Antalya Part 2

 

It took me awhile to adjust to the city, but I’ve come to appreciate it as a separate entity from Istanbul.  It amazes me that beach towns everywhere are similar regardless of the country.  It’s the palm trees, the laid-back atmosphere, the waitstaff dressed in shorts and comfy shoes.  Türkiye adds its own flavor with the vendors walking the beach selling Turkish pastries and corn on the cob.  Most of the restaurants on the beach offer hookah and shisha pipes that just adds to the chill out vibe.

I was able to extend my time in the apartment for a total of three weeks.  The host was good enough to give me a discount by paying in cash.  I always appreciate having to spend less money, but it meant doing the legwork to find the bills in USD.  There is a row of ATMS near the beach and some do offer other denominations.  Of course, I had to try multiple ones to find the USD, ran into cash limits, had to call the bank to make sure I didn’t hit any fraud alerts, give half to the host on one day and to his father on another day, yadda, yadda, yadda.  It’s all done now, but I’m still not sure if the discount was worth all the hassle.

It’s about 1 ½ miles from the apartment to the beach, an easy walk on the wide, still nearly deserted sidewalks.  The issue remains the heat.  Temps didn’t reach the 100-degree mark again (thank goodness), but it is still quite toasty in Antalya in August.  I quickly learned to carry a towel with me to mop up the endless amounts of sweat.

The beach is covered in restaurants, usually with a large sitting area right on the on the water.  I don’t usually hit these places because I know the prices are seriously jacked up.  Turns out, the couple of places I’ve visited so far, the food is not that pricey.  It costs around 10 bucks for time on one of the chaises.  But (unsurprisingly) the drinks are where they get ya.  I had a lovely cosmo on the beach that was about twice the lira I paid at a bar just off the beach.  Still, I could not resist the experience of relaxing by the Mediterranean with a nice adult beverage.  I even made a new friend one day.

The job search continues.  Since the search engines and job listings appear to be horribly broken, I try to find as many alternate sources of income as possible.  My writing on Medium has made me few bucks but nothing to sustain me yet.  I have to keep reminding myself that it’s a marathon and not a sprint and continue to be grateful for every new subscriber I get.

In trying to find a new source of income, I decided to open an Instagram account.  Nothing major, just thought I’d post some of the travel photos and videos that didn’t make it to this blog.  I went through all the steps to open the account, not really knowing how to proceed after that, and shut the program down.  A few hours later, I got someone trying to message me on the program. 

Guess.  Just guess who it was.

If you said Zaza, you get a WHAT THE HELL IS MY LIFE RIGHT NOW?!!!??

Hours!  I’d had a profile on the website for hours!  The only picture I posted was a profile pic, a rare selfie I took in Istanbul last year.  How did he clock it so quickly?  Why is he clocking it at all?

Please note: I have not seen this man in person since last July.  I last spoke with him in September when I broke it off.  He’s tried to text and call a few times since then but I can’t remember the last time he did.  Now, a year after our last meeting, on an app I’ve never been on and didn’t know he was on, I get a message.  He was my first subscriber.  WHAT THE HELL!?!?!?!?

I realized only later that the program taps into WhatsApp and, of course, it picked up Zaza’s name along with one of my former hosts.  It also brought up my brother’s name as a possible connection – someone else I haven’t spoken to in a long time (and don’t care to speak to again).  This is somewhat disturbing and just reminds me why I avoided social media for so long.  I’m not sure opening the account was the best idea.

And I just wanted to post some travel pics …

A last note:  Lisbon experienced the biggest earthquake it’s had in a decade on Monday 8/26/24.  Fortunately, there weren’t any deaths and very little damage.  So good to hear.  I think I’m headed back to Portugal soon.

Antalya

 

Well.

I had to leave Istanbul eventually.  I guess.

The reason I was able to stay in that apartment for so long is because it was (inexplicably) available for weeks at a time.  And boy, was it tempting to just stay there until my 90-day visa expired. 

But I told myself I would explore more of Türkiye on this visit.  So … I guess I’m packing up and getting on another plane.

Yay.

Getting my big suitcase down those stairs (!) left my right arm sore for days afterward.  Using an Uber/cab to get to Sabina Gokcen airport (the city’s smaller airport with the call letters SAW) had me feeling that same melancholy of leaving Istanbul again.  Waiting in line at the airport to check my bag when the kiosk(s) refused to acknowledge my reservation was exhausting.  Getting to the end of that line, having the woman wave me over (at least, that’s what I thought she was doing), and then immediately leave her desk left me standing there looking like a goober for several more minutes before getting some help.

So yeah.  That was a bunch of fun travel stuff.

I want to go back to Balat.

But, instead, it was onto a new place.  Which is a good thing.  Right?

The flight from SAW to Antalya took about 1 ½ hours, an easy trip.  After waiting too long to get my bag, I grabbed a cab and proceeded to my new home for the week. 

My first impression of the city: this is really not Istanbul.  I know that is an obvious statement to make.  Istanbul is an ancient, unique city and there was no reason for me to think that the rest of Türkiye would look like one city.  But still … this place was a shock.

The wide tree-lined streets, the blocks of modern apartments, the lack of pedestrians on the sidewalks – all of it had me staring out the cab window in shock.  And then there are the mountains.  They are freaking gorgeous!  I can’t get over them.

My new host provided a picture of the building, which helped tremendously as most of the buildings in the area look alike.  The apartment is located above an Eczane pharmacy.  No, not that one.  The closer one (seriously, those pharmacies are EVERYWHERE – I think there are more branches of drugstores than there are grocery stores in this area).  I got inside without issue and into the elevator.  And then the confusion began.

The apartment was #14 on the 5^th floor.  But the elevator only goes up to 4.  Okay.  Got to the fourth floor and noticed that there was another set of stairs going up.  Really?  Here I was so grateful to be in a building with an elevator after having to deal with those horrible stairs in Balat.  Now you still want me to lug my stuff up an additional flight of stairs?  What did I ever to do to you, Türkiye?

Oh, but the fun didn’t stop there.  #14 was at the end of the hall.  The host had sent another picture of the set of two pipe fittings where the key was located.  Took me a minute to find them, then I spent another ten minutes trying to fit either one of the two keys into the two locks.  All of this while sweating buckets in a hallway where the motion-detecting lights keep flicking off after a few seconds, leaving me to figure things out in near darkness.  Sigh.

After some text exchanges with the host, taking breaks to wave my arms around like a madwoman to get the lights to come back on, I finally got the door open … only to find that the apartment was even hotter than the hallway.  It was like entering the gates of hell – if hell was a spacious one-bedroom with a killer view of the mountains.

Unfortunately, with the air conditioning off and the blinds open, the blaring sun had super-heated the place.  I scrambled for the A/C remote before doing anything else.  I took the picture above (ooohh pretty) then quickly closed the blinds.  I think those puppies need to stay shut for the duration of my stay.

I knew from the picture on the website that I wouldn’t like the light gray wood flooring, but I love the gas oven and stovetop.  Though I wasn’t thrilled to realize there was no microwave and the electric kettle didn’t work.  Added to my other issues with the place and I just had to shake my head.

Admit it, Turks:  someone was on the hookah when they designed this building. “Yeah, dude (or the Turkish equivalent of dude)!  Let’s make a building with 7 floors have an elevator that only works on five of ‘em.  Keep everyone on their toes.  And why bother putting a toilet paper holder in the bathroom?  Who really uses paper in that room anyway?”

Complaints aside, it’s not a bad apartment.  I might just extend my stay to stave off another trip to the airport so soon.

With my stuff stashed and evening fast approaching, I got on the good foot to explore my new surroundings and find something to eat.  As is my way, I headed toward the water, the main draw bringing me to this city.

Antalya sits on the Mediterranean coast and has the air of a seaside city.  Walking along the wide, nearly deserted sidewalks just added to my sense of displaced weirdness.  The place feels like part Portugal (the high-rise apartment buildings) and part Cyprus (the shoreline) with a sprinkle of Sunny Beach, Bulgaria (the lack of foot traffic).  Throw some Turkish flags around and the occasional stray cat and you have Antalya.  It is very weird.  Not bad.  Just weird.

And why are there goats?  Who do they belong to?  Why, after seeing them once, have I not seen them again?  Where did they go?

Why, on my first day, did I already miss Istanbul?

(Man, has that place got a hold on me!) 

The first restaurant that I stumbled on turned out to be more high-end than I thought.  While I had a simple meal of shrimp followed by a piece of cheesecake, the restaurant offered something for the more luxury minded diner.  Their Gold Tomahawk Steak King Size went for 19,000 lira.  That’s $565 USD.  For a piece of meat with gold on it.  Meanwhile, taking a picture of the menu was absolutely free!

Walking back to the apartment in the dark, it struck me again that I wasn’t too concerned about crime.  Sure, I was in new territory and was an obvious tourist, but the Turks were as uninterested in me in Antalya as they were in Istanbul.  I ended up approaching the lone mosque in the city just as the call to prayer rang out.  I was relieved to hear that sound. It wasn’t as epic as the experience of walking along the Bosphorus and hearing the call from all sides, but it was still good to hear.

It is punishingly hot in Antalya.  I noticed it the moment I stepped out of the airport.  Even Istanbul wasn’t this hot and at least there was a breeze.  But being on the Mediterranean in August is an entirely different animal.  On my first full day, I went exploring after breakfast and it didn’t take long before the sweat was dripping.  Even my phone began to overheat and I’d barely touched it.

By Saturday, 8/17/24, the temps reached 100 degrees F by 11:15 a.m.  That struck me as a good reason to stay inside to get some writing done.  Under the air conditioner.

The Joys of Staying Put (Turkish Edition)

 

Things still go well in Istanbul.  I extended my stay in the apartment for a total of six weeks, making it the longest I’ve stayed in any one place over the last year.  Yep.  I am definitely ready to be housed.

It wasn’t only the move (and those dreaded stairs) that turned me off.  I had a salad one afternoon that did not agree with me.  It continued to remind me of its presence for DAYS afterwards.  I could not imagine dealing with another crazy cab driver, another trip through an airport, and another (albeit short) plane ride to another part of Türkiye with my stomach loudly calling me names the entire time. 

After looking for alternative means of income and AGAIN being rejected along with having the digestive issues, I took a week off from looking for a job or taking classes. A vacation from my vacation, if you will.  I spent much of my time lying on the couch.  I totally blame my host, Mehmet, for making all of his places so damn cozy.

Speaking of Mehmet, I had a couple of visits from him one week to do some repairs.  While the AC was fine in my apartment, the one across from me was having issues.  The balcony of my place has access to the units on the roof so there were people traipsing in and out on two separate occasions. 

                            Not exactly a memory for the ages, but I thought the sky was pretty that day.

The ease of getting my HBP meds still amazes me.  On one of my last trips to the city, when I asked the guy if he carried the meds he said “Sure.  How many boxes do you want?”  Can I tell you how much that this is not the norm in the states?  To get my meds there, I’d have to have a current prescription which requires a doctor’s visit and, unless I want to pay through the nose, some decent insurance.  Even then, there was no guarantee that the pharmacy would have gotten the shipment.  It was just a hassle from start to finish.

It was easier when I was employed and had the mail in service.  Though even then, I’d sometimes get substitutes without warning.  Or even worse, the drug would be backordered and no one would bother to tell me.  It’s not like I need this drug to LIVE or anything …

On this most recent trip to the pharmacy, the lady didn’t even have to go to the back or check her computer.  She just reached behind her and got the box.  185 lira for 28 pills – approximately 5.50 USD.  That would be about $33 for a 90-day supply while I paid $125 as a co-pay for the same amount in the states.  And while there are pharmacies everywhere in Istanbul, I just saw a report on how CVS and Walgreens are closing several of their locations in the U.S. Like the cost of the medication and the need for a car aren't obstacle enough, now people have to worry about being in pharmaceutical deserts.

While most things are still amazingly cheap things here, I have noticed some effects of inflation.  When I first arrived a few weeks ago, a simit on the street cost 10 lira – the same amount from last year.  Now the price has risen to 15 lira.  The price of other products in the stores have gone up as well though it’s still cheap compared to the U.S.

Though I’m familiar with the neighborhood and the surrounds by now, there’s always something new to discover.  I usually take Galata Bridge over the Bosphorus when I want to get to Istiklal Street.  One day I decided to walk past the string of restaurants underneath the bridge.  I chose one for lunch and had a lovely meal (and an adult beverage) directly over the water while watching the boats go by.

About a week later, I went to the same place.  One of the guys who worked there recognized me, shook my hand, then said “Cosmopolitan?”  I could not believe he remembered my order!  Granted, very few tourists look like me … but still.  I do love when that happens.

Another alternate trail took me away from the shore and my normal route by the Bosphorus.  This one ran underneath the car traffic and along the tram tracks.  I had no idea the tunnel had this artwork all along it depicting scenes from Turkish films over the years.

Getting Comfortable in Balat

 

My Airbnb host, Mehmet, is very familiar with me by now.  With all his properties in total, I’ve stayed with him longer than I’ve stayed anywhere else during this journey.  Since lucky #7 was booked right after my stay, I arranged to stay in the building next door.  I initially booked it for only a couple of weeks but extended it to the entire month of July once I saw the place.

Not to even mention the fact that apartment #5 is at the top of a series of windy, stone stairs that I did not relish having to navigate again so soon with all my stuff.

All of these apartments have the same basic look, but they are all slightly different in their layout.  This is the first of Mehmet’s places that has a balcony (two, actually, but the door to the bedroom balcony is locked).  I loved the view and the breeze coming off the water.

While the apartment is as lovely (if smaller) than the other two places I’ve stayed in Balat, it did have some … issues.  The day after moving in, I did a load of laundry.  Pretty standard stuff until the cycle ended and the door wouldn’t open.  As this was another machine with the instructions written in Turkish, it was time to consult Google.

Apparently, I’d overloaded the machine and it refused to drain the water.  The door would not open while the machine was full of water (most machines in Europe have been side loaders).  Thus began the ever so fun process of manually draining the water from the bottom of the machine, something I have never had to do in my life.  In a brand new (for me) apartment.  Using a towel and a glass to try to catch the seemingly never-ending stream of water spewing out of the hole onto the hardwood floor.

I just wanted to clean my clothes.

It took FOREVER.  So much water.  But eventually, I drained the machine, put it through another rinse cycle (I wanted to just spin the clothes but, again, Turkish instructions), and ta da!  The door opened.  I’ve never been so happy to see my clean drawers again.

Then the dread set in.  I’d be in the apartment for awhile and I would have to do the laundry again. 

Later that afternoon, the power went out.  This is the first time I can recall where I’ve had power disruption in Istanbul.  I guess that’s a pretty good track record but it’s never fun to experience.  I napped during the outage (the short but brutal travel from the day before caught up to me – those stairs will haunt my nightmares), only to be awakened a couple hours later by a beeping coming from somewhere in the apartment.  Some sleuthing led me to the fridge.  Opening the door, I saw a blinking light and a button that needed to be pushed to stop the beeping.  Okay.  That was new.

While my love affair with this city continues, there are some things that remind me that this could not be my home for an extended period.  The thing is, even with the number of times I’ve been to this country, I still feel like the alien.  It’s not just the language barrier or that there aren’t many black folk here.  It’s seeing the women in the burkas and worrying about showing my legs in public.  While it’s not as hot this year as it was last year, it’s still warm enough to wear the shorts so I will be wearing them.  No one really cares as there are plenty of natives also wearing shorts or short skirts, but it’s still in the back of my mind.  Nothing says ‘tourist’ more than being a tall black woman wearing shorts in Türkiye.  At least that’s how I see it.

There’s also the issue with scammers.  I read a lot about Istanbul last year.  One of the common scams in the city is for a man to pass by you while walking and drop a brush.  When you pick it up and try to return it, the man engages you in conversation which eventually leads to him offering to shine your shoes for a fee.  The dropped brush has happened to me three times (so far).  The first time I picked up the brush on instinct, but simply returned it and kept walking while he called after me.  Dude, I’m wearing sneakers.  Let’s be real.

The last two times happened during this most recent trip while walking the same road.  I was proud of myself for not even breaking stride while ignoring the brush.  I still wasn’t thrilled at being targeted again.  I don’t know that anything will stop that other than donning my own burka. 

Yeah.  That’s not happening.  I feel overheated just looking at those women wearing all that cloth.

I’ve also been rather aggressively approached by children a couple of times.  One kid followed me for several feet while holding out a bottle of water despite my waving my hand to ward him off.  Another little girl approached me while I was walking along the Bosphorus and stood in front of me with her hand out, walking backwards while I tried to get around her.  I really don’t like that.  I don’t like anyone seeing me as an easy mark.  Seriously, just leave me alone.

I know I'm now speaking as a spoiled American, but I have to mention this.  While the grocery stores are close by and plentiful, the selection leaves something to be desired.  Namely broccoli and pecans, both staples of my diet.  Even my beloved Granny Smith apples can be difficult to find.  I've already consigned myself to live without kale once I move abroad (I have yet to find it in any of the countries I've visited), but I really miss the other things.  Fortunately, I can find those items in Portugal (scoring it yet another point).  Still no kale, though,

But there are a few good things happening as well.  This summer hasn’t been as hot as it was last year.  There’s even been a breeze on most days.  I still don’t recommend coming to Istanbul in the summer if you’re not ready for the relentless heat but, from all accounts, other parts of Europe have had it worse this year.

I shared a picture in a previous post of all the construction going on in the city.  Well, here it is a few months later and a lot of work has been completed.  There are now actual sidewalks leading to the city center.  You have no idea how awesome that it.  I still remember walking from Balat to Sultanahmet last year and spending half of the time in the street dodging cars because the sidewalks were barely there.  Or there were cars parked on the curb, or chairs set out in front of cafes, or any other number of obstacles that had to be skirted around and negotiated with other pedestrians.   You can clearly tell that I’m not the only one to appreciate the nice, level walking surfaces.  The pavers have only been in place for a few months and they already look like they’ve been there forever.

The work is ongoing so walking can still be … interesting.  But I’m glad to see the city’s commitment to getting the job done.

One last note.  I found a new favorite place for breakfast in Balat.  I’d eaten at this place last year but had yet to experience the beauty of the back deck.  I think the owner is French as I’ve seen a man walking around with an accent a few times.  It’s just such a pleasant yet strange sensation to be a black American woman eating Turkish breakfast in a bright sunny space while French music is playing.  Doing it international style, baby!

From Cyprus to London to Atlanta to Istanbul

 

After a short layover in Heathrow, it was time for another trip across the pond.  This one was noteworthy because of my row mates.  I was seated next to an Indian couple who didn’t speak English.  I was on the aisle and became the intermediary between them and the flight attendant. I know exactly zero Hindustani, so I just pantomimed everything the attendant said (make sure the seatbelt was on, give me your trash, put up your window shade, etc.).

But still, any flight you can walk away from is a good one.  Then it was onto the usual rigamarole: collect bag, take international shuttle to rental center, procure vehicle.  I had once again forgotten to reserve one in advance, so had to settle for whatever they had that was cheapest.  No sedans were available (I still doubt that) so the only thing they could give me was this white Toyota Tank – I mean Tacoma.  

Unless you’re regularly hauling buffalo, why would anyone need something so big?  That thing is a monster!  Everything about it was a hassle: backing it up, trying to park it, or even setting the parking brake (it took me a while to realize it was automatic).  The cab was so far off the ground that, even with my long legs, I practically had to take a running start to get into the thing.  I’d often forget to lock it – a definite no-no since it had a push-to-start ignition.  I’m sure Budget could locate it if stolen, but I didn’t want to test out that theory.

I couldn’t get into the Airbnb I stayed at in Roswell, so I picked a new place in fair Woodstock that had good ratings.  The apartment was in the basement of yet another way too big house in a labyrinthine suburb with narrow, winding streets.

This is a nice place.  The host’s attention to detail rivals Demetris in Cyprus.  There were snacks on the counter, water and seltzer in the fridge, and a bunch of helpful amenities in the bathroom.

There was a nice big tub for doing my henna treatment, a comfy bed, and plenty of space to move around (I’ve been in one too many cramped European apartments).  I appreciated the hardwood floors and lack of carpeting in the place.  I was always a carpet enthusiast because my homes/apartments had always had them.  But after a year abroad, I really do prefer the cleanliness of wood. 

There were a few issues, though.  The host was at home and frequently stomping on my head.  The stomping only increased on that Saturday when the host's daughter held her baby shower.  The place needs a cooktop (even a wretched induction one) as the only thing available is a small hotplate that I didn’t even bother to use.  Somehow, I also neglected to check in the listing for a washer/dryer, having assumed that an American apartment would automatically have one. But other than those things, it’s a great place.

With nowhere to wash my laundry, I had to find a nearby laundromat.  Now, I have always hated those places.  They’re usually pretty scuzzy and full of … interesting people.  But I gotta admit that this place was legit.  It was clean, brightly lit, and surprisingly modern.   The machines don’t even take cash anymore.  Everything is done with a rechargeable card that you can purchase and put money on with a credit/debit card.  Fancy schmancy. 

Once my business was done, it was yet again time for another butt-numbing trip to Europe.  Back to the familiar, until I can again return to Portugal, I set my sights on Türkiye.  Lucky #7 in Balat was available for little over a week, so that’s where I headed.  What can I say – I’m a creature of habit.

Things have changed somewhat since my last visit.  Being in the city, my body automatically remembered that the first call to prayer is at around 6:45.  Except … I woke up the first morning and there was nothing.  I thought maybe I’d missed it.  But the next day there was nothing again.  Huh?  I always thought this was an ancient schedule that didn’t change seeing that the 1:10 call came as usual. 

Then, on my third morning I was awakened by the call – at 4:30 a.m.  Huh?  Was the call leader trying to make up for the previous couple of days?  What was going on?

I am happy to report that a week in the states did not affect my digestive system this time.  I tried to stay away from processed foods and ate salads every night, so I think that helped.  Unfortunately, I wasn't in the country long enough to reset Google Fi on my phone.  I was not happy to land in Istanbul and have zero service.  At least I had an unused esim already loaded and ready to go.

I've seen a few commercials for other points of interest in the county.  As this is my fifth return to Istanbul and I'm starting to know the city backwards and forwards, who knows?  I might even get out of the city this trip.  We'll see.

Randomness on the Road Part 4

 

Yet more little stories and pictures I’ve collected over the last year.  But first, coffee.

Soon after I started travelling, I turned on a function of Google Maps that tracked my movements over 2023.  The results were eye-opening.

  

I was finishing up my meal in a restaurant in Türkiye.  I went to pay with my card and the guy told me the card reader was down and they could only accept cash.  I panicked since I didn’t have enough.  I left all my stuff there and told them I’d have to find an ATM and that I would be right back.  I raced to the closest available machine; my mind filled with thoughts of angry Turks cutting off my hand for stealing (have I mentioned that I have a bit of an imagination?).

I ran back and quickly brandished my cash.  The guy just casually took the money then offered me a cup of tea on the house.  Huh?  You mean you weren’t anxiously awaiting my return, angry that it took so long?  Nope.  I initially wanted to turn down the tea because it felt weird.  Dude said have a seat and I’ll bring the cup to you.  Okay.  I do love Turkish hospitality (and the tea).

I will always love some beautiful coffee art, though.

 

While on Phuket, it was a struggle to find the post office.  I had acquired WAY too much stuff in Thailand and wanted to ship it back to the U.S.  Using the GPS on my phone, I wended my way through Patong Beach until I reached my destination.

 

Yeah.  That wasn’t it.

I probably could have used a massage after that frustration, but I still needed to find a post office.  I eventually did and was able to successfully make my shipment.  While I didn’t have a massage, I did treat myself to a nice cuppa. 

Out of all the Hard Rock Cafes I’ve visited this past year, Lisbon has been my favorite.  I love the atmosphere of the place, even during my last visit when I was near a large party of rowdy kids.  All the cafes have rock music blaring through the speakers along with video screens all over the place.  The Porto location took this to a whole new level by having a video screen embedded in the mirror in the bathroom.  I had never seen this before so I had to take a picture. 

Also, beware the dryer on the left there; that thing is LOUD and so powerful it will blow you into the next room.

And we’re back in Türkiye.  I’ve mentioned once or twice that the cabbies there are insane.  Let me tell you about the worst.  This was during my second visit to the city.  I’d grabbed a cab from Balat to go to Zaza’s shop.  Now, I already knew from past rides that none of the cabbies recognized the name of the shop, so I’d learned to give them the address of a nearby hotel.  This particular cabbie said he understood before speeding off.

As we are running though intersections and narrowly avoiding pedestrians, he mentions how he and his wife have a rental property in Balat.  Then, as he’s barely looking at the road, he grabs his phone to pull up pictures of the place.  I glanced at the phone, while holding on for dear life, nodding in appreciation before wincing again as we veer into traffic.  He tells me in broken English to relax, everything’s fine.  Then I notice that we’re getting onto the freeway.  Dude, Zaza’s shop is in walking distance from my neighborhood – no freeway travel is required. 

I got him turned around, telling him to take me instead to the Blue Mosque.  We ended up on a side road that was clogged with traffic.  Well past my limit and actually recognizing where we were, I asked him to let me out on the side of the road.  I was ready to give him whatever he wanted just to get out of that car.

Man, I could have used some … yeah.

A few months ago, I mentioned a certain song (the name of which I dare not mention before I start singing it again) that was stuck in my head.  Yeah, well, it took several months, but it’s mostly died down.  Now it’s been replaced by another one from the Barbie soundtrack.  I saw the movie on a plane and fell in love with both the song and the movie (so many memories of playing dolls in my youth).

 Dua Lipa - Dance The Night (From Barbie The Album) [Official Music Video] (youtube.com)

My Last Days on the Mediterranean

 

My week in Paralimni was up and I decided to return to Larnaca.  While there was more to explore to the north (and the famous Mount Olympus in the central part of the island), getting around the island wasn’t always easy or cheap.  The bus system was still a bit tricky and the taxi ride getting between the two cities was already expensive enough. 

The son of the host of my next place met me on the street.  Leading me through the gate into a small courtyard crawling with a few wandering cats, he took me up to my new home for the week.  While the place matched the pictures, I was still lukewarm on the apartment.  The bed was comfortable enough and the place was a decent size, but there was a homeyness that was missing.

The floating oven was weird.  The window over the kitchen sink overlooks a cluttered alley.  I hated that the flooring was the same as that of the hallway.  Like most places in Europe, the power outlets were few and far between.  I had to wedge myself into the chair next to the hot refrigerator just to keep my computer plugged in.  

The bathtub was insanely tall – I have long legs and even I had trouble stepping into it.  It looked like it should have had jets and been a whirlpool tub, but no.  It was just a hazard getting in and out of that thing without breaking my neck.

But at least I was back in Larnaca.  I still like the area and, had I visited this island before Madeira, it might have been a candidate for a new home.  Pharmacies and grocery stores are easy to reach.  There's even a black hair care store nearby.  The airport is only 15 minutes away while the water is gorgeous as only the Mediterranean can be.  The vibes are that good.

Summertime is a bit of a challenge, though.  Temperatures hovered close to 100 degrees F for a couple of days with high UV rays.  You would think that would be a perfect time to hit the water, but that sun was a little too intense.  I would sequester myself inside into after 2 p.m. just to be on the safe side.

I was at dinner one night at one of the restaurants on the strip, a new one for me.  Their huge menu included Cyprus dishes as well as Italian, American, Chinese, and Indian.  I ordered some butter chicken (not as good as what I had in London) and ate while watching the endless line of cars cruising the strip.  I didn't usually go out at night, choosing to make dinners in the apartment, so I wasn't sure if that was a nightly occurrence or just the thing do for a fun Saturday night on the island.

A while after clearing my table, the waitress set down a plate with a slice of watermelon.  Okay.  That’s … odd.  It reminded me of the free pineapple they’d give you at the McDonald’s in Hawaii.  I don’t even like watermelon – or any melon for that matter – but I scarfed it down anyway.  Something about sitting in that restaurant eating a free slice of melon with the Mediterranean breeze wafting over me through the open roof was enough to make a core memory.  Unique in every aspect.

While I was enjoying the calm waters of the Mediterranean, I slowly started to feel like it was that time again.  Time to return to the land of cars and bad food.  Time to pick up my mail and plan my next destination.  

For so long, my dream was to be a nomadic traveler.  Now that I’ve done it and experienced the awesomeness, my new dream is to sign the lease for my apartment in Funchal.  I dream of going HAM on an Ikea for new furnishings, of welcoming my stuff to our new home once I liberate it from the storage unit.  I can’t wait to see the faces of my new feline companions (and try to remember all my training techniques from twenty years ago so the terror twins don’t destroy my new place).

I’m ready to be done with this.

I spent my last few days in Cyprus back in Demetris’ place.  I would have booked for a full week, but the place was only available for 4 nights.  Now this was the homey feeling I was missing from the other two places.  It was easily the best apartment I stayed in on the island and I would definitely return.

Cypriot Adventures Continue

 

Along with the Turkish and Greek influences I mentioned in the last post, Cyprus also has another big contributor to its culture:  the Brits.  Cypriots drive on the other side of the car on the other side of the road.  There are multiple pubs owned by Brits, English breakfast is served everywhere, and the outlets are in the U.K. style.  When I first arrived and did my standard outlet search, I stared at the plug a little too long trying to figure out the issue.  I’d been so accustomed to using the European adapters that I was surprised to have to whip out the ones I bought in Dublin.

Unsurprisingly, there are Brits everywhere.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  the Brits get around and they are serious about it.  Their whole attitude is they grab a bag and a passport and they bounce.  They are pretty easy to spot too, even before I hear an accent.  The Brits have perfected the art of sitting in a pub/café with a beer on the table just staring at nothing.

There is a strange phenomenon that I have to mention exists on the island.  It seems to be a rip in the space/time continuum.  Time just slips by in Cyprus.  I’d wake up, have breakfast, go for a walk and lunch, come back for dinner then before I know it, it was time for bed.  It’s like every day was Sunday right before the beginning of another work week.

Before I knew it, my time at Demetris’ place was up.  I had arranged for another Airbnb further up the coast to allow me to see more of the island.  Uber doesn’t exist in Cyprus.  Instead, there are taxi stands sprinkled around the high tourist areas.  I hauled my stuff over to one and found someone to take me the roughly 40 miles to the city of Paralimni.

My new home for the week, while in a great location, came with a few issues.  The place is quite large for Europe with a decent sized bathroom (with a tub) and two sitting areas.  But I quickly discovered why the doors had been left open.  It wasn’t only to allow in the warm Mediterranean breeze – it was to let out some of the stench.  Even though it was empty on my first day, I quickly realized that the trashcan in the cabinet beneath the sink (and surprisingly not the bathroom) was stinking up the joint. Even after moving it to the balcony AND buying some air freshener, some mustiness remained (some of that coming from one of the sofas).

And that’s not all.  The cook top (yet another unfamiliar induction model) was cracked, which rendered it inoperable.  Like those things aren’t already a pain in the butt.  The internet would cut out at regular intervals.  When I used the microwave for more than 5 minutes, it would cause a power surge and shut off for several minutes.  The faucet leaked as well as the toilet when flushed. 

There was no shower gel (you spoiled me, Demetris!), the garbage trucks picked up at 2 a.m. (ask me how I know!), and there was no sensor on the light in the hallway.  The apartment may be very bright from all the windows, but you can't tell when you’re out in the hallway, fumbling to get the key in the lock while immersed in total darkness (yes, there is a light switch, but I insist that it should be motion detecting considering all the other issues in the apartment.)

Things somewhat improved when I got a visit from the host two days after my arrival.  I had messaged him about the issues on my first full day in the place.  He'd told me about the power surges but had no answer when I asked about the cooktop.  When my doorbell first rang, I ignored it thinking it was a mistake.  He messaged me after he left, alerting me to the bottle of wine he left by the door.  Dude should know to contact me first.  Why would I open the door of a rental when I’m still eating breakfast and was not expecting anyone?  He did make up for it by showing me that the stovetop does work.  I simply hadn’t flipped on the right power switch.  Those are a big thing in Cyprus as the cost of electricity is apparently very high.  I had to pay a separate bill for the power I used – something I haven’t had to do since Phuket last year.

But enough about the apartment.  First impressions of Paralimni – it made me miss Larnaca.  Don’t get me wrong, Paralimni is pretty, but it has a resort feel to it that was a bit jarring after Larnaca.  Where Larnaca was a bunch of waterfront shops along a boardwalk bordering the long stretch of Finikoudes Beach, Paralimni is a series of hotels, restaurants, and massage kiosks clustered around several small coves. 

Again, pretty, but I think I prefer the livelier capital city.

One of the main reasons I wanted to come to this place was its proximity to the island’s Hard Rock Café.  Yes, the quest is still on to buy more overpriced souvenirs.  My first attempt at getting a cab was fruitless (I still have no idea what the guy was saying, only that he turned me down). I tried to understand the extensive bus system on the island but was left very confused.  Too many buses with similar routes.  Finally, I messaged the host who was able to give me directions.

After a 20-minute bus ride for the low cost of 1.50 euros, I arrived in Ayia Napa.  This was another busy tourist hub focusing more on the shops and restaurants as the shoreline was a little too rocky for bathers.  I made a beeline for the café, bought my shirt and had some lunch.

Just a note:  if you ever see someone wearing a Hard Rock t-shirt from Cyprus, know that it’s a knockoff.  The shirts sold by the store say Ayia Napa not Cyprus.  Call me a purist, but I prefer to have the real thing, even if I have to travel out of my way for it.

Sigh.  Parasite alert:  Cyprus edition.

While in Ayia Napa, I was sitting on a bench, looking at the water and just enjoying the breeze when a man walking by on the trail said hello.  He introduced himself as Andreas and we started to chat.  Then he asked me if I wanted to walk with him while he hunted.  I had no idea what he meant as his accent was pretty thick.  Then he started to gesture towards the beach.  Still didn’t get it.  He said he wanted me to come with him so as to seem less suspicious.

It slowly started to dawn on me that ONCE AGAIN I had been minding my own business and became the target of a parasite.  He basically ruined my peace with the intent to use me to ruin the peace of younger hotter women.  I wished him luck and quickly left the area.  I still can’t believe his audacity.

Men really are gross.  I don’t know why I keep forgetting that.

I’m seriously thinking about getting a dummy wedding ring.  I suck at lying, so maybe seeing a ring will keep the vampires at bay.