By the Sea: Side

Thought I'd take a little time this early morning to get something down. I had nearly a whole entry composed but because we weren't connected to the internet, I lost it somehow. So, here is what I remember of it. You should understand that the web address for this blog says a great deal about the experience of the kind of travel we're doing: you need time to take it all in, think about it, if you're going to remember it in five years, or even five hours. And the past few days, we haven't had the time to slow down and look at where we've been.




This morning Dawn's rosy fingers are over the horizon and we're looking at the blue Mediterranean. It is the Clingon's first sight of this sea. We arrived in Side after dark last night. (Sunset is 4.30 now.) We'd spent a night in Avanos and then a night in Konya. I'd booked all this accommodation over a month ago, and now, with the benefit of hindsight, I would not do the same again. The bus trips are too long. I would cut a couple of places, and book the accommodation when I arrived in the country. At this time of year, the hotel's and pansions are almost empty. (I think we are the only occupants of this hotel tonight, and they were very surprised to see us emerge from the yellow taxi last night. They thought we had got the hotel name wrong. There seems to be a bit of a laissez faire attitude to their hotel bookings at Sunprime Dogan Side Beach.

We were lucky enough to find a restaurant open at the time we were ready to eat at about 8.30 last night. (The Sunprime's bar was open, but they had no food in the house and no cook. I reminded them that we'd be wanting breakfast so that they'd get their act together this morning. We've got another bus trip, this time to Pamukkale, this morning at 10.30.)




Konya: I booked Konya so that I'd be able to see the dervishes. Didn't know I'd see them in Istanbul too. Also didn't know that the Clingon would have such a strongly negative reaction to the experience. He said it was the most boring experience of his life; I think he was not remembering some of the bone-numbingly boring speech days and assemblies he--and I--sat through during his school years.)

But, the Konya experience was a lot more authentic and spectacular--thirty whirling dervishes, not just 9 or 10, coloured lights, in a specially-built amphitheatre built to seat thousands--and it was totally free. In Istanbul we weren't allowed to take photos; when the minder saw people taking photos, she shone a green light on their heads to force them to stop. We were told not to take photos in the Konya performance, the Clingon told me afterwards, but although I registered that the speaker had segued into English, I didn't understand what he had said, so I didn't feel guilty snapping away with the twenty other photographers sitting in the front row of the amphitheatre, their SLRs fitted with long lenses and resting on tripods, all in full view of the speaker and the rest of the audience.

So as we look at the water, and I try to get myself in the mood to get out of bed, shower, and get ready to go again, I'll just pause to wish the Clingon a very happy birthday. (He is the most avid reader of this blog; his favourite character in the text is, of course, the Clingon.) The Clingon is a man today. At the moment he's chomping through a horde of chocolates and lollies we picked up at a shop last night, in preparation for his birthday breakfast.







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