A Londoner's Guide to Icmeler

The sun came out! And of course, I got sunburned. Despite the best efforts of SPF25, I've got red wings across my back.

I thought I'd give a few tips from the things I've learnt in the few days I've been here.

Don't use your hotel for booking excursions and suchlike. We used them to book a Turkish bath, and paid substantially more then if we'd gone to one of the many agents in the town.

Do have a Turkish bath. It's great. We were taken to one of the fanciest in Marmaris, but that also means one of the most touristy and most expensive. We paid 55YTL each for the hamam, soap massage, scrub, jacuzzi, face mask and oil massage. Which is about £22. Of course, in London, that's peanuts for nearly 2 hours of massages and the like, but we could've gone to a smaller hamam and paid more like £10 for the same treatments.

Walk around and have a look before making decisions. I know that seems obvious, but the way here is that staff from bars, restaurants, shops, etc. will try to lure you into their businesses. This can get annoying, and we've found that we like the places that don't do that as much. Especially at this time of year, at the beginning of the season when there are hardly any tourists around. Staff, nearly everywhere, are exceptionally friendly and speak good English.

Go on excursions! There are a quite a few activities around the area which are well worth investing in. Not least because they are so cheap. An all day boat trip, with stops at various beaches, lunch and all inclusive drinks, will set you back round £10. And it's a beautiful way to see the coastal scenery of the area.

I must go, the sun has got his hat on again, and there's a market in town today.

The Rain in Spain

Falls mainly on the plain. Or is it plane? Either way, according to the internet the weather in Spain is beautiful. Here in Turkey, it's raining. My goodness it is raining. 

This is the first holiday I've booked in some years, and I was rather looking forward to a bit of sunshine.  There is one consolation for me, and that is that (again, according to the internet) London is suffering at the hands of much worse weather than here.

We are in Icmeler, a small resort not far from the hectic, pseudo-British resort of Marmaris. We drove through Marmaris on the way here. There were many amusing places. For example, a pub called 'The Rover's Return'. Also, loads of pubs are advertised not just as pubs, but as 'fun pubs'. I certainly like to have a significant amount of fun associated with my choice of pub.

I find it almost a shame though, that this place is so orientated towards British tourists. Lots of shops, restaurants and cafes put their prices in pounds, rather than lira. For me, it takes away a lot from the authenticity of travelling abroad. At the same time, it does make it much easier to get things done as most people here speak English.

It is a beautiful place. Probably more so than I was expecting. It's like the Gower but on a more tropical scale. Pine clad mountains join up with lovely beaches to create a gorgeous scenery. It would be nice to find some bit of beach that isn't littered with sunbeds. The view is better from far away, when you don't notice them so much. I suppose the same can be said of the Gower, with it's lovely geology frequently interrupted by caravan parks. 

Why can't we let lovely places be? It's difficult, isn't it? Because we want to see and explore these lovely places, but we also want to be to have a drink and a sandwich while we do it. 

I hope Icmeler doesn't grow too much more, because it's a charming place, that you can readily walk the entirety of in a day. But you feel the demand from tourists, and the fact that tourism is Turkey's largest growing industry, will only allow for expansion into more of the scenery. 

Workey Turkey

Oh Margey

You came and you found me a turkey

On my vacation away from workey.

That's a song that Homer sings to Marge when she visits him on a work trip. Homer from the Simpsons, rather than the one who did the Iliad and the Odyssey. 

Conversely, I'm on holiday in Turkey. We flew from Gatwick, even though I had a sort of morbid curiosity to experience the roller coaster that is T5. We flew to Dalaman Airport. The difference in working culture is evident when you arrive at the airport.

Gatwick was insane with kids running around stuffing their faces with sweets, massive queues, everyone having to take their shoes off to go through security, holiday makers stocking up on duty free cigarettes and booze, motorized carts bumbling past....

Dalaman was like a ghost town/airport. We were the only flight to have arrived in the last hour or so. Everyone queued to get their visa (£10 per person, valid for 90 days), then queued to get through passport control. The staff were so laid back, they didn't even look at my picture, they chatted casually to each other and stamped my visa without even glancing at it. I was a bit disappointed by that, as I wanted them to see my surname, which is Turkish, and to erupt into welcomes. 

Then we sauntered out to get our luggage. We waited all of 3 minutes before my massive pink suitcase appeared. Then strolled through the almost empty airport to find our transfer man waiting for us. I was pleased with that part, as he had my name on a board, and I've always wanted my name on a board waiting for me at the airport.

In general I think I prefer the Turkish way, to the manic and miserable British style of airport management. 

I heart DLR

For someone who lives in West London, I adore the DLR.

Maybe it's because I am constantly disappointed with the service operating around Shepherd's Bush. What with station closures, extortionate prices and bendy buses, I can get very riled.

The DLR always seems a lovely departure (pun intended) from the unreliability of the H&C line, the pushyness of the Central line and the awfulness of bendy buses. The views are great, aren't they? And best of all, you can sit at the front and pretend you are the driver. I am the driver! It's me who's driving this thing! 

So, I was extra double super delighted when a package arrived with a DLR postmark. (do they deliver directly from the carriages?) Inside was a celebratory package including a DLR carriage box with jelly beans in, 3 DLR watches in a very fetching green, red and blue plastic design and a DVD about the joys of 20 years of DLR success. 

I wore the watch for almost 12 hours. Then it got silly. I didn't watch the DVD. But the question is: how does the DLR know about my feelings for it? and why is it rewarding me with sweets and memorabilia?

Then, a week later, ANOTHER package arrived with identical contents! What's going on DLR?? Are you buttering me up for some reason? do you want me to be the new face of the DLR? 

I now have 6 DRL watches. Does anyone want one?

Struck Down

So there I was, enjoying my Tuesday night after working all day. Then I get a call from my flatmate. She sounds grumpy. This, in itself, is not unusual. But she sounds super extra grumpy. And demands I come with money to collect her at Shepherd's Bush tube station so I can buy her a cab home.

To me, this sounds too much, and I am clever. I say to her that it would make more sense to hail a cab and I will pay for it when she gets home. This still means I'm paying for a cab ride I'm not benefiting from, but it's preferable to schlepping all the way to the tube and driving back.

She tumbles out of the cab with only one shoe on. Either she's had an excellent time or a terrible time. Turns out she went over on her ankle at the parkour class I sometimes go to on a Tuesday night. She got too cocky and fell over. Kids - take note.

So I'm rushing about tending to her, getting her a yogurt out of the fridge, getting her a tubular bandage, letting her take up the entire sofa with her big fat swollen ankle, and suddenly I start to feel very queer. 

I get very cold and start twitching and shivering like a buffoon. I opt for bed at this point. In the morning I wake up and am very poorly. I resemble death after a heavy night's binge drinking. I am in a bad way. I have a viral infection. I cannot accompany my crippled housemate to the hospital. Then my boyfriend arrives from a trip to the dentist and looks like he's had a stroke as he can't control half his face. We appear to be a house of horrors.

I don't go to the doctor. I don't like going to the doctor. I don't like wasting their time with illnesses they can't help with - like coughs, colds, viral infections... Also, I had a terrible time the last time I went to a doctor in Shepherd's Bush and as such I'm not registered in London. I'm still registered in Cambridge. I need to find a new doctor in town. I'll let you know when I find a good one.

In the mean time - don't get cocky when jumping off things and remember to drink plenty of fluids.

Glamorous Watford

I could barely sleep on Saturday night, so excited I was about the Heineken Cup quarter-final featuring my beloved Ospreys and my not-so beloved Saracens.

I thought my excitement had somehow transmogrified into making it Christmas day, as when I opened my curtains in the morning I discovered Shepherd's Bush to be smothered in snow. Snow! In April! In London! what nonsense.

Curses, thought I, this won't suit the Ospreys expansive style and will play into the sturdy, if unspectacular, hands of the Saracens. I got dressed in almost my entire ski outfit. With wellies. And mittens.

The train journey from Baker Street was bizarre. The entirety of North London was covered in snow and still it was falling. Whizzing past the train windows, making me feel as if I were in a wintry version of Brief Encounters. 

We got to Watford. I can't imagine ever having any desire to live in Watford. What joy is there to be had in Watford? None. I can confirm. 

We froze in the shabby stands of the Vicarage Road stadium while the Ospreys fumbled their way to a undeserving loss. A miserable way to spend a Sunday. Especially when I could've stayed at home and made a snowman. In April.

Grand National

Grand National day is quite a nice way to make a rather uneventful Saturday into a Saturday with a mild bit of interest. That's if you got a punt on. Obviously if you don't, and have no interest in horse racing, it is simply just another Saturday.

I used to spend all my weekends at my grandparents house so usually I would be there when the Grand National was on. My grandfather would write down all our favourite names of the horses running and would go off to the bookies and put a quid on each way for all of us, and have a few on for himself. Very sadly he died last year, which meant I had to accept the grim reality of a less fun Grand National. 

Also, living in London means I don't spend my weekends at my Gran's house in Swansea. But it got me reminiscing about the Good Old Days and I roped my housemates into putting some bets on. I did it on the internet, which was obviously a bit easier for me as it involved no human contact, but it was actually really confusing and I wish I had the balls to just walk to one of the many, many bookies in She' Bu' and be a bit more straight up about it. 

Betfair.com was a bit of a struggle to figure out and I ended up spending more than I anticipated, doubling everyone's bets to a whopping £2. This would never have happened had I just stepped out of the house and walked a few metres to Ladbrokes and braved the gambling addicts. 

As it happens, we all lost, and only my horse even finished the course. But it did make for a slightly more exciting Saturday teatime.

April Fool!

April Fool's day is a very odd phenomenon. Obviously not the day itself, that happens every year, and it would be very unusual if a year went by without the 1st of April.



Pranks. On an international scale. It's like an excuse for corporate people, people whose jobs for the entire year, excepting one day, operate with consumate professionalism. So April Fool's day offers the opportunity to be really, childishly silly.



The Telegraph reported on a BBC documentary on penguins flying, including a video. Hilarious. Apparently GMTV did a thing about a cream that makes you lose weight without having to diet or exercise. I think that's rather cruel, playing with the emotions of overweight people across the country.