all was the mosque with its blue tiled walls and elegant minaret.

Eren took us to a museum. It was showing three exhibitions. The first was a series of photographs of traders from the past. Next was a collection of pottery excavated from somewhere or other, and lastly a mock up of a house in Eighteenth Century Antalya.

The photographs were fascinating. The things that struck me was that most of the street sellers were old, though I’m sure they were a lot younger than they looked. Heavy beards, grime and a hard lifestyle must be very aging. But most of all they looked so sad. They didn’t look like a happy people at all and I suspect life for them was very grim.

The crocks were neither here nor there and didn’t do much for me at all and the mock up of the house wasn’t very good. The house was supposedly a great dignitary’s home, but even so I was very surprised that they had elegant wallpaper in those days. Each room had a selection of mannequins to show what they wore and how they lived and I was surprised to see the lady of the house smoking an opium pipe. The men have kept their women like animals and suppressed them for many centuries and to this day and yet the ladies were able to smoke opium in their drawing rooms.

We came out into a lovely courtyard and were met by a huge domestic tortoise who’d trundled along to see what all the noise was about. Of course I was in my element and plonked onto the cobbles to play with him. He was quite happy to crawl all over me and really enjoyed the fuss that people make of him. I just wish I’d had some fruit or veg on me to feed him.

We walked about a mile from the old town into Antalya new city centre and I was quite glad that the culture part of our day was over. I’d really enjoyed it but I was very aware that I hadn’t bought presents for everybody and this was our last opportunity to do it, otherwise we’d be picking up stuff from duty free on the way home.

On the way into the city Eren explained that Antalya is called The Orange City and the orange is the city mascot. The North South East and West roundabouts all have a massive orange football in the centre of them to mark the boundaries of the City. This is a new and modern City, there is no evidence of the Roman influence here and the focus is on industry and retail. But, for all of its commercialism, it’s still a very pretty city. Every street is lined with orange trees and as we walked under them the fruit was just beginning to ripen and colour. Eren took us to a massive square where most of the party were going to have dinner. We’d taken a picnic with us and although lunch sounded like a cracking idea we decided to forego it in favour of going shopping with our free time.

I took a deep breath and gave myself a firm talking to about patience. These people trade according to their culture and although it might drive me mad when I’m hot and fractious and just want to make my purchase, this is what visiting a foreign country is all about.

Self inflicted lecture over, I was calm and well up for it.

Russ only wanted one thing, a hello kitty beach towel for Tia.

My shopping list was more extensive and I was a woman on a mission. The real shock of the day was that in the bustling city the traders weren’t bothered about haggling. What a blessed relief that was. We actually engaged them in the process to get a bit knocked off but their prices were far more rigid than anywhere else we’d been.

My first purchase was six boxes of mixed Turkish Delight. You cannot go to Turkey and not bring back three tons of that stuff. I got six, kilo boxes and came away with them at about a pound a box, which I was very happy with. However I was to pay through the nose for them later and their true cost rolled in at about thirty pounds.

We were in the next shop for about an hour, but that was because we wanted to be. I saw a huge carved iguana. He was about a foot tall and two foot long. I’d already bought a big pot tortoise. Russ was worried about weight, but there were lizards for sale I wasn’t concerned with such piffle paffle. I picked a jewelled knife for Col, while Russ went green worrying about getting it through customs. The man said it would be okay as long as I declare it and that was good enough for me. I bought jewellery for presents, Sandy, Nix and my Sunday girls despite having already bought them necklaces. The other ones only cost a quid each and I felt that I could do a bit better than that. I bought Russ a big tankard for his Birthday. He got one from Prague and it’s become tradition now. And I laid my eyes on a second carved lizard, this one a gila monster, but even I had to draw the line somewhere. The jewellery that I bought for people was beautiful. We spend a few minutes haggling with the man and got him down from a hundred and forty to a nice round hundred lira, which converts to less than fifty quid. I was very happy.

But there wasn’t much to buy for children. I was beginning to panic about the grandkids. Russ suggested I look in a baby shop. For eight English pounds I bought Daisy the most gorgeous little outfit. I didn’t even attempt to haggle the woman down because it would have cost far move over here.

Finally in a market arcade I bought Marty a Dolce and Gabbana (top drawer copy) cotton and lycra shirt in white and Kane got an Addidas tracksuit that came down from thirty English pounds to twenty. Russ was disappointed because he couldn’t find the Hello Kity beach towel anywhere. But while we were looking I bought myself a pair of siren red ali-babba pants. I figured that with stilettos they’d look really good for a night out. I love anything different and unusual.

My only disappointment was over some handbags that I wanted to buy. The man was asking fifty euro each for them. They were gorgeous leather and tapestry small holdall type shoulder bags. I thought they’d be great for Sami, Nix and the Sunday girls. I’d spent very little and wanted to buy them something really nice. Fifty euros is twenty pounds and I wasn’t prepared to pay that for them. I asked if I could have them for ten euros but the man was having none of it. My final offer was five bags for a hundred and twenty but we couldn’t strike a deal so I left them behind.

Russ bought me the most beautiful butterfly pendant. It cost about twelve pounds (expensive for me) and I absolutely love it. The necklace becomes especially interesting later. It’s a large circle with a big butterfly with spread wings within it. The circle is edged with diamante and the butterfly has peach enamel decaling.

We finished our shopping and still had an hour and a half of free time left.

Walking around we found a lovely restaurant in the centre of the city. Russ had the kebab and fries and I just got a portion of fries and a tzaziki dip. We had proper milky coffee and sat outside in big comfy armchairs. It was a fantastic, romantic, wonderful birthday. The city was bustling and we sat for over an hour just watching it drift past us. Nobody hassled us to leave, the staff were absolutely charming and we were allowed to leave a tip. The sun was blazing and I didn’t want to leave to go back to the coach. I certainly didn’t want to go home and face whatever was waiting for us there. We couldn’t have asked to share a better birthday.