A Two-Week Escape to a Cheap Seaside Town

A few years ago, after a lucky win on a scratch card Ev and I booked ourselves a two-week escape to the cheap seaside town of Marmaris, Turkey.

Instantly things went wrong. Throughout the entire drive to the airport my dad reiterated that he had not been able to find our flight online and was certain the details we had were incorrect. Ignorantly convinced that as we had booked a very cheap package deal the flight would just be “different” and “of course it would be there” so batted off his pleas to help us. Obviously, he was right and shortly after he headed back home we learnt that our flight had indeed been much earlier and consequently had left without us.

For once this mistake wasn’t ours, evidently, the airline/ package tour had failed to notify us of the time change so without much choice they put us up in the airport’s Hilton and informed us they would reimburse our dinner expenses…. Not much more needed to be said to encourage us to spend a ridiculous amount that evening, The Most Expensive Meal Yet.

So, the next day was take two and we arose bleary-headed and thankfully this time we were able to board. After a mostly hiccup free journey we made it to our cheap, and hardly cheerful, hotel where we were greeted by a stern hotel manager who didn’t show any signs of friendliness or welcome. He firmly told us that we would need to pay extra for air-con, we had limited funds, me being at uni and Ev having had time off for his slinky spine, so decided we would be okay without it. Begrudgingly, we were shown to our room, which had everything we needed, and an almost sea view balcony as a bonus.

Instantly, we noticed the collection of bars surrounding us were all named after English football teams, not to mention the herds of chavvy Brits abroad spilling out of them. We had accidentally ended up in a mini England, a town that looked like its main aim was to booze up British hooligans. Fantastic…. Not quite the white sand escape we had formulated, but for the minimal price we had paid that was a ridiculous expectation.

Thinking about the distant dream of white sands we decided to head to the beach. There was definitely some sort of sand, but it was far from white. A murky brown sandlike substance hid sharp treasures of glass and nails. The water had an iridescent film laying gently on top, to which we later understood was oil from the nearby boats.  It was filthy and understandably empty as the other visitors were boozing and brawling in the Manchester and Liverpool bars. Wandering aimlessly taking in the dismal sight we paid a deposit to book jet skis later during our stay, our reasoning that jet skis are fun no matter where you are with the added bonus of them being enjoyed best far from land.

As if knowing the disappointment people feel upon arrival, Cuma Kaplan Friday bounded to our rescue. The most enthusiastic day trip organiser I have ever encountered. Obviously, his eagerness to sell combined with our unthinking consumerist tendencies meant we signed up for many, many day trips. Out of our two week stay, I think we left ourselves just four days free; we booked a spa day, fishing trip, waterfall excursion, copious island visits, Turkish baths, jeep safari, an evening boat trip with dinner, and more. We handed over the majority of our beggarly budget and made peace with the fact that we wouldn’t be spending day after day on the bleak hazardous beach outside the hotel.

Our first night drew in quickly so after a cheap dinner, and lots of beers, we stumbled up the stairs to our uncomfortably humid room. Promptly, we opened the sliding door only for the obtrusive sounds to burst in. Our welcoming hotel manager had failed to mention that just metres away from our room was a nightly drag show. Door closed; hot hell, door open; cheesy music blaring as Roxy Tart wooed her audience.  The first night it was entertaining, we enjoyed listening to her, and the music for some part, but fourteen nights of this was going to be a nightmare. People came in their busloads to see her so she went all out until the early morning every night. Repeating the same songs, jokes, and speeches. Over and over and over. Some nights were fine as we would do our best to ensure we were still out and miss it. But when we were home before the end of show, we had a painful ritual of picking between the two iniquities thus constantly opening and closing the door.

After each night of head spinning drag or hard-to-breath heat, we would awake to have our hotel’s included-with-the-room breakfast. Our first morning we walked to the outside dining area and were greeted by an especially friendly waiter, with the floppiest handshake either of us had ever encountered; we cringed each morning as he put out his limp hand but enjoyed our daily chast with him. Without offering us a choice of foods, he informed us our breakfast would be bought over at once, and we waited expectantly.  What he returned with was not what either of us were expecting, a bizarre combination of chocolate cake, jam, and a hard-boiled egg, a nutritious way start to the day? Slightly stunned, we thanked him and quickly set up another new routine; a subtle trade, I would have double cake and Ev would have double egg- each party was sufficiently satisfied with this.   

Our first full day brought our first Cuma Kaplan Friday trip, the spa! He picked us up promptly and dropped us just metres down the road. He wished us well, and informed us to walk home when we were done. We knew that we had to pay more for whatever treatments we added to the already booked massage so agreed to not go mad and do our best not to add anything else, as we knew the hard sell was about to be put on us.  Unfortunately, we were unable resist, and didn’t just buy one extra treatment each, or two, or even a meagre three. We bought the bumper pack, the full throttle. The deluxe package, which consisted of every spa treatment they offered plus a complimentary bubbly photoshoot. Why do we do this? We have absolutely no control when we are together and/or on holiday and six years on not much has changed. Our full on spa day consisted of hours being scrubbed, filed, oiled, rubbed, Ev was even given a Turkish shave. Until my skin resembled that of a new born baby and Ev’s eczema was well and truly inflamed and searingly painful. At least we left feeling pampered, perfect for two weeks swimming in an oily sea.  

Lazily walking home, we passed a restaurant that looked lively and had a quick chat with the restaurant host who booked us a table for later that evening. Excited for a night out we went back to our sweat pit and began to fully unpack. Now I realised a mistake. When weighing our bag at home it had been slightly over our allotted allowance so in my usual brutish, more speed less haste fashion I shoved my arm through the zip and pulled out handfuls of clothes until the weight was acceptable. Now I noticed I had unintentionally pulled out all the plain counterparts of outfits and what I was left with was a circus of brightly coloured prints, florals, swirls, spots, all mixed together with nothing to balance them. I was going to look like a pyjama party for the duration. 

Just one of my hideously clashing ensembles 

Indulged, somewhat dressed, and ready for a cocktail we made our way to what we now call Dino’s. We were welcomed warmly and instantly ordered a couple of cocktails, our waiter, Dino, heavily encouraged the surf and turf platter but as this was the most expensive thing on the menu we decided we would actually resist this as obviously we had already spent way over today’s budget. Ordering something minutely cheaper we took in our setting, now dark the beach held more romance. Gentle waves reflected twinkling stars and a full moon mirrored charmingly.

All of sudden the music bared and the waiters were dancing a well-rehearsed routine, the quiet romance was quickly stolen from us.  Following the cheesy dance, an elderly man took to the stage to sing his own rendition of Frank Sinatra’s, “That’s Life”, the cocktails had obviously kicked in as I shed a tear imaging a whole love and loss situation for him and that this was his one moment to pay tribute to his deceased lover. When his song ended, I rushed to escort him off stage and back to his lonesome table. If we had only visited Dino’s that once that memory of him would have remained the same, but as we know we can’t say no so ended up there most nights as they guilt-tripped us on our way past. After hearing the maybe-forlorn man sing that same song each night it wasn’t quite as momentous as I had originally thought.

Day two bought the trip I was most excited about, Turtle Island! An hour and a half on a ferry, then a rocky downsize into catamarans as to get close to the island. One side held crystal clear water, white sand and the superfluity that our temporary home lacked, the other side was swamp-like, with overgrown shrubs and dark murky water hiding beasts from below. Everyone instantly headed to the sand to relax for the duration of our stop, but not us. After a longing look at luxury, we walked into the swampland in search of turtles, knowing that they resided around the island and therefore thought it would be much more likely that they lived in the swamp rather than at the beach where all the people stream in and out. As we walked blue crabs somersaulted out of the rapidly slopping quicksand and over our feet, the further we walked the bigger they got. After we had been walking for what felt like an age, the crabs had gone from the size of my palm to the length of my forearm. Paired with this new wildness the shrubs were becoming harder to push through and somehow the swamp looked even murkier, the depths descending far below our imaginations. However, we had seen cracked shells of what were believed to be turtle eggs and what we assumed to be a fin-print slapped into the sand, so we kept on.  Walking through the prickly shrubs combined with the relentless pinching crabs meant our freshly cossetted skin was now ripped to shreds. All of a sudden we realised time had passed us more quickly than we had noticed and it was time to catch the boat to the next island. We were now very far away; our quest had been unsuccessful and as a result, we could be stranded.

Into the swamp we stomp

We ran, as fast as we could on the oblique wet sand, back passed all the pinching crabs, and bristly bushes, until at last we reached the jetty absolutely sweating buckets. The boat was alive with an excited buzz, turns out that moments before we arrived they had seen a huge turtle! I was crestfallen, that was our explorers’ expedition aim, and not only had it been unsuccessful but it had actually prevented us from achieving the prize.  Scrapped, sad, and scathed about missing not just the beautiful beach but the turtle too we boarded the catamaran to head to the mud-baths.

On arrival, we learnt that the mud-baths would be especially irritant to Ev’s eczema so decided to sit it out and once again spent our time roaming a new island. We climbed up jagged surfaces and meandering through forests enjoying some more time away from the crowd. As the day came to an end, we lulled in the back of the catamaran, my hand skimming the top of the water gently. In a fairy-tale-like manner, something gently pooped up and nudged my hand, I jumped in shock only to realise that it was turtle! It was right there and had come up to me to say farewell. I could have cried with happiness as he bobbed next to the boat silently.

The next day we decided we would go on a quest looking for wild pigs (?!) I don’t know why or even where the idea originated, but for some reason we were certain if we could get to the end of the hotel populated bay, and up into the forest ridden mountains and beyond we would find some wild boar. It was a free day out so we invested fully, we packed a bag of trainers (so we could climb) and made some sandwiches from our sweaty food draw (in a bid to save money we were making sandwiches for lunch, but with no way to keep the ingredients cool they wilted from inside one of drawers in our clammy room). The day started well, we walked happily hand in hand in the sweltering heat, past restaurants and seaside shops galore.

Soon enough, the holiday maker life started to dwindle, as we were coming away from the main strip and into a quieter territory.  As we approached a luxury-looking resort we wordlessly decided to “sneak” in and take a swim. We lounged about as if we belonged for as long as we could, but in a very awkward interaction we were soon asked to leave. So our adventure continued.

Next, we came across an abandoned hotel, it was eerily empty. For some reason, we sat amongst the empty bungalows to eat our now hot sandwiches, forcing them down in tiny chunks. It was then that we realised we had forgotten water, and additionally any money. We had remembered trainers but no liquid, or funds to buy any. In thirty-degree heat.  Great.

A sensible decision would have been to cut the quest short and return to hydration, but we had already come so far and the end of the hotel populated bay was in sight. So we pushed on. I wish I could say we reached the end and hopped into the forest, easily scaled a mountain and there found some boar to admire and befriend. Obviously not. We walked the remaining mile or so of the bay to be met with a towering interlocking metal gate. The more we looked the taller it became until this imprisoning colossus reached thousands of feet into the clouds and blocked us from reaching our destination.  There was no way through, over, or under. We had been defeated.

To add salt to the wound there was a taxi boat running from where we stood right back to the jetty outside our hotel for a mere 5 euros but the driver didn’t value our, “we have money at the hotel,” pleas as valid so we were forced to retrace our four-mile steps.  Our adventure ended after eight miles, no water, and no boar. Unsuccessful in many ways but as always we had delighted in each other’s idiotic company.

We were greeted with a very apt representation of how we felt

As the trip went on we spent many more days boating, exploring, and trying desperately to spread our money thinly enough so it would last the duration. In desperation against our frivolous selves, we had split all remaining cash into roughly even piles for each day, some having a little more for extra fun.  Of course, we first opted for the larger piles and as time went on reshuffled the remaining spends countless times until alas the emergency credit card once again came into play for the last few days.

Out for dinner one night we were joined by some overtrained domesticated tarsier monkeys who snuggled in our arms and leapt from table to table causing overjoyed coos from fleeting tourists.  Reflecting in the over-questioning-society-critical way I often do I debated if the much-loved hugs I received should outweigh the clearly unnatural actions of these once wild animals. Mid discussion we were joined by a middle-aged American and his daughter. He must have sensed the serious and debate heavy mood, as the dad decided to share their experiences living in Turkey in recent years, about how wars had caused damage to their neighbourhood and how instead of counting sheep to get his young children to sleep they would count far off gunshots. We then related this to the peaks and falls of tourism throughout the country, and discussed who really suffered when the country was boycotted, and were the boycotts for safety or political reasons. It was a theme we found ourselves discussing with people frequently, for both locals and ex-pats suffering was happening in multitudes of ways and we were so ignorant of it.  Locals told us that as tourism had declined so massively that even after they worked fourteen hours a day for weeks on end they still had barely enough money to get by, if the bars/restaurants/hotels weren’t generating income they couldn’t afford to pay staff, so they would go months without visiting their homes and families, in some cases their young children.  Some people believed the media had dramatised the violence and enlarged the affected areas so to scare people away, some people suggested this was a form of political control to stop people asking questions so that their actions could go undetected. Others’ believed that the country had changed so much and that it really was full of violence and terror and they longed for the harmony of the past. As with all media storms, wars, and devastation, there comes conspiracy and opinion but the one value we came across again and again was that, as a nation, they all felt blamed for a few people’s bad choices. Their country was avoided, branded unsafe, their people judged, stereotyped, labelled, and hurtled with more hate.  As a race we have this unfair tendency to blame the all for the action of the one, as when you’re stood in a world that feels disconnected from the one you’re judging it feels fictitious but as your proximity changes and you are right there within the typecast you see the individuals that make up the all and how they suffer from the stroke of a brush stereotyping.

*****

Like all trips, our last night came too quickly but we welcomed it as our money was spent, evidently we had to get part of our jet ski deposit back to buy a final meal. Exhausted from all our day tripping and hungover from a boozey night out with new friends we decided on takeaway pizza. Sneaking in like foxes in the night we dashed up the hotel stairs with our square bokes positions perfectly between our arms. Tiptoeing carefully as we heard the incoming stomps of the stern overseeing manager.

Pizza devoured we decided on one last drink downstairs before retiring to bed. To our total surprise, we were met by the hotel manager who asked if he could join us, tentatively we accepted just as you would if your headmaster asked to sit with you at lunchtime. They terrify you and you want to avoid trouble so you comply out of politeness rather than want. It was now we realised we had misjudged this man, he wasn’t an angry authoritarian, he was crippled with sadness. His giant stature seemed to shrink before us as he let out a deflating sigh. Over a drink, or two, he confided in us his heartache for his young son. It had been months since he had left to fight with the army and the contact was dwindling. His role in the family meant he was supposed to be strong and blasé but that’s not how he felt, that male pressure seemingly evident worldwide.  We listened as he emotionally unloaded and then all sat quietly in thought as we watched the sun dip into the sea and dusk lay gently upon us. At last, he stood and wished us goodnight and we trundled up the stairs to bed where a mismatched messy room lay awaiting. Lazily we forced the clothes into the suitcase and crawled into bed.

  

Hot, hungry, and headed for home we started to eat our final breakfast but today we were met with a new face- no limp handshake for the road. “He has new job,” his replacement smiled warmly. I devoured my last slice of cake adamant I wouldn’t be taking on this new delicacy if I didn’t want to triple in size by Christmas and then we made for the airport bus. Two weeks based in a seaside tourist town had left us completely penniless, full of stories, and provoked thoughts for the future; we recapped it all as we trundled away. 

Some scenic shots from the more picturesque islands we visited

Midway through the journey we stopped on the side of the motorway for refreshments, we had not a penny left anywhere, no cash and no cards held a balance but we were so thirsty we decided to peruse this middle-of-nowhere shop anyway. Cold cans shimmered through the glass fridge door as we looked at them longingly.  Admitting defeat, we slumped our shoulders and made back for the bus, only to be stopped by a very excited familiar face.  It seemed this is where our floppy-handed breakfast waiter was newly employed. He was so excited to see a familiar place and discuss his new job with us that he gave us free refreshments! We were somehow sorted and once again due to no fault of our own.

Idiots