Who would wish to be anywhere else?

My first two years in Bodrum were spent sailing the Gulf of Gökova.  Thirty five years later, there is still no better place to be. 

Crystal clear water that flickers all shades of turquoise as the sun hits. 

Unspoilt bays 

Grilled fish, salads, fruit. 

A boat party of 10 -  born in America, England, Holland, France, Germany, Turkey and Sweden - all living in Bodrum and all agreeing that we couldn't be in a better place.  As another relative cries off travelling to Turkey, I wish the newspapers would publish stories like this.

Stretched

  

I haven't completely given in to sloth during these hot months, I am still paying twice weekly visits to The Pilates Studio in Avenue Bodrum to be stretched out on the rack  reformer machine.  I am a late convert to Pilates, having assumed that regular yoga would be enough to keep me fit, I looked from afar and decided that Pilates was just expensive yoga.  I am happy to admit that I was wrong. While yoga is great for keeping supple, working out on the reformer machine tweaks each muscle in the body just enough to strengthen muscles, improve posture and pull in the saggy bits that ageing lets hang loose.  My balance is definitely better than it was and I've got my shock absorbers back. 

Teacher Sevinç showing how it should be done

Experts Rachel and Michael before the big mat work out

Last month we were booked up to have a mat session with Michael King - roving legend of the Pilates World: ex-Pineapple studios in London, Houston Ballet Company and founder of The Pilates Institute UK ( *see his web page for the full story) but being just a few days after the attempted coup we had little expectation that the session would go ahead.  Silly us - this man has trained Madonna - a piffling armed uprising is nothing compared to a one to one with scary Madge and Michael was on the phone saying he would come by ferry if the airports were closed (they weren't) and we got our hour with trainer to the stars.  If he comes to your town I recommend you sign up too - even my little fingers felt the benefit. 

Michael and Madonna me 

* www.michaelkingpilates.com

Woof Woof

Sunday could have been a very busy day. Mumcular, our nearest town, was hosting its first traditional Bull Wrestling Festival (just how the first ever event can be classed as "traditional" is beyond me, but the semantics of Turkish has tripped me up many a time so I won't expose my ignorance any further). I was faffing about whether to go or not, then decided that two massive sides of beef crashing into each other was not my cup of tea and was able to give my full attention to the main event of the day: the Country Ranch dog show in Turgutreis.   

Jake was in with a good chance as he had a very strong support team of Marga, well-known arbiter of style and good taste,  providing him with a vanity case of costume choices, Esi, in charge of last minute grooming and Celal driving him to and from the event. 

He may be feeling a bit let down by his owner whose pocket full of dog biscuits distracted him just as he faced the judges. 

He may also be thinking that other dogs definitely had the advantage in the glamour stakes.

Hopefully he was reflecting on how it is exactly 4 years since he was picked off the street and thanks to the internet, found his way to the BacktoBodrum house.  Hopefully the two dogs above will also eventually find a home of their own.

The event was sponsored by Farmina pet foods and we all came away with some tasty samples - wild boar and apple proving a hit in this household.
Unfortunately we didn't come home with any prizes, unlike the pocket pooch above who had to make room for a cup in her bag.


(Email me at backtobodrum@gmail.com if you are interested in adopting a dog and I'll forward your messages.)

Half and Half

It's been hot, mind-meltingly hot.  The kind of heat that gives you wet patches on top of your shoulders where the sweat has dripped off your ear lobes.  The sort of hot that makes it imperative that you wring out any bra with a hint of padding before slinging it into the washing basket or you'll wake up to an Ali Baba of damp, smelly, colour mingled clothes. Too hot to think and too hot to write. Too hot to call a plumber to mend the irrigation system or to contact the myriad of other workmen needed to repair everything that is packing up in the house.  Sloth-inducing sultry heat. 

But everyone who lives here knows the saying 'August is half summer and half winter' and right on cue, today the weather changed.  High cloud appeared and the humidity lifted. When I open a window coolness enters rather that heat.  The temperatures are still over 30C but the oppressiveness has gone and energy is returning.  Today I sought and found a wrench and a screwdriver and took off the timer that has refused to allow my garden to be watered but let water leak out of all its joints, and switched it for another one - No more dribbles where they shouldn't be and hopefully, happier looking roses - I also grabbed a rake and got rid of a few barrow loads of pine needles and more importantly, I am sitting at the computer and writing my second blog post in less than 48 hours.  Time to get back to the keyboard. 

Silent Witness or CSI

You will have gathered by now that I live in the countryside in the Summer;  it's pretty cut off and folk come out to visit in the daytime but I rarely have company in the evening so I've been catching up with the UK and US TV series that I've missed over the years. We only have one TV and in the past it was mostly tuned to sports channels. (The television must be wondering why it hasn't been tuned into The Olympic Games this year). I've been looking for cheerful shows, but apart from 'The Durrells' and ancient 'Ab Fab' episodes, I usually end up watching something involving a murder or two with lots of SOCOs  in their white suits milling about. With this in mind you'll understand why I almost crashed into a ditch as I drove back from Bodrum town at dusk the other night and caught sight of this out of the corner of my eye.

Who investigates the crime when the SOCOs are the victims? 

Carrying on....

The country I live in and I have something in common: something momentously bad happened in July but we are both carrying on. We can almost pretend it didn't happen as life goes on.

Photo thanks to N Piercy

Lazy lunches are still enjoyed on the terrace 

Plenty of folk still want to sit in the shade on the beach

The beer, rakı and wine is still flowing and all nationalities are happy to gather for a drink and a chat

Photo thanks to S Hardeman

The sun still sets beautifully in Turgutreis and we can all still smile

We are all keeping calm and carrying on. Then a relative refuses to come to my daughter's wedding because of the presumed danger, or I find a note on the computer of what Teo planned to do on August 5th - and it hits home. Life for me and for Turkey will be forever changed. 

One advantage of living in Turkey - Dying is easier.

It's been just over a month since my husband's funeral and less than two years since my father's, so I feel I'm in a position to compare Turkey with the UK.
It seemed to take ages to arrange my Dad's cremation; we had 2 visits from the undertaker and then from the celebrant.  My mother and I drove around looking for a venue to hold the post funeral get-together and then there were dates and menus to decide on, music to choose and speeches to write and finally a 4 figure bill to pay.
It's completely different here and speaking as the shell-shocked spouse, much easier.  The above advert for the Municipality Funeral Service says it all - ACI GÜNLERİNİZDE YANINDAYIZ  - WE ARE BESIDE YOU ON YOUR SAD DAYS.  All that was required from me was a visit to the above office with the death certificate, although it could have also been done by phone. I told them the day, time, mosque and graveyard and they did the rest.  A van appeared at the house with lots of stools for visitors, which was useful as folk started turning up at the house three hours before the funeral;  an announcement had been made in both Bodrum and the surrounding villages so everyone heard the news.  The grave was prepared and the hearse arrived at the required time at the mosque. After the burial we all moved back to our house and another van delivered lahmacun with ayran to drink, to serve a hundred. And the cost of this service - nothing.
Completely different experiences but when one's existence has been turned upside down, there is comfort that others are working to make life easier for the those remaining, without an eye on making a profit.


Lahmacun is a spicy meat thin-based pizza, and ayran is a yogurt based drink.