I arrived back in Bodrum on 4th February 1983 after a couple of months away in England. I'd left a murky Heathrow in fog and finally stepped off the bus in Bodrum into the fading evening light. I can't remember whether it was wet, dry, warm or cold but the next weekend we piled into a friend's ancient Chevrolet and bounced and swayed over rough tracks, fording a couple of streams on the way to the seafront at Türkbükü. This Sunday lunch is etched into my memory. There was one restaurant open and we were the only customers. A wander in the damp fields behind the rough muddy road that pretended to be a beach in the summer, produced armfuls of anemones and narcissi and rakı glasses were commandeered to act as vases. We arrived in jumpers and scarves but the sky was bright blue and after a lot of discussion, the table was placed at the optimum angle to catch the sun's rays while hiding from the breeze. There was no menu, just white cheese and green olives followed by fish and greenery that had been picked from the same field as the flowers, all accompanied by plenty of lemon juice and olive oil. After 30 minutes, the woollies and some shirts were abandoned and everyone was basking in the warmth of a February sun. I had no idea then that I would spend several decades tied to this corner of Turkey, but if I ever wonder why I'm here, this Sunday springs to mind. Good friends, simple delicious food, winter sun and (you have to travel further a field these days) meadows of wild fragrant flowers. For years, I kept a photo of that lunchtime table on a shelf in the kitchen but now I think to look for it, it is nowhere to be found, but I'm sure you can imagine the scene.
We need some of that February sunshine now. It's been unusually wet and windy for the past month and our patience with wet feet, damp walls and puddles is waining. It's not that we are unused to bad weather in winter, it is just that storms are usually followed by severals days of warmth when we can air our houses and bask in the sunshine. This year the gaps between the bad weather are so short that we forget they've happened. Jake so hates walking in he rain that he will stay upstairs and pretend morning hasn't arrived rather than be made to go outside. Which suits me, as I am just discovering the meaning of "a duvet day".
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| Jake voicing his dislike of damp windy weather. |
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