Kalkan Turkey Forum - EnjoyKalkan.com
Kalkan Discussion => Holiday Reports and Reviews => Topic started by: Chris_S on September 08, 2016, 05:59:22 PM
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[Please Note: the first few reports are a retorospective - there will a flurry of these until I get back on schedule!]
Day 1 – Au Revoir Albion
Isn’t it rather strange, that we live in what is referred to as a First World country, with First World technology and First World Planning, and you enter the World of London-Gatwick, and you then wonder just how bad the lesser Worlds really are.
But, to put this in context, Valet Parking at London Gatwick is handy and efficient, when you deposit your vehicle. That’s assuming you ignore the 7 minute walk in the drizzle from the booking-in tent to the terminal. Better than the Meet and Greet systems though, especially on return, when you don’t have to wait half an hour for the car to arrive at 1am and you’re freezing cold, bored and just want to get home. The largely, it seems, Eastern European staff are friendly and efficient as usual. Whereas in past occasions the Valet Car Park has been nearly empty, today it resembles Westminster Council’s clamped and towed away car compound. But it’s just full, therefore So far, So good.
BA check-in, at one end of the terminal, once you’ve worked out which floor it’s on (not obvious, as everyone knows where to go, as witnessed by people getting out of the lift on the wrong floor and diving back into the lift to reach their intended next destination) is Disneyesque organised queuing, but ithout the height restriction notices and ’20 minutes to the ride from this point’ signs. What always amazes an observer is the number of people following signs to British Airways who really want Vueling (two rows behind), easyJet (downstairs) and so on. Why they think that Vueling is another name for BA is still puzzling me. The BA Ground Staff, standing beside a large sign saying ‘Online Checked-In, Baggage Drop’ turning away others who haven’t checked in online. Maybe literacy these days isn’t as good as they say?
Anyway, the Bag Drop goes well, a few kg under weight (to allow for BSG additions on return, perhaps) even though we have a burden of exporting Nespresso capsules to Kalkan (don’t ask!), only to be told there will be a wait of 30 minutes for the wheelchair assistance. It’ll be quicker, they say, if you go back across the terminal to the assistance desk just past Jamie’s Coffee, and book in there. So there we stand, needing assistance, the mobility-impaired passenger having already very slowly walked a quarter of a mile to the check-in desk, to be told you have to walk another quarter of a mile to the other end of the terminal to have assistance with mobility.
Eventually we get to Jamie’s Coffee and there’s no sign of an assistance desk. This is because the assistance desk signs are either a) in the roof, where you’re definitely NOT looking; or b) behind the three signs imploring you to change your Sterling into something at very good rates (this is of course relative, as they are only comparing themselves with other airport based exchanges, Shylock or other usurers.
Now this part is a confused madhouse. It takes them an hour to get a wheelchair organised, and we make our way through to the special security lanes titled ‘Families and Assistance’. This means our little convoy (of which there are 6 of us under the command of a frustrated, but remarkably calm, guide) join the Bedlam that is this dedicated part of security. Families mixed up with assistance at the security arch and X-Ray machines do not work. Absolutely. Totally . Doesn’t Work. The families basically commandeer the area for selfish reasons (can’t be separated, they may get lost or go off in random directions), taking up the seven bays to put their laptops, Smartphones, Semtex and AK-47s on, while people in wheelchairs struggle around them, juggling their belongings while having the mobility of a Dalek. It’s the same on the other side of the Security Arch. Mayhem. It is while I wait for procedures to be completed (my wife has enough stainless steel in her leg to set the arch off from Brighton), that I notice that about 1 in 5 of the people going through are single 20-something young people, with one bag. Someone has obviously posted on Social Media that this is a quicker route than the ‘proper’ security channels, and that the chaos means they aren’t noticed for not being ‘Families and Assistance’.
Then the assistance personnel dump you in the assistance area, give you a black box that will flash when they want you, take the wheelchair off you and leave you to shop, feed, water and de-water yourself in the Departures Hall. How this is assistance for mobility impaired escapes me, but I think they expect you to sit there like good little people while they herd others in and out of the pen.
Somehow we manage to get something to eat (manned again by Eastern Europeans, where would we be without them - don’t really answer that), knowing that you’re going to get ‘not a lot’ on the flight and it’ll be around midnight when we get to Kalkan. Got to keep the blood sugar levels up, as you all know.
Strangely, we bump into people we know from our Hotel in Kalkan who are also going, but on the QueezyJet flight 15 minutes after us. We can’t even find the toilets in Departures easily, but we can find four people we know in amongst the thousands in the Black Hole of Gatwick.
Ensconcing ourselves in the holding pen when the flashing box tells us to, it’s still an hour to the flight and they want to take us to the Gate. Not time for Duty Free, go to the loo, or anything. A “You vill come vith me, NOW!” attitude from the assistance person. I send my partner in crime off with the guard, after confirming the Gate Number (I’m not as mobility impaired, apart from just being unfit, overweight and annoyed), dash into Duty Free to do my best with the instructions on purchases. This all goes OK, but with all the urgency of a lazy Sunday afternoon, as I’m told about Special Offers and Discounts I don’t want, haven’t got time for, or would take me so far over the Duty Free Allowance, I’d be banged up until 2050.
A brisk walk to the Gate, and wait. And Wait. And Wait. And Wait. All the Gatwick Assistance Urgency, and we’re sitting there, with the guard, for the 40 minutes before the flight is scheduled, and the aeons afterwards, since I am wondering if any flight leaves Gatwick on time, unless it’s on a BBC documentary about ‘Behind the Scenes at Gatwick’.
On board, then we wait while a nervous flyer abandons their attempts to board and we have a further delay as their luggage is offloaded, thus missing our slot and gaining another delay.
Hooray! We get push back, an hour and a half late, and reasonably effectively get airborne after queuing behind various other Airbuses, all in various colourful guises, all going off to who knows where?
Drink service. At last! It’s been 4 hours since lunch and you can’t get a drink due to the hanging around and misplaced urgency of the assistance team. So you’re gasping for fluids. Red Wine will do nicely thank you, I’ll have another later…
Some hopes. We get the obligatory sandwich with fillings inspired by someone with no taste buds and an even weirder sense of what constitutes a snack/meal. The cheese and biscuits were better though I suspect that the cheese may have been produced by Dunlop. Time for further refreshment.
Press call button. Nothing. 15 minutes later, staff, let’s not call them Cabin Crew for reasons that will become apparent, arrive. Can I have a Red Wine Please? ‘We’re out of wine’ (note that the flight is barely an hour old), OK, then a Vodka and Tonic please. ‘OK’, and departs. 35 minutes later, same person is wheeling the Duty Free trolley down. Note that Call button has now been illuminated for a further 30 minutes.
Excuse Me, where’s the Vodka and Tonics I asked for?
‘We’re out of tonic’.
Why didn’t you come and tell us? ‘Waffle, Waffle, Waffle’. You’re supposed to be a flag-carrier and full service airline, so where’s my drink? ‘I can check with Club Class and see if they’ve got any, when I get that end’. No intent of actually doing so, as he, after another 15 minutes gets to Club sells more Duty Free and doesn’t check their stocks. (I’m watching through the discreet, but ineffective curtain separating the economy from the surplus cash element). He ignores us, as he goes to the rear of the aircraft.
Call light still on. Eventually we capture the so-called cabin crew, and ask again about the drinks that never materialise. ‘We’ve only got Coke, Gin, and Scotch.’ Have you got water? ‘Yes’ Then I’ll have two scotch and water please.
10 minutes later (the aircraft obviously diverting to Jura to collect the Scotch) the drinks arrive. The World’s Favourite Airline? It won’t be for long at this rate. I hope you read this, Willie Walsh!
Dalaman beckons, and although this is akin to the Bazaar in Istanbul in the hubbub that is the Baggage Hall, the assistance has briskly and efficiently got us through passport control, (assistance supervisor very apologetic for the two minute delay – it’s their busiest day of the year – and you feel like saying ‘You should have seen Gatwick 6 hours ago’) and to the belt, where, eventually the luggage appears. You know the relief, grateful that at least one of the bags has made it and when the rest appear, that they aren’t going to find it in Reykjavik or Ascension Island. Helpfully, the assistance porter has obtained a trolley – this is a first – so I can manage all the luggage, while he wheels the rest of the party to the taxi.
Which, being a Kalkan transfer organised by the Hotel, is there. And he gets us to Kalkan at 1230am, with just a short stop for a top-up of diesel for the Mercedes-Benz Vito.
Dump luggage in room, (unpack later) then the Bar, and are followed by our friends we saw at Gatwick. It’s a Small World.
Only trouble is, the First and Third Worlds get very muddled up in the microcosm that is London Gatwick and British Airways. And the people up North, reckon we have a better airport experience than Robin Hood, Manchester, or Glasgow, etc.!
Now back in the Real World, a couple of weeks or so in Kalkan will no doubt put all this in perspective.
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After a number of 3 times a year visit we finally mastered the airport assistance with my 90 year old dad. He bought a Diamond Rollator (you can use it as a walking frame or sit in it and be pushed like a wheelchair, it folds very well and is reasonably light). We booked airport assistance but said we had our own wheel chair. We could wheel him or he could walk from the car to check in, be pushed or sit if he was tired, after check in we had to report to the assistance desk so they knew he needed assisted boarding and his wheelchair taken at the plane entrance to be returned as soon as we exited the plane at the start of the tunnel (we didn't have to wait to be off loaded). We could go through the assistance channel even though we didn't have a worker to push him. It worked far better than going without it and having to wait for a wheelchair and 'pusher'. The plus was that he had it in Kalkan and we'd already learned where was accessible to him. He usually used it as a walker pre dinner and was happy to be pushed after dinner & drinks!
Looking forward to your other experiences.
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Just loved that! More please.
It did make me very thankful I didn't ask for wheelchair assistance. My knee is very wonky and at the moment walk very slowly and painfully with a stick. Friends (and family) kept saying I should book a wheelchair. Seeing my stick the BA staff did point out the family and assistance section but it looked very crowded and I thought it would take a long time - I was right by your experience.
Anyway my need for a nice relaxing drink in the lounge (had a pass for it) took over and we limped along (just me doing the limping) and were probably comfortably seated with drinks served and snacks while you were still looking for the assistance! The flight was delayed for two hours so I was very glad I hadn't gone with the assistance option and could relax with another drink or two before the flight was called.
However the minute I got off the plane at Dalaman a chair was produced (sight of stick??) and we were whisked through passport control and in the lift to the carousel so that was really brilliant service.
I did wish I had asked for a chair on the return to Gatwick though as you seem to walk miles to get to passport control. But maybe that would have meant waiting. I look forward to hearing about your experience on the way back.
I am thankful that it is possible for me to manage without a wheelchair at airports but you have now put me off asking me one, even if I take a very long time getting around. If it was as simple as at Dalaman I would certainly appreciate the help. Hopefully another year the knee problem will be better.
We are back to Kalkan this weekend and looking forward to it.
I look forward to the next installment of your holiday.
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Phew I feel stressed out just reading that Chris_S!
Thank goodness you all arrived in one piece along with your luggage too - always a bonus ;)
I'm a bit smug here cos we always buy a glut of booze on the first service. If we don't drink it all on the plane, we enjoy it in the balcony on holiday, although we usually manage to fill our boots in flight. Then my daughters wonder why they have to hold on to me down that escalator in dalaman. I try and blame my dodgy knees ;D ;)
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Drinks are included free on BA flights....that said the tins are incey wincey tiny little things and the second round of the trolley is often left till shortly before you land so they only get half way down the plane before announcing "the drinks service is now finished"..if you are sat at the back the second passing of the drinks trolley is as rare as rocking horse poo. >:D
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Oh Chris just caught up on your wonderful but very frustrating for you report. Hope you a e now totally relaxed in this wonderful place. It's hot isn't it? Not complaining just saying.
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My gish that sounds horrendous. My only experience like this was travelling with an 8 yr old and an 18 month old, with pushchair and all that gubbins. I paid for priority boarding etc....what that actually meant was I go to struggle down the steps lugging said pushchair and toddler to the bus first, but when we got to the plane, i was last off the bus....haven't bothered since. That said I think we are lucky at Birmingham, it is small enough to be a bit more personal inits service.
Looking forward to a calmer set of reports.....although BSG can get a bit stressy if there are more than 5 bags in the shortlist!
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We inadvertently sat on the assistance seats at Brum. We got up of course when we noticed but got to say the staff were very attentive and constantly asking if people required wheel chair assistance.
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Day 2 – A Reunion with the former Ottoman Empire
Now, we’ve all been there. We arrive, we attempt some sort of organisation, and collapse into what passes medically, for a form of sleep.
Only we don’t really. We just put it off, waking at whatever time breakfast is for you, and felt that another couple of hour wouldn’t go amiss. But you can’t. So you get up.
You’re in Kalkan, and although this is ‘Turn Up and Turn Off’ time, you can’t afford to miss any of it. So you make the effort and go down to breakfast and have whatever suits you, while you rack your brains remembering who that person is that’s talking to you and remembers you so well from umpteen years ago, and you have no idea who it is. Fortunately, there are others you know, remember, and have been going to the same place, at the same time for more years than you choose to acknowledge, thus making you feel decades older than you actually are.
Our normal routine on the first day in Kalkan is to (slowly – remember the Stainless Steel) go into the town and meander round stopping off at various locations to either say hello, consume a beverage (non-alcoholic – the sun is below the yard-arm, but it’s going up, not down) and see how many people recognise you. This is both considerable, and disappointing, as some places haven’t got going for the day yet, and others are empty. No matter, plenty of time, but we end up at Sunset to have a beer and savour the view across the bay, which tells us we are here.
There is, of course, a conversation with the owner and strangely, (I wish I could remember his name - see previously - He’s never done it before) it’s about politics. Not just Turkish domestic, but also the Syrian issue. Nothing sensational here, but it’s just nice to hear a non-UK Media slant on events, without a political party bias element.
By now it’s looking close to lunch o’clock, so we decamp to, after a couple of changes of mind, to Aubergine for a Mixed Meat Pide, salad and wine. This was just right, being enough to take away the pangs without destroying the appetite for the evening. The killer, unfortunately, was the two for one on the wine. Let’s just say this may have been a mistake, but it seemed a good idea at the time!
Suitably primed, and with no apparent ill-effects from the wine, the Stainless Steel one opts for a taxi back whilst the young, and fit toy-boy (!!!) elects to walk back. Both scenarios successful with the pedestrian one booking the evening meal in Alternatif (at least we knew it had moved), Wella for the Stainless Steel One later in the week, and a military paced walk back to the Hotel. (Meldi, if you’re interested.)
This means its time for a well-deserved rest after the brisk, uphill march – no cardiac issues (this time) but nevertheless suitably knackered, before we prepare for the evenings entertainment.
This is, as mentioned, Alternatif. Now, I’m pretty sure that the approximately 40 steps to the restaurant are more difficult than the former downhill slope to get there, but, after the meal, the 40 steps down are a damn sight more appealing than the slope back up to Moonlight from the old site. Facts which are giving it extra brownie points to start with.
Garlic Prawns are the starter of choice – rather similar to Gambas Pil-Pil in Andalucia, which is a fave or ours, but a shade less spicy than Spain’s, but a winning starter for our personal taste, albeit when shared you tend not to get enough!
One of us had the Fillet Steak with Jack Daniels Sauce, and the other had Lamb Cutlets. It matters not who had what, but they were both very nice. Which makes you ponder:
Why is it that when in Turkey, I always get (damn-that’s given away who had what) a Medium Rare steak, I get a medium rare steak, whereas in the UK I’ll get anything from well done to cremated instead? I never, or at least rarely (no pun intended), order steak in the UK because they invariably over-cook it – I once sent 4 back in one restaurant because they kept screwing it up – I was in an unforgiving mood that night)
Dessert – pass. We’d had enough, together with the wine and VATs.
Verdict: good as ever. New location hasn’t changed anything, in fact the music was slightly better (more by luck than planning, I suspect) and any changes were subtle and basically an improvement.
Mustafa reckons he wants to be Mayor in two years. This could get interesting!
Now, previous readers will be aware that a good maxim of mine is:
Hydration is important.
This is still true, but that second bottle at Aubergine proved to have similarities with straws and camel’s backs.
By the time we were back at the Meldi, the copious alcohol was beginning to make its presence felt. Not in any debilitating effect but, as anyone with years of experience can tell you, your body is telling you to stop being silly, and go to bed.
So we did.
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Now when my body tells me to stop being silly and go to bed...I carry on. Somehow I believe my body is trying to stop me having fun, like a strict parent, so I act rebellious teenager to the parent and always, ALWAYS regret it the next day!
Loving your reports Chris_S, making me long to be in Kalkan now Autumn is on its way in UK.
Your airport experience fills me with despair...having said that we always pay to Fastrack Security at Manchester, costs about £10 but always worth it. There is no separate channel for the payers, we are lumped in with passengers needing assistance and families so perhaps the same is true at Gatwick. Certainly at Manchester you cant access the supposed "fast lanes" without a bar code or a member of staff so maybe the single 20yr olds had paid to be there...just sayin.
Enjoy the rest of your stay and look forward to more reports.
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Fab reports Chris_S, keep them coming! although hopefully your return journey won't be as stressful as the one out to Kalkan, but imagine it was so worth it seeing that view! :D :D
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Day 3 – Situation: Nearly Normal
If I were to say the over-hydration of the former day was unnoticed the following morning, I suspect that I would not be believed.
Well, it’s partly true. An element of fragility was there, but was concealed by a large dose of lethargy and ‘chilling out’ around the pool.
To which, we can claim do a degree of successful implementation.
Interrupted, pleasantly I may add, by an (un)expected visit from some friends resident in Kalkan and semi-nearby environs,, and for whom the aforementioned Nespresso capsules were destined. They must have been in urgent need of them, or the caffeine, to collect them so early in the visit (just joking, Jo ;D); and of course necessitated the resumption of the
Hydration is important
maxim at the bar. Keeping away from the industrial alcohol stuff, sipping gently at an Efes (believe that if you will – it’s true – I’m not a heavy beer drinker, honest), we whiled away the time to update, make plans and generally run down any politician, and idiot celebrity that came to mind, and we ended up with a late lunch at the hotel; principally down to the previous bout of lethargy that was dominant in our actions.
And so the afternoon passed and slipped on into the evening, disrupted only by the essential update on Helen Tichener’s court case, courtesy of iPlayer, the lethargy struck again and we opted to review the Meldi’s restaurant menu.
Now, as may or not have been mentioned in previous threads, the Meldi’s food is quite good. Certainly the steaks are as good as you’re going to get anywhere, and the fillet with mushrooms and onions was up to standard. It was, note, cooked properly (this is Turkey, remember). The other dish was Moussaka, and was appreciated, though possibly a tad bland. This creates a problem, was it a tad bland, or was it you? There’s always that chance that you’re a bit jaded and not on form and the jolly old taste buds aren’t up to it. We form the opinion and that’s all we can do, until we revisit the dish later.
The Stuffed mushrooms weren’t bad, though, once again may have been a bit bland also – which leads us to think it may have just been us (or maybe it was the cheese?)…
Or then again, maybe we’re picky when we compare restaurants in Kalkan, or the (very, nay, extremely) rare occasion when a tyre company’s approbations are attached to the establishment in question.
Still, it’s very nice when they set the table out around the bar instead of the elevated dining area. It can be a bit breezy up there, but there is a view across the bay and the town, so you have to take note of those benefits before you make the decision on the precise location. Our preferred spot is by the bar, but then we are influenced by the mobility aspect and the steps/stairs up to the deck. All in all, a perfectly respectable way to finish a lethargic (and recovery) day, as you later watch those that have managed the climb from base camp outside the Marina go straight to the bar for replenishment of something or another, or compare them with those that opted out and paid the 7-8TL to those little yellow taxis (no sign of a little Joni Mitchell in any of them).
Then, of course the comparative discussions prevail, according to wherever they’ve been for the evening.
Whether this is a bit of one upmanship, along the lines of “we chose a better place than you”, “It’s not as good (or better – we can’t tell) than last year”, or whatever, is debatable. They are, unfortunately, largely those that don’t participate in these accounts, so their real opinions are never made public.
Midnight beckons, and, since we are still not quite up to the rigours of fully attacking the lifestyle of Kalkan extravagance, we retire, missing the dubious delights of the late nocturnal behaviour of the occupants of the Meldi Bar.
No doubt they will feature again before we leave?
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Yet another brilliant post.......we're almost getting into book mode!! I really enjoy the different writing styles that we get on here and totally appreciate everyone's efforts. We all seem to have our own routines but........the common denominator is.........Kalkan. It appears to bring out the hidden writing talents of everyone and definitely is the place if you want the ideal ambience to get the literacy skills flowing 🍻🍻
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Day 4 – Situation: Normal (as it gets)
So here we are, fragility decreased, optimism high, eager to do what we do when in Kalkan.
So, after breakfast we expectantly wait for the arrival of the rented motor conveyance for a few days. This was booked in January, direct with Adda, as usual.
Only nothing arrived. Now this isn’t like Adda, in our experience. Mistakes happen. We all know that, and when they do, it’s the actions to put it right that start to matter. So Halil, (Meldi reception) converses and they (Adda) go away and investigate (this starts to suggest that something unmentionable may have been dropped). We decide the best place to await the outcome is the Poolside.
The outcome is 20 minutes later. It appears the car ordered is unwell (they say!) and they deliver an alternative until the ordered vehicle can be delivered the next day. The more cynical of you may well read an alternative back story to this account, and you may not be alone, but I couldn’t possibly comment.
But, as I said, it’s what they do to put it right that really matters, so we agreed a new financial arrangement and satisfaction ensued.
So we then decide to take a bit of time making the poolside look untidy, or untidier, by our presence until lunch. But where will lunch be?
We have the wheels. Let’s get those wagons rolling. Next stop the West. Or is that Wagon Train? Where’s Robert Fuller when you need him? (Anyone born after 1960 may have trouble with this one…). We’ll go East instead and do Adem’s Place for Lunch.
Here there will be a breeze that keeps off the heat a bit, and we can catch up with Adem’s woes, family life and everything else.
Adem’s it is then. The horseless carriage conveys us, and we arrive to find ourselves the only customer. Which, for this lunchtime we remain. We know things are down on last season, but we have sympathy with him out there, and the lack of business. However, I’m getting ahead of myself here.
Much greetings and welcomes, we order a lunch, appreciating the view out across to Meis/Castellorizo and watch the occasional vessel make its way up and down the coast. Idly, I play with the GPS and find we’re 305 feet (call it 100m if you're younger) above sea level, hence the expansive view. The breeze is up to form, thus making it, with the rustic canopy above us, a very pleasant environment for lunch.
While we wait for the Imam Bayıldı and, for the not fully recovered co-pilot, Mushroom Soup, Adem updates us with the situation regarding his human family and the changes to his ever growing entourage of animals, in addition to the vegetable crops.
Of course, we were initially greeted by daughter No.3, and served by daughter No.2. It seems daughter No.1 is at Uni in Antalya, and the costs of all these no doubt are a concern when the economic downturn caused by the tourist reduction is taken into consideration. All this is compounded by angina for his wife, rectified by two stents, probably quicker than the NHS at home.
His crops are rotated on his little plots dotted around, all go to supporting the needs of the restaurant, as many of you know, and he has his chickens. I think we can all guess what they are for.
His goat, new last year has had kids, of both sexes, and this means their father will succumb to some conversion to kebabs or stew next year, and be replaced by one of his offspring. Such is life, in whatever language you choose.
So Adem supplements his comestibles with aubergines, courgettes, chillies, lettuce, and who knows what else? The goat’s milk becomes cheese, when not required by the kids (literal kids that is – they are goats). The chickens do their usual thing, and all this for what appears to be a quiet life, as not many people go to the restaurant these days, probably due to the location - out of sight, out of mind.
We find all this out while the meal is prepared, until Adem announces that he’s done his usual trick of talking too much and departs for the kitchen.
What can you say about the food? Imam Bayıldı is one of those dishes like Bolognese sauce in Italy. Everyone’s mother has the ‘correct’ recipe and which is true to tradition. And they are all different. Such as it is with the Fainting Priest (why does this always make me think of Doctor Who – am I thinking of the Weeping Angels?), everywhere you go it will the same, only different. The Mushroom Soup was indubitably home made, though the recovering one found it too creamy. Personal preferences doesn’t mean it’s bad, we should remember.
By some diverse routing, deliberate, I should add, we return to take up our very important role of making the pool look untidy, and relax. Of course, apart from
Hydration is Important
maxim being in operation, we didn’t really fall asleep. Us? No, it just looked that way to cover the untidiness
We opt for Yelken Bistro for the evening. This is promoted by the fact that we have our own locomotive assistance, essential when you consider the incline(s) to get there. Inexplicably, considering the ‘quietness’ of Kalkan we pre-book, which turns out to be the right thing to do, as it is quite busy.
They’ve certainly made a good job of restoring the place after the conflagration earlier this year, and the ambience and décor round it into a smart and chic establishment. With Fishcakes as a shared starter, to get us in the mood with the requisite hydration assistance, we then rounded it off with Grilled Sea Bass and Sultan Kofte. The Fish cakes were a tasty introduction, and no fault could be found there, the Sultan Kofte was, I would judge, about as good as it gets (but I’m not a Kofte expert, they can be over spicy sometimes for me), and the Sea Bass was judged to be better that that served by a well-known upmarket restaurant near Oxford that was once experienced as a treat. Perhaps the fact that Oxford is a fair way from the sea, and Kalkan isn’t, may have had something to do with it. As the portion control was well judged, there was just room for a shared lemon cheesecake which, like the rest, was no cause for concern, being light and, when shared, a sufficiency.
The distractions? Oh, there were a couple. Like the numerous and interminable phone calls by one of the other guests, who seemed to spend the entire visit walking up and down the road with mobile phone glued to ear and gesticulating invisibly to the caller (or callee). What made it more intriguing was she had the appearance of a refugee from Greenham Common in the 80s, and how she was cool in that ensemble, will forever remain a mystery.
Then of course, there were the couples disappearing into the bushes for (relatively) short periods, and then returning to the Bistro. This leads to much speculation, varying from ‘Carry On’ scenarios to some of the uses some remote car parks are reputed to be used for. It turns out of course, as we return to the carriage, that there’s a swing lounger there. Another illusion shattered! Texts and emails to the Sunday People and Sunday Mirror are erased and we move on, meeting previously mentioned friends at Aqua for a short chat, further drinks, because
Hydration is important
and we return to the Hotel, where, we find the trials and tribulations of the day mean that it is one of those quiet evenings where all is a bit grown up, and very non-raucous.
With the lightweights having retired early, and considering ourselves to be a sort of winner if any of it were competitive, we decide that enough is enough, and join them, just not too literally.
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Outstanding reports! Adam is having a tough year and no mistake! Looking forward to your elegant prose regarding the next chapter of your stay!
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Day 5 – The Horizon Broadens considerably…
So, we have the issue of the motor vehicle to be rectified first thing. As you may recall, we had ended up with an alternative vehicle, no Bugatti Veyrons being available. No Ferraris, McLarens or Aston Martins, either, so it’ll be a Nissan, then.
Trouble is, no sign of it, and like a good poacher, the wheels of Adda need a little tickle to revolve into action, and again, while we make the poolside look like it’s been invaded by undesirable travellers, we wait.
But it’s not long, and the relevant Nissan is exchanged for the substitute and AddaMan departs, after suitably modifying the paperwork.
Being a more suitable vehicle, in my opinion, for Turkish roads than the former transport, we plan an expedition up the tricky South Face of the Mountain to Islamlar for Lunch.
Already, the attraction of escaping (well not escaping as much as an attractive alternative) the coastal temperatures and humidity for the clean fresh air of the mountains, enlivens us and we set off.
Now, the image of the clean fresh air, with the gushing water may remind some of the older (sorry!) readers of the Consulate ads in the Sixties, which I suppose is probably along the right lines, especially when we arrive at the destination.
When, being the operative part.
This is where I slipped up, having got over the D400 and started the climb, it slowly dawned on me that I hadn’t checked the fuel. Well, it was all right really, because there wasn’t any! In true Corporal Jones style, the phrase ‘Don’t Panic!’ came to mind, so I looked for a manual to see if it would tell me the remaining range on the complicated display. Here I was expecting a manual with the words ‘Don’t Panic’ written in Bold Friendly Letters on the front, just as in Douglas Adams’ ‘HitchHikers Guide to the Galaxy’. Only there was no manual.
After a few presses of various buttons (and no, if you are a HitchHiker fan, none responded with ‘Please don’t press this button again’), I found the range calculation which was: ‘----‘. I suspect this really means ‘three miles ago’ or something similar.
Being on an upward route, reversing the route to the fuel station on the D400, seemed the best option, being largely downhill, though increased anxiety when faced with an incline was not conducive to healthy living. Especially as the throttle control seemed unpredictable. More Anxiety; was this due to the low fuel levels? Unlikely, but remember this is a Japanese badged Renault designed in Cranfield and built in Sunderland – who knows what translation issues have occurred?
Fortunately all those early years of getting halfway across the UK on a teaspoonful of fuel in a 1950s banger during the Arab-Israeli war, paid off and we made it to add some precious petroleum spirit into the tank.
Take two. Where we find the throttle response is till dodgy, but do manage to get to Değirmen for lunch, thanks to the wonders of TomTom and useful signs by the roadside.
For those of you not familiar with Değirmen, it’s off what seems a track just after where what used to be Mehmets is. On the outside of a bend its easy to miss, but we park up, just before a Volvo Estate with a family of 27 in it (or so it seemed). Up and down the steps we go, and find it’s not busy, and we are not alone.
Even less so, when the Volvo occupants arrive.
Food and drink ordered, especially the latter, as
Hydration is important
we consume the fluids and look down the valley, where, at the end of the vista, sitting in the sea, lie Mouse and Snake. To illustrate the effect of the humidity on the coastal strip, there was obviously a degree of sea haze on the surface, and this made the two islands appear to be floating just above the surface of the water. If you were of a romantic novel inclination, you would almost think that it may have been Avalon in the distance, though whether there was any female arm holding an improbable sword out of it, is both difficult to see at that range, and, highly unlikely.
Nice view, though.
It was also cooler, with a nice breeze, and, dare I say it, very pleasant, atmospherically speaking. (For the technically interested, GPS gave this as 1805 ft AMSL, or 550m).
I expect you’re waiting to hear about the food though, aren’t you?
As its lunch, we kept this to the Fried Cheese (naughty!), Fried Aubergine (less naughty!) Shepherd’s Salad (not naughty at all), plus the requisite bits and bobs that come with it anyway.
As starters, this is, in itself, a suitable lunch, but we have trout on its way, and this duly arrives a suitable period after we’d polished off the starters; except all the salad, of course.
You know the trout was going to be OK, don’t you? And it was. Apparently they were (allegedly) swimming two hours previously, then covered in salt, washed, cooked and eaten. Probably why it’s so-o-o-o- much better than the stuff we buy as fresh (but frozen for 6 months) fish in UK Supermarkets.
And for all that, with the rehydration therapy (no details, but nothing silly) it was the same price as 12 months ago (95TL)
I suppose that tells you something. Just not really sure what.
The strange thing about the human brain is the way it can process information. I’m not talking about the involuntary things it gets us to do, sometimes good, sometimes decidedly iffy, but resolving issues if you just leave it to work on it. This may, or may not, be assisted by the surroundings, company, conversation, food or alcohol (less so) in getting some question answered. It may be the artiste who sang a certain song, or vice versa, who was in what and when, etc., etc.
In this case, the dodgy throttle response question was answered. On this particular breed of Nissan the previous operator had set it to ‘Sport’ mode, which, should you ever drive up to Islamlar, is useless, as it’s concerned with Power. As is ‘ECO’ mode, which is about minimal fuel usage. What you want is ‘Normal’ mode, which is about Torque – the one thing you need to go up hills. (Technical Note: Power gives you speed, generally maximum, but Torque gives you acceleration. Hence why those Turbo Diesels are so quick away from the lights, but you catch up with them later, more or less).
Pressing the right mode button, reverted to a normal car, and we returned to the hotel in more conventional fashion without the fuss getting up the mountain had been.
Where, we continued our previous skills at making the poolside untidy, with no-one else noticing, as they were all to pre-occupied with surviving the heat and filling the air with those ‘Z-Z-Z-Z-Z’ bubbles you see in cartoons.
Eventide meant a change in venue, we haven’t duplicated yet, and have some way to go before we get into the realm of repeat appearances, so the chosen venue was ‘Samphire’.
Anyone with memories that go back to last year will be aware that we are very familiar with Husseyin (formerly of Pisces), and his story, so no repeat here, but he did, as usual look after and spoil us. Sedat also recognises us here, and we suspect he understands the relationship also.
Starter was Calamari, which they know how to cook, not being like rubber bands, but still not the best (go to Zygi, on Cyprus for that), and was followed by Grouper and Moroccan Lamb. Both of which were not worthy of any complaint, and we can only say, enjoy them. The Grouper, being more full-bodied is more filling than the Sea Bass and Bream, and less flakey than Cod, but not as meaty as Swordfish and Tuna. The Lamb was tasty, with the apricots lending their flavour but not overpowering it. You don’t need to eat all the apricots, though! The portion size was perfect and left room for the Apricot Pie, which, even if you were replete, you’d still find room for, as it was so light.
The only option on leaving Samphire was walking downhill, the prospect of doing anything steep upwards was too daunting especially for the less mobile, so a taxi from Pirat, courtesy of the man with the radio, got us back to the hotel in time for the usual late night recollection of menus and hostelries with the other collection of inveterate imbibers and gastronomes, aka. Restaurant-goers.
Tomorrow? That’s another day, as Ms O’Hara once said.
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Lovely lovely report thank you.
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Before I continue with this, I'm not seeing any posts after September 9th on this thread.
Even that one (Day 2) is incomplete, and don't feel any new posts will be successful.
Is anyone else having this issue, especially seeing them, as I've posted to Day 5, or is it just me?
Ultimately, I'll re-post in new thread.
If I don't respond, PM me in case I'm not even seeing the replies.
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Have read your fabulous posts up until day 5.
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I can see up to Day 5 just fine. I hope you can carry on!
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Up to Day 5! Please, please continue!
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I've read all of your blogs up to day 5. They've all been very enjoyable and I do hope that you can find a solution so that you are able to continue.
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Please continue Chris. Sometimes I had this problem if the signal was weak but I just kept regressing and eventually if worked. Sometimes had to go via home/holiday reports rather than on the main page.
Hope you sort it out as I'm very much missing your blog. :(
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This post is done blind - I can't see the responses, easily - Sorry :'(
Day 6 – Another day arrives (see yesterday)
And tomorrow was another day. And this was:
Oh Calamity after calamity. Where will it all end? No Internet! - Guests ripping their hair out due to no Facebook (most people under 35) / Facetime (for the 13% with iPhones). No Google, no eMail. End of World! Woe, Woe and thrice Woe!
Seems the WiFi passwords had been changed, possibly for good reason, but who can say? And not many know, including reception! A few phone calls and it’s soon sorted. Normal and sanity resumed (as much as what passes for Normal and Sanity, that is). Sighs of relief.
Best option, with all this anxiety? Go and collect the prescription reading glasses from Barbaras at Goz, as planned; the town, being pre-lunch will be its usual sleepy self as opposed to the evening, relatively, busy time.
The service at Goz, was, well, the service at Goz. This is where you get a pair of spectacles that are to specification and fit, work, and are a good specification. Depending on your chosen dispensing optician in the UK, this may not always be the case. I know for a fact, they often lower the specification for reading glasses to soften the blow, financially. Turkey, on the other hand gets you a higher specification, for less money. When I say specification, I don’t mean the prescription, scans of which live on my Smartphone and also float somewhere in the Cloud. This is handy, especially if you lose, break or whatever to them. A current prescription is then at hand to replace the defective article. (For the sake of completeness, I also have scans of the medical prescriptions – just in case.)
Of course, by now, it’s time to attend to the
Hydration is Important
part of the morning, Since Sunset is chronologically some way off, we opt for Sunset, the restaurant (again) as being physically nearby, which then turns into lunch because we can’t be bothered to move, watching the occasional boat movement. The occasional boat movement is, really, the only movement discernible at all, if we wish to be pedantic, since not much else is happening, anywhere.
Assuming you ignore the biblical flood, manifesting itself as a torrent around us, as the daily cleaning ritual occurs. The fact that the torrent is around us, and we’re not in it suggests that the torrent was in the control of Moses, but no, just dextrous use of the hosepipe. This would be an impossible thing to do in the UK, as you well know – as after two days of sun there is a hosepipe ban, or the water meter spins off its mounting in despair, followed by the Utility Company preparing to raid your bank account in punishment for actually using the precious liquid.
The light(er) lunch that followed was better than some, not as good as others, but no reason to warn people away from, and then again, nothing to get excited about.
You’ll have guessed by now that the return to the hotel would have been by Joni Mitchell’s finest, which gave us an extra 20 minutes or so by the pool to fall asleep, or read more pages of the latest sordid novel (or not so sordid, in our case). Actually in our case it may well have been both, but we’ll never admit to actually falling asleep in the sun, will we?
It occurs to us that we could have booked the evening meal while we were in town, but we’re getting so laid back, we forgot. Instead, we resort to Plan C, which is to get Halil on reception to make the booking for the Marina. Job Done.
Only when we get there, we are an hour late. Which, dear reader, is impossible. The time we were expected, is a time that we would NEVER book a table. Which means one of several things: Halil, got it wrong (he didn’t, we heard him make the booking); it was written down wrong (much more likely); or the previous occupant of the table was overrunning (the other most plausible reason). So you get the straight-faced reasons why the booking is not honoured as expected,
It matters not, really, as there is a table, not on the edge, but more central, which isn’t a problem unless you are an ardent people watcher (guilty). Some things have to be given up for the sake of peaceful karma, so we are seated centrally, and watch different people.
We review the menu, with no real idea of what we’re going to have until they wave a stainless steel bowl covered in clingfilm under our noses. Now this sounds almost medical in its approach, but no, it merely houses a large former resident of the sea, namely a Sea Bream.
Now this Piscean character does look the part. Those of us of an older persuasion, no doubt having been brought up by a parents or grandparents in what to look for in order to check the fish is fresh. This tells us two things, one is that our previous generations had the rogue traders selling stale fish, and secondly that this one in the bowl isn’t long out of the environment to which it was accustomed.
In short, it was as fresh as we could tell. It was also at a slight premium over the main menu item. But, considering the rareness of such a beast, the premium was acceptable, the offer tempting, and the deal made, hoping we hadn’t been suckered into it.
While the item was being ritually prepared and whatever, the usual ‘on the house’ items arrived. This included the balloon bread, which, wasn’t so much balloon as Airlander. (That’s the new airship cum whatever thing that’s recently had its maiden flight from the old airship sheds in Bedfordshire; before denting itself in a mishap - the cause of which is to be determined, but anyone with aeronautical nous can work out relatively easily).
We don’t believe we were suckered into the Sea Bream, but Garlic Prawns can, in both our cases, cause the eyeballs to refrain from scanning that part of the menu. And so it was again. And they were, well, garlic prawns. As in in the previously mentioned Turkish equivalent of Prawns Pil-Pil.
Then the recently demised Sea Bream arrived with the requisite salad and chips (wedges actually). This was very nice. Like most non-vegetarian food, and by that I mean it was once walking, swimming or flying, larger often means that the cooking time is more easily controlled and the end result is more flavour and better texture. And so it was. So much that even some of the chips and salad were left behind at the end – thus demonstrating the completeness of a relatively healthy chunk of the oceans beneficence was devoured in preference to the soils finest produce.
After that fish had disappeared, in this case without the need for Captain Ahab, the Pequod or even anyone called Ishmael, as far as I know, the only thing left was to share the ice cream (the gloopy sort you don’t get with the mechanised stuff in the UK) and return to the hotel, for a nightcap.
And the note comparing.
And the unlikely stories.
But then that’s what it’s all about, eh?
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Brilliant Chris_S.........we've now had an opportunity to read day 6........another really descriptive account of your time in Kalkan. Keep them coming as I know that a lot of people are enjoying your holiday reports.
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Day 7 – Some experiences in a big City
This assumes that Fethiye is a big City. Or even a City. This is also, of course, a contentious point as it depends on definition.
In the UK, a City, as defined traditionally, has a Bishop’s Chair in a Cathedral. Using this as a guideline, then Fethiye is NOT a City, for obvious religious and historical reasons.
Of course, the UK is part of the EU (still…), and Brussels, with compliance from Westminster, deem that a City is defined by other complicated factors. As we don’t have 4 years, 2 million pages and an army of wordsmiths at our disposal, we shall leave it there.
Suffice to say, Fethiye is just much, much bigger than Kalkan. And Noisier. And Manic. Especially with a festival looming and numerous Turkish families are in a state of migration to celebrate. Nobody bothers to find out what Fethi Bey did to get the place named after him, which is a shame.
The hustle and bustle, though, leads to hazardous driving situations.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. As we have the rented horseless carriage, we’ve opted to spend the day in Fethiye, to have a change of scenery, and who knows what? Fortunately, we have the TomTom, which knows the way to the ‘Big City’, and Kate (the least annoying voice – I have Joanna Lumley on it as well, but she doesn’t do Turkish pronunciation very well) directs us to the car park near the amphitheatre and Marina.
En route is where we encounter the hell that is (probably) Istanbul drivers (or their ilk) who use their horns when you stop at a junction with a big red, octagonal sign, saying ‘DUR’. Bart Simpson may well have the same word in his mind as he queries to himself why this causes frustration to following traffic. Especially as the traffic stream across us is similar to the M25 on a Friday night. (Substitute this for your local traffic jam, depending on your location in the UK).
Entering the Car Park, we note that there are no tickets. This is puzzling, until we realise that the plate has been photographed, and no doubt timed on entry, and will probably do the same on exit to determine the length of stay and thus, the fee.
I suspect the reason we don’t use this in the UK, is that there is little opportunity with this system for car parking companies to employ usury and fines via the DVLA to swell the coffers. But this isn’t the UK, so they have a modern system that works with one man, and probably makes money honestly, and is done efficiently.
Since
Hydration is important
we partake of some fluid intake at one of the many establishments at the Marina, before we embark on today’s mission. This is, you may be unsurprised to hear, is The Fish Market.
This is not done without some previous research, so we know (roughly) how it works. Similarly, we have worked out how to get there from the Marina.
With the unerring navigation skills like those of a returning swallow in Spring, we go straight there, albeit by a slightly different route to planned, principally because some of the shops looked more interesting! However, the folding stuff (and plastic) remains firmly under tight security, and the retail establishments, are, this time, out of luck).
Now we have successfully negotiated the minefield that resembles a shopping arcade, without incurring additional financial impairment, one of the entrances to the Fish Market is eventually revealed. This isn’t really difficult, as some signs are blindingly obvious. It’s the ones at the entrances you can miss!
We don’t though, and peruse the wares on the central ‘island’, which is filled with countless varieties of fish (bet that surprised you, you weren’t expecting fish in a Fish Market were you?).
We know that you choose the restaurant, then the fish, but like good neophytes, we reverse this and choose the fish and then tell them where we are going next to consume the fish. As we have no idea of the qualities of the restaurants, it’s a case of ‘pick a card, any card’.
It is very difficult, to describe the range of fish available here. If you are younger, you may be aware of the few varieties of fish available at the supermarket (if your supermarket does fresh fish that is); if you are older, then you may remember the wet fishmongers who had enormous ranges of fish laid out on the marble slabs for selection. Fethiye Fish Market is the latter,
On Steroids.
For reasons that are obvious, the labelling of the fish is largely in Turkish, which to us means little, except for the few labelled in English. Many of the examples on show are not even recognisable to the untrained eye. These are best avoided, as we have no idea what we are letting ourselves in for. Now there is this tantalising prospect, that, post-Brexit, the Spanish and other nationalities’ ships vacuuming up the sea bed around Britain will be unable to do so; thus reducing the depletion in fish stocks. It will take several years to build up a fishing fleet again, and who knows, we may return to a wider selection of sustainable fish instead of depending on Alaskan Sockeye Salmon and Vietnamese Cobbler, and so on.
We make our Selection, in this case some King Prawns (450g) and a Wild Sea Bass (532g), they will be prepared and sent to the selected restaurant, where we announce our arrival by informing the proprietor of the purchases and adding some Aubergine Salad and a bottle of white.
After a pause at the table, the usual bits arrive, and I notice the bread coming out of the oven, onto a plate and thence to our table in about 2 minutes. The bread looks more like muffins (NOT the American fairy cake variety – I mean proper British ones), or, at a pinch, and depending on your UK locale, Oven Bottoms.
We devour most of this with most of the (delicious) Aubergine Salad, and pause, waiting for the selected fish to arrive.
What seemed a reasonable amount of King Prawns, now seems extravagant when you see them, shelled, etc. and sizzling in oil with garlic and a paprika/chilli mix. This could be a challenge! The Wild Sea Bass, potentially also, could be challenging, although this can be done more conventionally, dissecting on either side and carefully – there’s bones in that there fish. The speed of this dissection helps the digestion of something more than your average restaurant Sea Bass, since it’s wild and not farmed.
You can get Bloaters in England. Well, you could once. Now we have two UK Bloaters in Fethiye Fish Market. Paying the bill (In case you don’t know, you pay the fishmonger for the fish on purchase, and then pay the restaurant for the preparation, etc. – so two bills), a longer walk back to the Car Park is required, and we meander slowly past the shops. This return visit costs money!
Enough said. You don’t really need to know about the additional help we gave the economy, nor the fun in negotiating for things we had no intention of buying (shame on us!). I feel another Brinksmat or Hatton Garden Raid coming on…
Escaping to the Car Park, it is full with the cones out, preventing further entry, and no-one in the booth. Until Man comes strolling out (from the Café – it is Turkey), removes cones blocking entrance (he’s smart – he knows if I’m going, there’s now a space), starts his computer and has to input the reg. number to find out how long we’ve been there. Grateful that they don’t charge by increased weight of the occupants, we are let off lightly for 6TL, and, with Kate on TomTom, head back to Kalkan, the journey of which is uneventful, with snoozing in the non-drivers seat.
The poolside beckons while we endeavour to digest the oceanic produce, until we can try to take on a somewhat lighter meal than originally planned at Baharat.
Baharat, therefore, is the evening’s venue for seeing how uncomfortable we can make ourselves. As it’s Kalkan, this may not be the last time, as the food quality, taste and quantity, as you know, often cause you to misjudge your input by significant amounts.
A steely resolve comes over us to restrict the number of courses (for a change) and we give our order to Charles Dickens, who appears to be working there. It’s pretty busy, though not with other Dickensian characters and we have only a short wait until our table is ready, at the edge, and overlooking the restaurants and activities below.
As we are determined, we keep our resolve and restrict things to a Beef Stroganoff, Moussaka and a bottle of House White. This, fortunately turns out to be the ‘right thing to do’ as we can still walk afterwards. Both portions were right sized, flavour was just right, and there were no ill effects later on that weren’t expected.
We consider we must have won in the end, though we may have been able to attack the Baharat’s menu with more vigour had we judged the lunch better. Experience gained, we’ll get it right next time we visit the Fish Market.
Maybe. Or maybe not. These learning curves can be pretty steep when they are 12 months apart, you know.
In the subsequent hours, the hotel bar acts as the recovery room to let all this ‘go down’ with the aid of suitable beverages, until we can be reasonably sure of a night’s sleep. Eventually, of course, the lure of sleep proves too much, and we leave the eclectic mix of Brits, Turks and hotel cat to amuse themselves with further drinks, conversation and social interaction until tomorrow.
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Absolutely loving your reports, Chris_S...my you have a lovely way with words!
Glad you enjoyed the Fish Market - we have an annual pilgrimage each year to the same spot! We have always chosen our fish first and the restaurant second - no idea that wasn't the "correct" way ;D. We've been rotating the restaurants year on year to spread the love but I think my favourite is Cinar because the front of house guy Baris is so funny. We get a lot of pleasure from watching the fishermen bringing in the catch and bartering with the vendors and, in turn the vendors setting up their lunch on temporary tables in front of their stalls. The fish there is some of the best we've tasted in Turkey, although I have to say we tend to opt for a mini whale to share or king prawns - never the two. No wonder you were stuffed :laugh: :laugh:
Looking forward to Day 8...are we in real time yet?
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[No, not real time yet, but catching up - the previous accessibility problems, you understand]
Day 8 – This is Normality.
Normality – mmmm?
Douglas Adams once wrote: “Normality will be resumed as soon as possible, once we’ve worked out what normality is”.
Kalkan normality is different to whoever you speak to. To cover this entire gamut of perceived normality would take the 4 years, 2 million pages and an army of wordsmiths that were mentioned yesterday. And the ones in Brussels would probably get further to defining it than I could. But then again, being Brussels, probably not.
Let’s face it, unless you’re doing something special / different / extraordinary, a visitor’s day in Kalkan is:-
1. Get Up
2. Have breakfast
3. Sit / lounge around doing nothing, maybe read
4. Mid-morning beverage
5. Sit / lounge around doing nothing, maybe read
6. Have Lunch
7. Sit / lounge around doing nothing, maybe read
8. Mid afternoon beverage
9. see 3, 5, and 7
10. Early evening beverage
11. Get showered and changed
12. Eat, Drink and so on until:
13. Go to Bed
Just vary this as you see fit, and exchange any one or more with what your favourite is.
Essentially, though, the list is about what you can handle after a heavy day. We’re not the sort that feel we have to be doing something all the time. We do that the rest of the year. Kalkan is Turn Up, and Turn Off for the most part.
And Day 8 is most definitely one of those.
Thus we have the light breakfast as we watch people consume sufficient to keep them going for a couple of days under normal circumstances (not all the guests, you understand, just in case you feel you may be one of them); the totally required multiple cups of coffee, and the similarly numbered good mornings so beloved of hotel breakfast rooms in sit-coms.
This is where you spot the ‘bright as a button’ early birds, full of life and ready to talk Quantum Physics, the existence of the Higgs Boson or whether the jury was right to acquit Helen Titchener or not.
On the other hand there are those that stare into the pool of liquid that is the coffee cup as their brain desperately tries to align itself with the real world, and the semi conscious part is struggling to fight of the remnants of REM, and come out of the dream state. Unfortunately for the former description, the latter is a more accurate representation of me. However, I do get my own back at the end of the day when we enter the tortoise and hare stage…
I digress, but only slightly, as the morning passes ever so gently; the sun repeats its passage across the sky, and we endeavour to do our best to soak up some of the UV lest it contribute to Global Warming, Climate Change or some other invention of an anonymous scientist in the University of Tristan da Cunha, writing his Masters Thesis on a unique subject. (See the newspapers for the latest discovery that we already knew about, or is poorly researched by a ‘scientist’ or ‘researcher’, somewhere).
Skipping the boring bit of the morning, which is interrupted by the excitement of nothing happening, I’ll jump to Chillies for Lunch.
Which, on the basis of yesterday’s lunch, will be a light lunch.
In order not to break with tradition, Mr Happy nearly remembers what we’ve been having for lunch there for the past million years, and we can commence on the Airlander Bread, Shepherd’s Salad and Pide. This combination works for us as it still leaves the ability to cope with something in the evening, whatever that will be. It is, of course supplemented by a bottle of White, because
Hydration is Important
the consumption of which ignores the tendency for it to cause some somnambulism when poolside later. But this is Kalkan, so it doesn’t really count.
And Somnambulism wins for some of us, though in my case, finishing the e-book is more important, as there is only three chapters to go…
But as the sun goes down behind the mountains, or in our case, the buildings between us and the mountains, it’s time for changing and getting ready for the pre-prandial stuff before we go to Mussakka.
Having previously booked, which seemed appropriate, as it always seems a bit busy when you go past. It’s been around long enough so its popularity is well known. Booking meant that we had a reserved table, and not waiting for someone to vacate it. Some other establishments would do well to note this fact.
Calamari for starter, shared of course – this becoming a fashionable habit, and probably does very little for the waistline apart from the psychological benefits of convincing yourself that you’re actually trying to be sensible. Traditionally served, i.e. battered rings, they aren’t rubber bands, but neither are they like the earlier mention of those at Zygi. In other words: ‘nowt to complain about’.
The Lamb Chops are off. Not rotten you understand, just aren’t any left. An alternative is required, and ‘Summer Wok’ is selected. This is a ridiculous name for a Lamb Kavurma, and reminds one that Thomas Cook bucket and spade holidaymakers have made their mark. I just hope Mehmet changes this before someone other than me comments on it. When it comes, it good, and finishing it becomes an issue. Therefore, some is left before discomfort sets in. Quit while you’re ahead seems a good idea.
The other main course was a Mussakka Fillet with onions. After all the fish lately, it has to be the turn of something that walked. And a slightly overdone Medium Rare it was, and not so over done as to need re-describing as oversone..
After that attempt at depriving the planet of methane generators, the best thing we can do to complete the evening, is the, also now becoming trendy, shared Ice Cream.
Then you have the arduous climb back to the hotel. It is on these occasions I’m glad we don’t have a villa halfway up the mountain – I wouldn’t get any exercise at all, it would be taxis or cars everywhere, which is what the Stainless Steel one often does, and I return at a measured military pace, learned decades ago in the ATC. This only gets the heart going a bit, and I hope the medical professions here and back in the UK don’t subsequently think I’m mad and warn against it.
Mad is what I probably am. Eventually the pulse rate gets below about 3 trillion, and the respiration to a more modest ten thousand, as the glass of Angora at the hotel bar evaporates in front of me. Strange that – all my alcoholic drinks seem to evaporate before my very eyes.
Must be the balmy climate.
We’ll see what tomorrow brings, and whether the beverage evaporation rate improves or not.
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Notes from a Small Mind (with apologies to Mr. Bryson) – Tuesday 12th (54)
Day 9 – A Quiet Life - sort of returns
For the most part today was a bit like yesterday, so refer to the order of things and you’ll get the gist of the sequence.
Before Lunch, there was a minor panic, poolside, when a large moth, straight out of the very best (or worse – depending on your point of view of such things) Hammer Horror films, or a Ray Harryhausen attempt at creating frightening monsters.
In this case it was about 70mm long, and, was in some difficulty at the edge of the pool. Whether this was because it got drenched, or whether it was injured is unknown, but people were watching it fluttering away as if it were a cartoon. Nobody would go near it. Probably because we’re not used to moths that size, and our imagination leads us to believe that it will be ferocious, carnivorous, or worse.
It was pretty obvious that the way it was in a panic, that eventually it would run out of energy if it kept up this state, so the rescue came (me) and it was coaxed gently out of the wet poolside where it scurried / fluttered off into the undergrowth via a sun lounger with distraught occupant above it.
It’s a bit difficult for people to accept that the moth was more frightened of humans than humans should be of moths. And, as far as I know, they tend to eat nectar and possibly insects, not humans.
Is there a happy ending? No idea. It remained in the undergrowth for some time, eventually the panicked fluttering died down, and it did what moths do and blended into the foliage for safety. In fact it was very difficult to spot when it kept still.
We just hope it lived to fight another day; though I’m a bit worried about people looking at it struggling like it was a Pokemon Go character, and not a harmless living creature that probably does less damage to the balance of nature than we do.
Note that I’m not a naturalist, nor am I especially focussed on animal welfare. I just cannot see real suffering as entertainment.
Then the WiFi went down again. Only this time it was deliberate, as the AP (Access Point) was changed, hopefully for something actually reliable. This of course means a change of password and ensuing chaos for those not present at the announcement.
We shall see how it goes…
Chillies for Lunch – see Yesterday. Nothing different, culinary-wise. At All. Except maybe the white was different - we prefer Majestyk to yesterday’s white!
And the usual soporific effects caused by the white wine, the sun, the loungers and the fact you’re on holiday means that, well, time to switch off for a while. But without the white dot in the centre, like you used to get in the early days of television!
This sojourn in the afternoon is cut a little short, as one of us (guess which one) has an appointment with Yusuf (Wella) for maintenance on their hair. Only when we get there, he’s closed. And we have an appointment. Must be something drastic. Only trouble is, it’s difficult to find out what.
A previous customer, relaxing at Zulas, says it was a familial emergency; Husseyin at Samphire says it’s something to do with the celebrations / festival or whatever. We just don’t know. There’s another hairdresser between Zulas and Wapiano, and as the maintenance is minimal, this establishment is utilised.
Meanwhile the other, non coiffeur-oriented subject whiles away the time watching the world go by at Zulas with a single Efes. Because
Hydration is Important.
If you sit there long enough, you’ll notice that it’s a bit like Corrie or EastEnders. They’re in and out of each others places all the time. (You know the tale: We never locked the doors, people would just come and go). This is a sort of mutual community, if you like, looking out, and helping each other. It’s Real Life in action.
Walking back to the Taxi Rank after the personal grooming is completed, we book for the evening at Wapiano, and, Kalkan being Kalkan, and memories being long, Ewan of course recognises us and takes command of the reservation.
This, when we arrive later, gives us a pretty good table on the edge. I’m not claiming favouritism here, we’re just as likely to be out by the bins next time, but we’re not complaining about the location this time, as we look down on Samphire, which doesn’t seem to be as busy as Wapiano.
Here we do the sharing bit again, only this time with Fish Cakes, and a comes with a lot of attention. Oh, we feel so special, but then we have known the Chillies people since the Kalamar Road days, so maybe they have long memories too; there seems to be a few Chillies’ employees and ex-customers here, and is beginning to sound a bit incestuous!
The Fish Cakes. At least, although they have the same name, they are never the same twice. Individual chefs have their own tastes, ingredients and whatever, so it’s a bit unpredictable. They also don’t destroy your appetite for the main course either. One of those things that give you a heads up on the taste styles to come. We hope.
The Lamb Chops aren’t off tonight, well not at Wapiano, anyway. Not that the recipient raved about them, merely noting that they were the best lamb chops they’d had in Kalkan. This is saying something, considering the number of lambs that have been devoured here in the form of those chops. Full marks there, then, for Wapiano’s Lamb Chops.
This left a Flaming Marble Fillet Steak to try. Initially, I’m not sure whether it’s the marble that’s flaming or the steak, but I expect it’s the Steak. Semantics just cause confusion sometimes.
As you would expect, it’s the steak that’s flaming. Not for long, it’s loaded with alcohol, table-side, ignited, and the ensuing conflagration avoided (just) by the staff. Fortunately, the combustion process is short, and you will be pleased to hear that your writer isn’t posting this from the burns unit at Fethiye.
It comes with three sauces, and don’t ask what they are, because I’m unsure. You can be sure though that (at least) one of them will be acceptable to your palate - so go for it.
I asked for Medium Rare (as usual) and it was Medium Rare. If you like your steak to not continue cooking on the - very – hot slab, then I recommend you remove it to the board, or, undercut it as you consume it to reduce the contact patch with the slab. That bit will get well done, but the heat transfer will be reduced.
Now I’ve given away my engineering background, I suppose?
You’ll never guess there was a shared Ice Cream at the end, would you? I thought not.
Now I feel I should comment on something here. And it concerns the team at Wapiano. We know that Ewan is there, and other ex-Chillies (over the years) people are there. We also note that Ewan’s daughter is also in the background (she’s autistic, but is getting excellent education support from the State on a one to one basis), as is Ewan’s wife, not in the background, but serving at tables.
I think this is a good thing. She’s good, knows her stuff and I do get a little unimpressed by the overbearing macho egos of the male-dominated restaurant staff everywhere else. I know it’s traditional, social, and all the rest, but I can only say that this was refreshing and empowering and I believe that we should encourage more of this. (I’d use her name here, but I have absolutely no idea on how to spell it. No doubt, one of you will add this to the thread for me.)
I suspect this may well be one of the places that will get a return visit this year, as to date, we haven’t been anywhere twice in the evenings.
Taxi for the less mobile, Military March for the other, and evaporating drinks for both at the hotel bar.
I don’t have a Crystal ball, but I can see much fluid tomorrow…
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Day 10 – Life on the Ocean Wave
That’s given away the ‘much fluid’ bit for today, hasn’t it?
We are picked up by our resident friend, J, thrown out at the Marina (not really, but it sounds more dramatic), for a jolly day out pretending to be Buccaneers, Corsairs or something. That’s not Royal Navy bombers, or Ford Cars from the past, incidentally.
This is a private boatload, rather than a public group compiled in twos and threes, etc. Thus, there are nine of us, and no hoi-polloi!
J of course we know, (unless it was a total stranger that drove us down), and most of the others we also have met before on other boat trips. Plus some new faces to make up numbers. Anonymity prevails here as I’m not going to break privacy without permission.
Any of you have done a boat trip, probably all of you; know how it works, so I won’t bore you with the standard itinerary.
Then we turn left and head for Kiziltas instead of going clockwise. This is a pleasant change, and when we get there it looks like Brighton (or similar) on a sunny Bank holiday in Britain. With a continuous stream of people going down the innumerable steps, just how long would it be before they were overflowing into the sea and being picked off by Great Whites?
Yes, Yes, I know, there’s only been three sunny Bank Holidays in Britain since 1743, but try to use some imagination! [I believe there may be a pic. on KTLN – but I’m not sure - have I mentioned my internet access in Kalkan currently?]
As you will be well aware, there are only so many things you can do on a boat trip. Eat, Drink, lounge around, talk and throw yourself overboard.
You can also, request permission from the Admiral in charge, whether you can be empowered with a fishing line with a lethal lure on the end.
And so it is. A fishing line out each side, one of which, yours truly is in command.
Now, I confess that remembering the when where and so on of the fishing lines and results is a bit hazy now, possibly due to the fumes from those evaporating glasses of wine, but the score for the entire trip was seven mackerel. Three were of the size that you’d get if you bought the fillets in Tesco, Waitrose or Aldi; the other four were very nice sized fish, weight unknown, but each would make a substantial meal for one and an adequate meal for two.
I’m not going to boast that five of the seven were on your correspondent’s line, nor that one ‘fell off’ (honest, guv), because I’m not that sort of fisherman. But I cannot tell a lie!
At least one of those fish was consumed at Lunch. Rick Stein, eat your heart out!
Now what else can you say about a boat trip. We did, of course, revert to the normal itinerary, taking a more direct route to the usual haunts (mud excepted) before coast hugging back to Kalkan.
Would you be surprised if I told you that there was much drink consumed (or evaporated)? Remember
Hydration is Important
Would you be surprised if I told you that there was far too much food for the occupants?
Would you be surprised if I told you there was much conversation?
You’re right – this was a Boat Trip!
Once disembarked, around 6pm, and overladen with excessive food and drink, is there anyone that actually walks back up the hill? I’d expect, presume and plan on the use of taxis from the Pirat. We do absolutely nothing to dispel this tradition.
Once in the hotel, there is only one thing to do. Collapse.
This done neatly and elegantly, until such time as enough energy can be collected, together with the necessity to do something with the remains of the evening.
And that ultimately means Ali Babas, a light something or another to maintain the blood sugar levels until breakfast, and watch the world go by.
With all the Turkish tourists in Kalkan this week, there is an opportunity to consider how things change over the years.
What struck us most is the overtly Westernisation conveyed by the majority. Now, you soon get to spot the difference between the British tourists (or whatever), and the Turkish tourist. It’s pretty apparent without much effort. What was especially marked was the skinny jeans, tight t-shirts and, frequently (very) short shorts of a nature not seen since the Sun’s Page Three girls of the 1980s! And this was the Turkish females. You knew they were the Turkish females (obviously from the Westernised cities) because their partners were so obviously NOT anything except Turkish.
Who would have predicted such things a few years or decades ago, and I suspect a certain President may not be overly impressed?
This then, is the real point behind people watching. It’s not the people, it’s the behaviour and attitudes that are exhibited; and when you can cast your mind back even 10 years (apart from the 20 I could probably manage for Turkey, at a push), there’s a remarkable change or direction by a substantial percentage.
The counterpoint, of course is that there are still the traditional markers there as well, but this just goes to emphasise the differences that exist, but are being slowly eroded in some quarters.
It will be interesting to see next week, and to therefore compare the difference in numbers coming and going, as the holiday ends, and Turkey gets on with things; Kalkan goes back to being Kalkan; and see what it was like, back in 2008 or something.
As it was such a tiring day, we have to finish off with conjuring tricks in the hotel bar; where we demonstrate the trick of the disappearing wine.
Repeated, to give viewers a chance to work out how its done.
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Day 11 – Landlubbers again
Now this could get very repetitive, so we’ll skip the breakfast – pool - lunch at Chillies – pool bit and skip to the evening.
Before I do this, I should explain that the reason Chillies comes up so often is for two reasons. Pure familiarity, it’s a light lunch and it’s not so far for those with a degree of mobility issues.
Three things:
Familiarity, light lunches, accessibility and bumping into familiar faces. (That would have been deck two, oars three and four of yesterday’s boat trip)
Four things.
Before this turns into the Spanish Inquisition and Cardinal Biggles appears with the comfy chair, we shall, for the purposes of narrative, enlighten you with the evening’s nutritional intake at The Olive Garden.
Why the Olive Garden, well, it was handy for reimbursing BSG for the leather goods already removed from the premises (you can tell he knows you, trusts you, etc.), and there was a certain matter at a jewellers that needed attending to.
Enough Said?
The trouble with the Olive Garden, is not just the manoeuvring through Merkez’ customers and steps, but also the steps to get to the restaurant. And once there, you find that you’re expected to negotiate the spiral staircase to the top floor. Now stairs are bad enough, ramps are manageable, but spiral staircases for the Stainless Steel one, are very difficult. This requires an altogether different strategy. Coming down also requires a rethink, but that’s later.
It’s a protracted climb, where we hope that not too many other customers die of malnutrition as they follow us up to the top, and we are eventually seated.
This is where we start to struggle to find something that just appeals on the menu. Not that there’s anything wrong with the menu, just finding something that appeals.
Whether this is us, the menu, or what, I can’t say. But it does rather preclude a second visit when you struggle to fulfil the initial selections.
We decide on Tavuk Ciger (Chicken Livers with cherry sauce), and Baharatlı Kuzu (Lamb Stew with Cardamom and Cinnamon).
Both of which are tasty, and portion control is fine. But I’m still stumped as to what I’d have if I went again. Where’s the Goat Stew, guys?
Turkish cuisine is fine, but at the Olive Garden it just seems a bit limited and eclectic for diverse and variable choices.
Then again, I may just have my ‘grumpy and difficult’ hat on.
Then we negotiate the dreaded spiral staircase downwards, achieved, with only thirty or so people waiting behind to visit the toilet or catch a flight home in two or three days.
BSG are delighted to see us, especially as we are going to pass on some numbered portraits of Ataturk, so we dwell longer, accepting the imbibing of some white wine to calm the nerves following the spiral descent.
[The next bit, vis-à-vis jewellers, will be omitted, lest those reading it either use it as an excuse to bludgeon their respective partners into remortgaging property for something, glittery and expensive; or alternatively promoting mild envy amongst readers of this account.]
Thence, taxi to the hotel – the legs being a bit wobbly due to the spiral staircase, the parting of the folding stuff, and, well, you can guess the rest.
And what happens when you get to the bar?
“Well, what have you bought then?”, from anyone and everyone even remotely interested in anyone pushing themselves into destitution; inevitable if you visit some of the establishments along that part of Kalkan previously described.
We subsequently opt for demonstrating the disappearing alcoholic beverage, before having a lie down until the morning to consider what we may have done…
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;D ;D ;D
Really enjoying reading these reports Chris_S, but do enlighten us with what was bought...its as close as we come to people watching from the UK.
BTW, we do walk back up the hill after a boat trip..and we are a wee bit higher than Meldi...and..AND I may have had a couple of Fener cocktails before we set off to fortify me for the climb. Just sayin...
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We used to stop not far from the Meldi when we first came to Kalkan and the walk up to the main road finished me off let alone spiral staircases in the Olive Garden. I too liked the Olive Garden but never found out what the rave factor was. We visited once but never chose to go back.
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There is only one way to escape the hill....stay in the Old Town, now our favourite part of Kalkan to stay. :laugh:
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Kalkan4eva
You're obviously made of sterner stuff than I. But then my excuse is my companion.
And I'm sticking to it ;D
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Day 12 – In which we explore the possibilities of idleness
This could get repetitious if I’m not careful.
You’ll be saying, “Didn’t I read this yesterday?”, and, for the most part, you may.
I find myself in the situation some of you may have some recollection of, when you are young, small, or shall we just say, not many birthdays old.
In such cases, you may have been on holiday away from parents, and instead, with relations, perhaps. This potential freedom is then countered by the enforced necessity to write home periodically, entreated by the parents at one end, and your temporary guardians at the other (or enforcers as they may be known). Of course, in the days of pre-internet, e-mail and unsocial networking, you wrote letters. The first reaction to such letters was always, “what shall I write?”, and then a few lines of ‘did this, did that, it rained, went to (wherever), love…”, squeezed onto half a sheet of A5 paper.
You do know this is a holiday, right? And holidays mean lowered pressure to actually do anything, and to a time scale. You can’t mow a lawn that’s nearly two thousand miles away, nor can you clean the windows at such a range.
Bliss.
Until you get home that is. And you can’t see the dirty windows for the long grass up to the eaves. In spite of such prospective horrors yet to materialise, I shall return to the narrative.
Adem picked us up to take us to his place. Coincidentally, this is called Adam’s Place. Many of you may have been. Many of you may not. You may also recall we had lunch last week when the motorised transport was available. Since the vehicle has been returned, we rely on Adem’s collection service.
He’s on time, and we are one table out of three this evening (so far), which is good, but not really good enough. I should point out that the choice of this evening was completely deliberate, it being a Full Moon.
This doesn’t mean we’re going to turn into Werewolves or something, but does mean that the moonlight shining on the sea, silhouetting the islands, makes it ‘a bit different’ to a normal nocturnal visit.
These days, Adem has decent lighting at the restaurant, but we can remember when the moonlight was your best chance of actually seeing what you were eating, quite apart from reading the menu. We used to take torches to assist those tasks; but those days are long gone and instead Adem turns the lights off so you can appreciate the vista and are not reading menus or finding the carrot / bean / main ingredient in the dark.
I had been looking forward to Adem’s Incık - all the theatre, flames and so on, but the previous diners had snaffled the last one; Adem not preparing as much as usual due to the reduction in guests. Damn! I should have pre-booked it, but it’s too late now, so I have a Kavurma instead. Preceded by Imam Bayıldı as a starter (I’m a sucker for this – I use it to salve my conscience for my carnivorous eating habits).
The opposite side of the table chooses Cheese Borek and Shrimp Casserole.
What can one say? It’s delightful, for both of us. Especially when you follow it with non ‘Carte d’Or’ ice cream (aka.: Wall’s), and have some proper stuff, instead.
Another couple of people did turn up, under their own steam, and take a table, but there’s no doubt the pinch is definitely being felt up there – I can only exhort you to make the effort and go!
As you would know, or expect, Adem returns us from whence we came, dishing out cards to anyone who looks like a potential customer! Can’t blame him for trying, and it’s nowhere like the aggressive sales pitch of a timeshare salesperson on the Costas.
The hotel bar is the comforting place it usually is, and you are repeatedly asked “Where did you go tonight?”, and when you tell them, the reply is either “we went there years ago” or “Never heard of it”.
In both cases they are subsequently educated, or re-educated – and we shall see whether anybody actually makes the effort (minimal) or not.
All this education tends to make the contents of the glasses evaporate faster, requiring further replenishment, because
Hydration is Important
And so is sleep.
Sleep is the winner at the end of the day.
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Well you may be continuing with the old "eat, sleep, hydrate, repeat" routine Chris (as we all do on holiday), but you are making each day a joy to read about.
I also think both you and Joycie deserve an award for the most consistant bloggers as we are lucky to read about both your antics as they happen. Thank you so much. :)
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Day 13– Hardly the Onedin Line
There should be a backdrop of some rousing, or evocative background music for this bit. Like “Khachaturian: Adagio from Spartacus”, (https://youtu.be/Vx7RWW36wes (https://youtu.be/Vx7RWW36wes)), or a bit of composer Ivor Slaney’s work (https://youtu.be/GXWLesv48pw (https://youtu.be/GXWLesv48pw)).
There you are, you can click the links above, listen, and read on:
We, in a collaborative sense meaning nine of us inmates of the Meldi, are aboard the Anil today, and commanded as usual by Ali. It’s a few years since we’ve been on Ali’s boat, principally due to the need to get sufficient numbers for a boatload and frustration that no-one else bothered to do anything for their day out apart from turn up.
Ali is therefore a little older than last we met, but nowhere near older as we are. Obviously there’s been some disruption of the Space-Time Continuum, or this Mediterranean diet thing really works. We shall politely skip over whether Victoria has anything to do with this, as this would be imprudent at the very least.
MS Anil, true to form is amongst the first to leave, but not quite. We need to avoid bumping into some impressively large vessels in the entrance. Once out, we’re off like a greyhound and out goes a solitary line.
I shan’t raise the hopes of a trawler load of fish being landed, as there wasn’t a thing caught. A little nibble early on (Ooo-er, missus – sorry, that’s Frankie Howerd), but nothing subsequently. I have a theory about this, and I suspect it’s because Ali’s boat is a little faster than Therapy the other day. My failure to catch anything is, I believe, because the fish can’t keep up with the lure! Certainly there was much more drag on the line when nothing was caught, which I put down to the slightly increased speed. [Technical Note: double the speed, four times the drag; In other words going from 5 knots to 6 knots is a 20% speed increase, but gives 44% increase in drag – and you can feel that, because it feels like you’ve caught something, but it’s not wriggling.]
We take the long route around the back of Mouse and Snake to give the fish an increased chance of escaping by going the other side of the island, whilst enjoying the first beverage of the day. The food and drink programme is similar to the others, as are the abandon ship rehearsals.
Attempts at landing a record sized fish being abandoned, I remain at the rear of the vessel. This is officially, as you know, called the Stern. Or Blunt End. Most of the paying guests have migrated to the Bow, or Pointy End, to indulge in whatever it is they are drinking. I remain lounging at the back, rather like the mega-rich multi-millionaires you see in the papers doing similar things on the back of their significantly more expensive and larger vessels.
Those of you still listening to the links above (depending on how fast you read this, and haven’t fallen asleep yet) will note that the Captain, and his Number Two are nearly always at the back of the vessels with masts. I am following this tradition also, and for the same reason:
To ensure those mutinous dogs for’ard behave themselves, and prepare to keelhaul those that don’t. We shall ignore the small issue of keelhauling being illegal as it spoils the narrative. On the other hand, is flogging still allowed?
As it happens, there are no miscreants, and therefore they are allowed to partake of the groaning table full of food, including a mild, and very popular chicken curry. We just need another 50 people to consume it all. Or divert towards Libya.
This gastronomic blow-out is followed, inevitably, by the customary snooze, until Ali stops again for the ‘sinking ship rehearsal’ mentioned previously.
In line with previous examples, now try a bit of Alan Rawstorne: https://youtu.be/FDlz90xeEYE (https://youtu.be/FDlz90xeEYE)
Only a couple of us left on board, well 4, and all these bodies bobbing up and down, reminiscent of:
https://youtu.be/fSpaKCC6g2M (https://youtu.be/fSpaKCC6g2M) where you need to look at the part between 1:08 to 1:20 to understand.
Fortunately for the aforementioned mutinous dogs, there are no U-boats around (well, probably not) so they are pretty safe in that respect.
Apart from Tiger Sharks, Barracuda and who knows what manner of bugs, viruses and things you’ve never heard of unless you’re something with –ologist at the end of your job title.
Have I given away why I stay on board?
Then it’s time for enough fruit, cake, tea and coffee to keep Mary Berry, Paul Hollywood, Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins going for an entire series or two. The only thing lacking was innuendo. Well, not at Bake-Off proportions anyway. Consumption of all of it was lacking too, but that doesn’t really count, does it?
Before you know it, we’re nearly back in Kalkan Harbour. Ali, as usual, is first back, probably due to the increased speed; thus adding to my earlier suspicions.
Bl**dy good day out, though. As are, any of the boat trips I should imagine. I patently refuse to take sides, choose, or give points or preferences, just as I do restaurants, lest someone gets offended, upset, or otherwise disagrees.
As befits the earlier replies following the Therapy Boat trip, and the arduous climb up the West Face of Cardiac Hill, our party disassembles itself – the lure of bars showing football being a distraction to some, and the lure of shops to others.
We just get a taxi and crash out back at the hotel.
The next thing you know, you’re concentrating on that blood sugar thing at around 9.30. You’ve probably had enough fructose this afternoon to keep you going until Boxing Day, but still the plans are laid to take over Ali Baba's, making them rearrange the furniture to get us all in.
Which they do, and we do, and we eat lightly, generally with soup and wine, because
Hydration is Important
until the arduous exertions of the day really take command again.
I still think it’s strange that you have a day where you do the square root of s*d-all, eat, drink and rabbit – yet still feel like you’ve rowed the Atlantic single-handed with two broken arms.
It’s the Kalkan thing, I guess.
The location of Ali Baba's makes it relatively easy (as if anything’s easy when you have to come back uphill) to pop down to Wapiano to make a reservation for four next Tuesday.
When I get there, can you guess the response from Ewan?
I’ll bet you can’t!
It’s:
“Table for four, nine o’clock, Tuesday”.
This means one of a few things. He’s either a mind-reader on the side; my hotel room is bugged; Paranoia is taking hold and the government is monitoring me (foil lined hats, anybody?); or the most likely, J has got there before me and made the reservation.
Which or course she has. Thus making the climb back up the hill superfluous and results in a text message, the friendly content of which you need not bother yourself with, but you can probably guess.
This means another drink at the bar, and the loins girded - for tomorrow we have to be on top form.
If only – but we’ll try…
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Just having a massive catch up on EK, reading all your blogs, and yes you and Joycie definitely deserve an award. :D :D Thank you for your great posts, just a bit worried who will take up the baton next, Babs, Sezkalkan, Littlebrowndog! no pressure and of course anyone else who have arrived in Paradise :D
J&B
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Chris I love your reports they are so eloquent. Mine just pour out as I think about what we've done on that particular day.
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Day 14 – Vroom-Vroom and Yawn-Yawn
Weariness has overcome us. Or is it Lethargy?
We shall opt for lethargy, as we’ve not really done anything wearisome, and not likely to either.
That starts when you do the ‘return to Blighty’ bit in a few days. This is something studiously ignored until the last possible minute.
Now this is a Sunday. And whereas you, your family members, or friends may consider this a day of rest (as if!), there are some souls that get paid large sums of money – some modestly high, some extravagantly over the top – doing risky things around the world.
Following this, is alas, our minor vice, since we let everyone else watch the football (to us: Yawn, Yawn), while we watch the F1 (to us: Vroom, Vroom, everyone else: yawn, yawn).
Careful timing, research and the end result is lunch at Chillies (see pre-history) and then pop next door for the F1 at Blue Turtle.
With the requisite drinks
(Hydration is Important)
there are about a dozen watching the events in Singapore in the Blue Turtle, and five watching whatever (Cerne Abbas against St. Kilda, for all I knew) round the corner on screen two (or screen one, depending on how they number them).
Well, there’s no point in detailing this, because whichever you’re interest lies in, you’ll know what happened in either case, so no point in repeating it.
Though it was curious to note that the F1 feed failed three times but the soccer one didn’t fail at all. Now, if I was of a conspiracy theory frame of mind, I might get suspicious, because this is often the case. But I like to think it’s because demand for the F1 feed is so high, the servers can’t keep up. There must be a demand; Bernie, Tamara, Petra, Deborah and Slavica are hardly going to foodbanks, are they?
We go back to the hotel for an intensive recovery programme, then. It’s hard work with all those G-Forces for two hours in 55°C temperature and 99% humidity.
Alas no. Coiffeur maintenance is called for after yesterday’s nautical escapades. Not down to the Force Eight gales, or the spray as we plough through the 25 foot waves; but it needs smartening up.
As we’re nearly in town, a diversion to Yusuf is on the cards, and on our appearance he is apologetic about the previously missed appointment. All concerned with family issues and the holiday celebrations plus some unmentioned unforeseen events.
There’s no problem this time, and I return to my people watching at Zulas, and eavesdrop a little to the party of Germans on the next table. And the several further groups of Germans passing by; and these are recognised by the Zula customers.
I should point out that my German is very ‘wenig’. Conversationally it’s ‘kein’.
But I do pick up the few words that tell me that they quite liked Kalkan, apart from the – slightly – rude references to some of their fellow (German) travellers and their proclivities, especially regarding behaviour and relationships.
Isn’t it nice to know there are ordinary people all around the world, who can also gossip and infer along with the rest of us (not that I would do such a thing of course, and certainly not here)?
Evening-wise it’s Salonika tonight.
Salonika 1881, if you’re pedantic.
Those who have previously visited the establishment, will have read the inside cover of the menu, the rest will not know why it’s named after the second largest city in Greece.
In short, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was born there in 1881.
Salonika (Thessaloniki, is in Greek Macedonia) that is, not the small building in Süleyman Yılmaz Caddesi.
Now you know (or already knew).
Up on the consumables route tonight is:
Grilled Sardines (shared)
Sea bass stuffed with prawns and mushrooms
Incık
And a bottle of Doluca Neo red
The sardines, as a starter are tasty, and really not quite enough for a share. But we do what we must to prevent becoming bariatric patients, and do actually remind us of the fare you can get on the Algarve from the street sellers. These are a bit more posh, though.
The Sea Bass is devoured, as is the Incık, which has a slight spiciness to it, which is different, not unpleasant and distinctive. It does fall off the bone though, which could have been done with a plastic airline spoon.
We’ve never had the Neo before, and I got the impression that it was Doluca’s way of modernising the wine structure still further. It’s certainly come a long way from the first Turkish Wines we had, several centuries ago. Worth a try, I would say.
Now for the observations.
Salonika is a street restaurant. This means it’s good for atmosphere, people watching, and all those sorts of things you associate with street restaurants. No traffic of course, apart from the pedestrian sort.
Unfortunately we were sandwiched between two tables who, in effect, chain smoked. One was continually smoking cigars (a woman) while her two other party members (all possibly Turkish) regularly lit up, and on our other side were a table of three East Europeans, possibly Ukrainians. (Ukrainian isn’t in my recognisable language database, so I’m guessing here). They already had their starter when we arrived and had gone through 6 cigarettes by the time our main course had arrived, they were still on the starter because their focus was the cigarettes, not the food. A further 5 or 6 cigarettes had been consumed by the time we left and they were still halfway through the main course. They may still be there, or maybe at the dessert, who knows? We had taken two hours, and being downwind of the nicotine consumption, it was extremely difficult to ignore, hence the reasonable accuracy on the numbers!
Can’t really blame anyone, it was just our unfortunate choice of tables, and I suppose this is what we’re going to find as a result of the changing attitudes in Western Europe, as opposed to those in the Eastern side of the continent.
I wish I’d caught a few herring the day before – we could have had them for breakfast tomorrow!
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[You may spot that I've caught up - nearly!]
Day 15 – New Faces and Au Revoirs
All routines come to an end, and because today was another day we changed the routine.
This was, originally, or back in the UK, supposed to be earlier in the holiday. But you know how it is, Kalkan just distracts, makes you busy, you come up with something more important, or even more likely, time passes and you can’t keep to your schedule.
We were, therefore, at Fener, pre-noon, to put the face to TC at KTLN, over a beverage.
This also meant putting a face to Mrs.TC, whilst reminding you, the reader, that Katie-Ellen is a dog.
This job done, with all sorts of historical infill to convince them both that we were not International People Smugglers, Corrupt Stock Exchange Insiders nor iffy Multinational Retail Business Owners.
They can now, of course, picture us when they read the nom-de-plumes used on their site, and make their own judgement. You, of course, do not, generally, have that luxury. This may well be a good thing.
The completion of the social meeting, means that it is, appropriately, lunchtime or thereabouts. A decision needs to be made, especially as we have to run the gauntlet along the front, fending off the inducements to lunch at various premises, and thus encouraging further customers to patronise them.
We have, however, decided to give Blue Marlin a whirl. On arrival, we are, as it is a little early, the first.
Calamari and salad, is a no contest, especially for a light(er) lunch and gives no cause for getting upset about. The earlier comments regarding Zygi (Cyprus) still hold – that crown is yet to be dislodged for us.
All in all, pretty respectable lunch, but we’re running out of evenings, so savouring Blue Marlin in the evening will have to be postponed until next year.
Now, one of the things about the Meldi is that it’s very difficult to escape. We’re not talking Steve McQueen type escapes here, but the checking out, going to your taxi and then disappearing into the sunset, type escapes.
If you leave here in what can only be described as sociable hours, you may find a number of fellow guests, together with staff, wishing you Bon Voyage. (There may be some Good Riddance, but I think not, normally).
If you are on one of those unluckily enough to be flying out of Dalaman at ridiculous o’clock and arriving in the UK at absurd o’clock, then you are likely to not be seen at all when you leave, except the ‘Night Porter’ (Mehmet, not Tom Hiddleston – calm down ladies).
The farewells are, as you can imagine, both formal, and for some tearful. They will probably be in contact in the meantime, but for some they will be just words on the screen until next year, when the farewell will become a greeting, with similar tears, hugs and handshakes.
Sometimes it will be a car, sometimes a minibus, but this time it’s a 15-seater. Monday is a bigger change day, all, or most will be replaced by other returning guests later on in the day, arriving on the same conveyances as those departing. Later they reveal their presence at breakfast, since their arrival is normally post-midnight.
In the interim, we taxi up to the Yelken Bistro. You may recall we had an evening meal here earlier (see the Greenham Common refugee and the mysterious goings-on in the bushes).
I’ve no doubt some of you will walk this continual ascent, but masochism isn’t one of my strong suits – Joni Mitchell to the rescue, it is.
Recognition of customers is a strong point in Turkey, and so we are recognised from last time, and find the Bistro a little quieter, both in patrons and eccentrics.
This does allow us to concentrate on the Imam Bayıldı starter (shared again) followed by another Sea Bass, this time with King Prawns, together with an Incık (again)
The Imam Bayıldı is listed as ‘Fainting Priest’, and the Incık is ‘Leg of Lamb’. Maybe I’ve been coming too long, or maybe the Thomas Crook / Thomson bucket and spade people have had a denigrating effect. I’m not sure I like it!
Personal opinions aside on the Menu titles for dishes, the Imam Bayıldı was a little small for sharing, so note this if you contemplate it for yourselves, but that’s all I can complain about there. It was our decision to share.
The Sea Bass was, once again polished off, with only a King Prawn being offered across the table. These prawns had to be peeled, and this seems to be a skill that means the peeling is delegated. I of course complained bitterly that such delights should not be offered. As if!
The Incık was also comprehensively demolished – there is now some poor lamb with one leg left. It was accompanied with what seemed to be a mushroom based sauce, but that was just my impression. The mashed potato did soak it up rather rustically.
This left just enough room for a lemon cheesecake. Once again, not really a big enough for two portion, but we’re trying, OK? Stylish and lemony, it would easily have got through to the next round on TV.
The requested taxi arrives to return us to the Meldi, and, strangely, another bottle of Red has oddly disappeared from the bar. There is obviously someone else drinking the bottles of wine with our room number on it. We must find this bounder and insist they desist.
I wonder if they are taking the
Hydration is Important
mantra a little too seriously?
There is no other choice but to start another new bottle, and see if this lasts any longer than the previous ones.
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I note your second reference to the 'Thomas Cook Bucket and Spade People' and find this both patronising and derogatory. We have been coming to,and enjoying Kalkan, for 10 years and simply because we choose to travel with a travel agent doesn't make our opinion,or our money, any less valuable.
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Fair point well made Kevin Norwich ;)
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Yep, I'm with you Kevin.....our daughter has been on many holidays to Kalkan with us, all arranged independently, but a couple of time she has travelled with friends and it's just been more convenient for them to use a tour company......sometimes a bit of cynisism on here?
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I note your second reference to the 'Thomas Cook Bucket and Spade People' and find this both patronising and derogatory. We have been coming to,and enjoying Kalkan, for 10 years and simply because we choose to travel with a travel agent doesn't make our opinion,or our money, any less valuable.
By Bucket and Spade, I am trying to be neither patronising nor derogatory.
Nor is it about Tour Companies generally.
It is a reference to people who endeavour to lower standards to their level by dress, behaviour, demands or inconsideration to other people around them whilst on holiday. It is a term widely used in the Travel Industry, especially the airlines.
I am sure that none of these attributes are yours.
I also use, and have used, Tour companies, and I am fully aware that all sorts of people utilise these services. However, there is a minority who just don't get it that Kalkan (and any other holiday destinations) isn't a seedy British or Spanish Resort, and the majority come here for that very simple reason. Probably yourself included.
No offence was intended to Tour Company Customers, generally
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Day 16 – Blue Skies and Sunshine – just not here
The Smartphone said it, everybody’s tablets were saying it, and the sky said it.
It’s going to rain. And Thunder.
It’s also going to ruin your day’s plans.
And so it does. The laying about in the UV, the dropping off in the heat, forget it. This is overcast, grey, and if it were cooler, could be typical day at a UK Airshow, Cricket Match or holiday in (insert your least favourite resort – I’m not going to upset anyone if I can help it).
Low Clouds – rain; Blue Bits – warmer; Lower Clouds – heavy rain; Thunder in distance; Thunder locally; Power cuts; generators starting; Mountains nearly disappearing.
Have I come all this way for this?
No. But being British, we do what we always do, and prop the bar up and wait for it to improve. In the meantime, we’ll have lunch at the hotel. And read in the room (not easy – no proper chairs to sit on in the Meldi’s rooms), this is a small downside – the Meldi’s not the best equipped to cope with inclement weather and being comfortable; armchairs etcetera when you’ve got nowhere to go are desirable, but not available.
There is a positive to this. And it is that this post is actually reasonably contemporary; I’ve caught up, sort of. Let’s hope the intraweb thingy allows me to post it in a reasonable time. At least the rainy weather has produced something decent. Or not.
Hiding from the rain also means that the alcohol consumption may actually be a little reduced. Only a little, mind you. For others it is the reverse. We can hear the tongue loosening effects of the bar’s social activities; but in comparison, we are dry and warm.
As the day draws on, the weather worsens, or changes, depending on whether you’re in it, looking at it, or planning to go out into it.
We are in the ‘looking at it’ position, and contemplating the ‘going out in it’ future.
Concern is growing because we are due to be at Wapiano tonight with J &C. Wapiano, is, ostensibly, a rooftop restaurant. This means, tonight, it is a very wet restaurant, or at the very least a wet restaurant.
Does this, we wonder, mean that we should rearrange our plans, cancel, find an alternative indoors, or be the stoic Brit and carry on as if this weather is the most normal thing in the world and changes nothing?
A flurry of texts dash across the world’s communications systems as we text our fellow guests and decide what we are going to do; or whether we revise the schedule to fit in with this second flood.
The option of walking down is abandoned, there being insufficient umbrellas to go around (Umbrellas, Turkey? Do they have such things?), the car park adjacent to Mojitos may just provide a suitable dropping off point, and if full, enable the driver to find elsewhere to park, thus suffering the inconvenience of walking in the rain, but may also have first claim for the sole umbrella. On this plan we are lucky, because, with a bit of manual guidance on foot, we manoeuvre the car into the only available space, suitable primed for a reasonably easy get away when the other cars have gone.
And it’s not raining. Lightning in the sky, but no wet stuff.
Wapiano, like many of the establishments is almost deserted. Where’s all this British grit and determination? Where’s the Blitz spirit? Where’s the sod-it, I’m on holiday attitude?
Somewhere else, it seems.
We are almost the only people in Wapiano, and, given the selection of a table under cover, or the conventional, at the edge table we bravely settle on the risky option. Under the stars it is then, with the option of making a dash for it if the gods decide to take retribution on us for questioning their authority.
Can’t exactly recall what J & C had, but, we had a shared fish cake (or is that a fish cake shared, fish cakes that two of us we shared – you get the picture) and both of us had lamb cutlets, one good, and one not so. Some subtle investigation reveals that this was mainly down to the animal, in terms of the structure of the edible parts of the cutlets, compounded by some slightly less dexterous butchering. Possibly not easy to spot from the kitchen’s point of view, though it was still very good, it fell under the rankings of the last visit.
You can imagine, can you not, that although we are eating, drinking and gabbling away, the eyes are repeatedly being raised to the heavens. This is not to appeal to the gods previously referred to, but to check on the weather (as much as you can in the dark, albeit 4 days after a full moon, lurking up there and dodging behind bits of cumulus nimbus and its cloudy relatives), and we are treated benignly by these superior deities and survive without a drenching.
The evening is appreciably cooler; more summer’s evening in the UK than Kalkan in September. This is appreciated by those who suffer the furnace of Turkey for the whole of the summer, less so by those that have paid to endure the rarity of balmy evenings and nights.
All these distractions, chat, cooler climate and so on, take the edge off the need for dessert (probably to the benefit of waistlines, if not the profit margin of the restaurant); Coffee, further drinks and deeper conversation replaces the sugar boost conventionally found after a meal, until we decide to call it a day and move on to the next venue.
The car park is, as we guessed it would be earlier, largely deserted, like most of the bars and other establishments. This desertion encouraged the decision to complete the evening at the Meldi Bar; finishing what red wine was inadvertently left by the raucous guests earlier in the day, and are left with further decisions on beverages that might ‘hit the spot’ instead. A job relatively easily done, once it is mulled over for a second or two.
All good things have to come to an end, the carriages have long since reverted to pumpkins and mice, and the non-holidaymakers posing as our guests are planning on the tasks needed later to gain pecuniary advantage. In other words, they have jobs to do tomorrow, or is it today – fortunately, not at the crack of dawn.
They are not the only ones with a busy day ahead.
Time for some kip, methinks.
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Another brilliant post Chris_S. In a perverse way I think that the inclement weather has provided an opportunity to demonstrate even more of your literary talent. I'm pleased that it hasn't dampened your enthusiasm and humour. I am now even more aware of how easy it can be to upset readers of the forum and will take this on board when I arrive next June and post my experiences. I really appreciate everyone that takes the time and effort to share their holiday in Kalkan.
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Thank you for taking the time to reply and for your explanation - I was certainly not aware of the term or of it's usage within the travel industry.
I to am a firm believer in politeness, good manners and consideration for others but feel we need to be careful when it comes to clothing (books, cover etc). An individual's dress sense can be quirky, diverse, different to the norm, special, beautiful. In many ways, not too dissimilar to Kalkan.
Have a fantastic rest of your holiday, the reports have been fabulous and a lovely reminder of my favourite place.
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Day 17 – And you though Outbound was bad
Did I say this was going to be a busy day? If you consider something like 21 hours a busy day, then you’re on the money. Hence this one might be a bit long.
Some of it may well be doing very little, some it is frantic, it all adds up to busy.
The day to return to Albion has arrived. This isn’t the West Bromwich variety, but the place most of you are familiar with that causes dissension by some Scottish politicians, and downright pig ignorant ungrateful attitudes by some European bureaucrats (both will remain nameless, but you know who they are).
Thus it is post breaking our fast, that we commence the packing. You can’t do all the packing because you’ve got the best part (time-wise) of the day to negotiate before you can change for the journey home.
Having packed what we could, there is time for a brief session in the sun, before we take lunch. This is all carefully timed, so that the lunch is later than usual. It is also more likely to bridge that gap until breakfast tomorrow, full in the knowledge that whatever the airline throws at you, it’s not going to keep a hamster alive for long. If you’re really unlucky it will be a wrap (Monarch, 2014), and if you’ve been especially naughty, a dry bagel and some nuts (NY Air, 1985).
These airlines don’t seem to realise that although you’re only on board for three or four hours, plus the three hours at the departure airport, plus the two hours to get to the departure airport, plus the hour or so to get out of arrivals, plus the hour or more from there to your destination, there’s no real opportunity to eat sensibly. The flight is the only bit of relative tranquillity you’re going to get to actually eat at a reasonable pace and environment. Duty Free trolley, scratch cards and so on, excepted.
This is part of the “O’Leary Effect”. Of which I am a great believer that hanging, drawing and quartering should be reinstated for the perpetrator of this obscene business practice.
Oh! Yes! The narrative!
It’s an FEB (Full English Breakfast) to carry us over to who knows when, probably tomorrow, in an effort to shrug off whatever may be offered subsequently. Chillies’ is just the ticket, not being so that you have to be carried away by ambulance afterwards, nor thinking you should have ordered the extra portion of sausages, hash browns and so on to complete the meal. Turkish alternatives are available, of course, but the FEB is a known quantity and predictable in it’s effect.
It’s also handy to pop into town afterwards, and assist the digestion by some brisk walking. This is to get a couple of last minute items, which are not handbags, jewellery or the like.
Back at Chillies’, the party of one has grown to three, and my return brings the total to four. J & C have tracked us down and are indulging in lunch also, though not the FEB, as they do not have a flight to look forward to. Have you noticed you can’t go anywhere in Kalkan without someone finding you?
Time trickles on, and the availability of it before the transfer arrives is being eroded; getting ready, finishing the packing and paying the bar bill to avoid the last minute panic invariably appears to be a good plan. The good plan works. For once.
Previously, I have mentioned that you cannot escape the Meldi in daylight without being noticed. We were noticed, and the goodbyes, farewells, hugs, and requests for last minute information still prevail, and we depart, waving graciously from the windows in a futile endeavour to appear regally serene like the Queen, waving to the assembled throng.
You just can’t hide the wrench when you leave Kalkan unless you’ve done it, can you? Nobody else understands. They think you’re mad.
But you do it, again and again, year after year. This is probably because the highs far outweigh the lows, by a large margin.
Which leads me to ask why do so many transfers stop this side of Fethiye? They get fuel. It may be cheaper, but…? Don’t they realise that whether it’s coming or going, once on our way, we want to get to where we’re going, not stop for a toilet break after 35 minutes?
At least the journey is safe – inasmuch we arrive without incident at Dalaman. We also get through the first security barrier without problems, (if you ignore the check on entering the airport perimeter) but then this is the relatively easy one, designed to stop someone walking in with a bang-vest or an AK-47.
As usual the queuing at Dalaman is chaotic, or should that be very chaotic? The signs say we’re desks 6 and 7. An enormous queue, then it seems some people think this is the Jet2 queue for desks 2, 3 and 4.
No Comment.
We are plucked out by an ATM guy (remember the Stainless Steel One needs assistance) and directed to the Club queue, where with a few other unfortunates, we are deemed fortunate and are spliced into the general queue so they can do the job of assistance more efficiently.
This goes splendidly well, and, because we are informed the flight is late by nearly an hour, I decide to splash the cash (what’s left of it) and elect to kill this additional time in the CIP Lounge, courtesy of a KTLN discount voucher.
Second security barrier overcome, without incident, and with distinctly less hassle than that at Gatwick, the Havaş man pushing the wheelchair takes us into the CIP Lounge and departs.
Now, the CIP Lounge is really a haven away from the area known as Departures. Departures is really a modern take on the old Bethlehem Hospital in London. (This is where Bedlam comes from, and is now the home of the Imperial War Museum – in case you didn’t know.) The Lounge is quiet, with reasonably comfortable chairs instead of plastic benches, free coffee, J20, water, Coke, Fanta, Sprite, breakfast serials, innumerable salad stuff, cakes, fruit, and so on. All free, or more accurately, included. Alcohol is extra, but as there seems to be none on display, I’m not sure how you get any, though the sign on the desk says it costs extra. Maybe I’ll find out another time.
We watch the information board, and eventually, our flight (late remember, which it is 99% of the time – generally caused by the turnaround at Gatwick, for some reason) changes to ‘Boarding’.
Any of you that have had assistance will know that, the assistance generally gets to you just before boarding starts. This is for obvious reasons. So where is our assistance?
Go to Lounge reception desk, she phones and says “Five minutes”. This comes and passes unnoticed by everyone else except us. She phones again. “Two minutes”. This also passes with nothing happening.
The Board now says “Last Call”.
Panic now sets in. Total Panic sets in. Hysterical Panic looms. The 'End of the World is Nigh' looks probable.
Yet another phone call. CIP staff rush around, either pretending to look for someone or not be around when it really does go pear-shaped. Then the Check-in Girl at the Baggage Drop desk turns up (don’t know how else to refer her), and she takes over the wheelchair, and we gallop, literally, to the gate, where we are the last to board. The Havaş personnel, hanging around the gate, are chatting as if there’s not a care in the world, including the guy who deposited us at the CIP Lounge.
We deduce from helpful Check-in girl, that Havaş went to the wrong CIP lounge to get us.
This is odd, because there is, I think, only one. Anyway, they bloody-well left us there, and the guy that did, didn’t really give a – well you can guess.
What it amounts to is that they forgot about us.
No sooner had we sat down, with glowering looks from the passengers, probably believing we had the held the flight up due to incompetence, buckled up, and we had push-back.
Now, let’s face it, this is sheer bloody incompetence by Havaş. I shudder to think what would have happened if we hadn’t kicked off – what if it had been a sole traveller? And the fact the guy that parked us in the CIP Lounge hadn’t collected us from leaving us there a couple of hours earlier, just compounds the frustration.
The Cabin Crew, were, once informed, sympathetic, though I suspect the other aircraft occupants, unaware of the issues, were probably angry. Conversing later, the Cabin Crew, plus the Captain didn’t blame us at all, and were polite, and assured us we hadn’t delayed the aircraft at all, but I believe we did, but not by our own hand.
Was this CIPs fault? No. In reality, we hadn’t moved, got lost, wandered off, or anything. We should have been the easiest to give assistance to. CIP did their best to help; it was the other idiots that were useless in this respect.
Moving On:
One of us is the nominated driver on arrival in the UK, so abstinence is de rigueur. If this flight ran out of drink, I don’t know. I just looked out of the window at, well, nothing really, for the most part. There was a half sandwich with some Barber’s cheese in it, which they called a Ploughman’s (this would have sustained a Ploughman just long enough to point the horse in the right direction), the usual lukewarm coffee, some India Rubber cheese (called Croxton Hall), crackers and a Mousse.
Looking out of the window eventually became more interesting.
Especially when we get to the Germany-France border where the underlying cloud (we’re at 36,000 feet remember) clears and reveals scattered outbreaks of towns and villages with their streetlights. The haziness between the aircraft and the ground made the lighted areas look like the fires of Hades (as much as can be imagined, anyway), it being relatively easy to imagine these blurs of light below us as the forges and satanic mills of poetic legend.
Gatwick is Gatwick. Assistance is late in coming, hence the previously mentioned chat with the Captain and Crew, who are so-o-o-o-o different to some airlines I could mention. When it arrives, we have a helpful cheery chappy, who gets us through all the obstacles on his buggy. Especially noteworthy is the Border Force man who has a sense of humour and obviously enjoys what he does, though I suspect that his approach to some people trying to gain admission to the UK may be different to a bunch of bona-fide UK Passport holders on Assistance.
Collect Baggage and we’re on our way. Assistance man really comes into his own here, and he goes the extra mile. Why is this?
Because we are a bag short.
This never appears. We have one, but its saintly sister is nowhere to be seen. We have the ugly sister – the one with the washing in, but not the other.
We search. We check other belts. Assistance Man goes out the back (or at least through a door where all the luggage comes from to join the merry-go-round.
Nothing.
Only thing left is fill out the missing form at BA, and contain our further frustration.
At least we’re going home, where we can at least survive on what’s been left behind at home. Not like going on holiday, when everything you need is in THAT BAG.
It happens. It could happen to you. Never, ever do His and Hers bags. One of you, one day, is going to be an extremely unhappy bunny for several days if a bag goes missing. Divide everything between the bags.
The rest of getting home is easy, though much, much later. This is where the 21 hour day comes in, if you do the sums. There is a plus point – the Western side of the M25 is quite agreeable at 2am – so much, that you can actually turn ‘Cruise’ on and leave it there – such Joy!
As I write this, the following day, after 5 hours sleep, there is no sign of the Wayward Sister. But it’s early days. It could still be at Dalaman; or been flown to Helsingborg or Reykjavik in error; lost in the deepest recesses of Hell known as Gatwick; or, after some overnight thought, maybe it was off-loaded at Dalaman when they thought we were a no-show and didn’t get put back.
Time will tell.
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Well, that’s it for this year. I’ll update if the Wayward Sister returns home intact, and I hope I haven’t bored any delicate underwear off you, made you attempt suicide, or decide that this Enjoy Kalkan site is a waste of time.
Your ‘Thankyou’ clicks are not ego-boosting as some assume (this isn’t FaceBook where your number of ‘friends’ are so essential to some), they do help to see if you’re getting it right for some people, some of the time.
For now, remember:
Hydration is Important
Time for m-m -m-m, what shall I have to drink…?
Postscript:
Text received telling us Wayward Sister was on its way back to us, this was 18 hours after landing. 3 hours later, Wayward Sister was delivered, intact, and complete, by some poor fellow who seems to be driving all over the Southern half of the UK doing this; covering Cardiff to Chelmsford.
Like all wayward members, there is no indication of where, what and how it all went astray.
Wayward Sister, although a bag, must be a teenager.
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My what a performance. Glad you're home safe and sound. Thankyou for your wonderful blogs.
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Wow........that really was an epic post. It was almost like a trilogy and I would expect it to be available at all good book shops in the very near future. 😀😀
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Chris I can tell you that:
1. We didn't blame you for the late departure; as you said yourself it's Gatwick that is the main problem. Needs a second runway!
2. The tonic had run out at row 16. Crew blamed the boozers on the outbound flight. Same problem as 2 weeks ago, when they didn't want to serve a second round of G&T nor wine. They needed to keep some for the inward journey. Some? Perhaps for the Business Class and one row in Economy. BA bar drinks planners do it with their eyes closed.
At least the sandwich wasn't goat's cheese like on the outbound flight.
It's a pity we weren't aware that you were you, otherwise my son and I would have had a long chat with you, aisle traffic permitting. We have enjoyed your blogs so much!
And we seem to have done the same places this year: Alternatif, Wapiano, Salonica, Islamlar, boat trip, etc.
No Chillies though with no Guven greeting us there.....
See you next year?
Lucas, Vicky and Robert
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Does this mean my anonymity is blown?
Do I now need to go Business Class?
Or Private Jet?
(I can see a migration to Monarch next year as the only alternative to BA - their bar doesn't run out because you pay for it >:D)
The problems we authors have to go through to remain incognito!
Thanks very much for the comments - I may just resort to the ridiculous mirrored shades and pretend you can't see me…
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Glad you arrived home safe and sound albeit a bit later that anticipated and thanks for taking the trouble to post. :)
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Thanks again Chris_S.........thoroughly enjoyable reading.