Day 8: Being There

When we woke up, I had a crushing headache and I could tell I was dehydrated from much time in the sun over the few days prior. I drank a bunch of water and then I was nauseous.  I couldn't win. Today was the day of our longest drive--three hours and 50 minutes to Kas. 

As it was everywhere we'd stayed thus far in Turkey, breakfast was included at the back-alley, Pamukkale-edition of the Four Seasons.  I loaded up on the same traditional/typical Turkish breakfast offerings we'd enjoyed on a daily basis to that point and double fisted with Turkish instant coffee in one mug and Turkish tea in the other.  Meanwhile swallows flitted about, occasionally diving toward the blue water of the swimming pool and butterflies floated by.  Afterward, we bought a 1.5 liter bottle of water and worked our way through that.  I was feeling near back to baseline and ready to drive.  

We checked out of the Four Seasons and for all of the benefit we derived from that beautiful little quaint hotel: a place to stay last minute, with air conditioning, a hair dryer for Becca (a big deal), a beautiful pool to cool off in, two delicious meals with beverages, a ride up to the travertines, etc.--it cost approximately 70 United States dollars.  Granted the room was as "simple" as the guidebook had made it out to be, but that's a great deal no matter how you slice it.

So then we drove. And drove some more. Becca commented more than once on the terrain looking like eastern Oregon.  After a short time on the road, once we'd worked past the larger cities between Pamukkale and Kas (there are not many)--there were mountains for as far as we could see, it seemed.

After a long conversation between us about how well-suited we are for each other because we're both wired to fight through fatigue and discomfort on road trips to just get to our final destination--we stopped because we were hungry, needed to use the facilities, and because Becca was having panic attacks in the front seat and she felt better about having those panic attacks in the back seat.

The source of her panic attacks?  Hunks of metal and glass (cars) not in their own lane and the drivers of those cars passing other vehicles (other cars, semi-trucks, tractors, mopeds, you name it) with no apparent right to do so nor care for their own nor anyone else's well-being.  Also, driving on roads winding down the mountains to sea level into Kas where the cars remain in the wrong lane despite the blind corners and the drivers do not modify their behavior.  

I'm an exaggerator in many contexts, but in this regard I believe I'm merely just conveying how it is driving in Turkey.  That being said--while Becca was tearing her hair out--I found it to be kind of fun a la a video game of sorts... With higher stakes, of course.

Where we stopped was about 64 kilometers--about an hour outside of Kas.  There was a gas station with a restaurant immediately beside it, Meva Restaurant.  When we entered, one person sat at a table in an empty dining area.  It did not look promising. The lone person turned out to be the owner of the joint, not a patron.  It was even bleaker than it initially appeared.  Although I worried that the lack of clientele was a tell the place would bomb--we were there and hungry.  

The owner spoke a surprising amount of English all things considered. We expected that--if there was anywhere we'd encounter difficulties communicating--it would be in the boondocks between cities.  But he was a very complimentary and cheery man.  He was so pleased to have us and so curious about where we were from, where we'd been, our occupations--you name it.  He told me I was a very attractive man and he congratulated us on our marriage.  He was elated to hear that we had loved our time in Turkey thus far and that we thought his country was beautiful.  He was a breath of fresh air to break up the drive. As luck would have it, his restaurant was too. Soon after we arrived, many locals did too and began to fill out the dining and patio areas. 

We ordered simple, pide (Turkish meat and cheese "pizza", basically) and orange Fanta sodas, but the meal really hit home.  The pide was served with a large helping of fresh chopped cabbage, tomato, and cucumber and lemon slices to squeeze over the vegetable medley accompaniment.  It was great, and it heartened us for the final leg of our journey to Kas.

The owner, as we left, said that he'd hope to see us again soon. The feeling was unequivocally mutual, not just with respect to him--but also this country and everything and everyone we've encountered. To some extent, though, we've endeavored to maximize our time here in Turkey knowing that a return is unlikely for myriad reasons.

Once in Kas we struggled a bit to find the place we'd booked on Airbnb.  It was a "Rustic Treehouse by the Sea".  Even the longitudinal and latitudinal coordinates using GPS couldn't get us there.  So, we pulled off the road and re-loaded the instructions provided by the owners of the property on the Airbnb web site. Using those directions, we spotted the sign that led us down a long and winding and steep up-and-down unpaved and rocky road that our value sedan rental car somehow managed to navigate when a jacked up Toyota 4x4 with a suped-up suspension would've been much more appropriate.  But it led us to the promised land.

The rustic treehouse had as much character as we'd hoped. It also had AC and a hair dryer, its own private terrace (balcony) with a view of the water, its own bathroom and outdoor kitchenette, a lovely stoop for chillaxing and a path down to our own private dock with steps leading into the Mediterranean Sea.  Upon arrival we met Seren, the daughter with whom we'd communicated on Airbnb.  Seren's parents--Mama Aysun and Papa Apo--whom we hadn't met yet, owned this place.  There's one other rental cottage on the property (with its own separate aspects, including its own dock) and then there's Aysun and Apo's home.

After Seren gave us the lay of the land and showed us the map of the property Papa Apo had painted in watercolor (a really impressive rendering), including the barbecue and laundry areas, we got changed and explored our portion of the property. We ultimately ended up on our little dock where we occasionally swam in the cool, aquamarine-colored Mediterranean and then laid out on chaise lounges.  Becca read and I wrote.  We both chatted. 

The journey to Kas became more and more distant and we settled into this iteration of our Turkish life without effort.  Little groupings of what looked like tiny colorful flying fish would soar by over the water.  Occasionally a swimmer or snorkeler or sailboat would come into view.

As the sun went down, we dangled our feet off the dock.  Small minnows began to gather around the rocks below. Then a bigger, longer fish--with more girth than a needlefish, I would think--swam by just below us as well.

We realized that, if we were going to get out beyond the perilous unpaved road to get to town, it was likely too late to walk.  So, the value sedan did it again to my amazement.  

One thing the owner of Meva Restaurant had told us was that all of the tourists affected by the earthquake and tsunami in Bodrum had descended upon Kas.  He told us, for that reason, he hoped we'd made reservations.  We were incredibly thankful in that moment that we'd booked a part of a Turkish family's private residence with its own private terrace and dock and swimming area in the Mediterranean.

The one trade-off was--when removed from town as we were--getting food, among other things, is not so easy.  

So, as the sedan bobbed and weaved out from our hideaway the plan was to go into town and get provisions and then grab some seafood at a restaurant nearby to our accommodation then come back and chill. Sounded easy, right?  The center of Kas was a war zone.  Driving in it and trying to find parking were miserable undertakings.  Whatever relaxation had been achieved on the dock earlier in the day had turned to a cutthroat, get-in-and-out-alive-at-all-costs survival stress reaction.  But, mission accomplished in the end. We loaded up on snacks, food, beer, wine, etc., for the next couple of days.  We also bought a snorkel and some goggles to aid us in exploring our little private cove.

Once out of the shit, we grabbed dinner at a marina restaurant which has only been open about a week by the sound of it.  Admittedly, we'd gotten such a late start to getting out and we were so flustered by our experience in downtown that we were indiscriminate in picking a place to eat.  It was not great.  A couple of the dishes were quite good--a cold marinated sea bass lokanta as well as a fish meatball. Other dishes, though, blew out our pallets with whole peppercorns and big chunks of extremely spicy peppers. 

By the time we'd sampled these items we were ready to leave--envisioning sharing in a beverage on our private terrace under the stars.  The waiter offered melon for dessert and we politely declined and asked him for the bill.  Shortly thereafter they set our table again suggesting more food was on the way.  Suddenly, they brought out a massive fruit plate "as a gift". Then they asked if we wanted a tea to finish our meal off and we politely declined.  Shortly thereafter he brought us both tea. As we polished off as much fruit as we could muster and sipped down our teas, being able to leave was the all-consuming thought on our minds. Then they brought another tea. 

Since they had just opened, they were pulling out all the stops to impress guests and our passive, overriding desire to leave was lost in translation apparently.  Once the bill came we paid it and ran to the car for fear that the waiter might decide to bring us more of anything.

Once back at home base, we opened up our beverages, turned out all the lights, and laid back on the chaise lounges on the little terrace off our rustic treehouse by the sea.  Tons of stars were visible and the night sky was beautiful.  We saw no less than five shooting stars streak across our view.  The air had finally cooled to the point where our existence was not a sweaty, messy, muggy struggle of an undertaking. It was after 10:30 pm.

Becca also marveled at the cars driving down the mountain backdrop to the city. The headlights highlighted each vehicle's trip down the switchback roads in the black of night. 

It provided the perfect opportunity to reflect on how we'd come to be in Kas in that moment.  It'd been an incredible ride and this was just the latest stop.