Let's start with the most mindless and mundane aspect of a vacation. Getting from point A to point B.
Like I mentioned before, we are now traveling by bus. Apart from the fact that it is considerably cheaper, it is also much less expensive. And, to be perfectly honest, it's also quite convenient. Have I mentioned the cost savings?
The buses are nice. Luxury buses, really, not those medieval torture buses that Chris and I had to endure in India and Peru. No, these are the real deal. Air conditioned, room for the legs, armrests, nobody trying to sit on your lap. No chickens.
And, amazingly enough, sleep is possible. Not comfortably, of course. It's more like the kind of sleep you'd get on a trans-Atlantic flight while going through some heavy turbulence, but sleep nonetheless.
An interesting point here (and this is so minute a part of the vacation that you must have already guessed that nothing much exciting has happened in the last day or so) is drool. Yes, drool.
Normally I do not drool when I sleep. I am convinced of this, because drool is instantly recognizable upon waking. Big wet drool spot on the pillow. Embarassing stuff. Like I said, though, this doesn't happen to me.
But the laws of drool work differently when riding a bus through mountain passes. Drool happens.
My theory is that this is a result of head waggling. When sleeping on a bus, your head remains attached to the rest of your body through the laws of elasticity, rolling and jostling up and down and from side to side in ways only a professional contortionist could achieve while awake.
This, in my opinion, causes otherwise harmless internal drool that normally would have stayed peacefully inside the jaw to slosh around within the oral cavity. There is no way to control this, and it is only a matter of time until your head stretches into its optimum leakage position.
That's what happened to me on the bus. I'm pretty sure all the other passengers were pointing at me and laughing as I drooled all over myself. As if people didn't already look stupid enough sleeping anyway.
I ADMIT IT! I DROOLED! Jeez, it's not like it's a big deal or anything.
On to the real stuff...
Oludeniz is a perfect place to spend the rest of eternity. Quiet. Beautiful Mediterranean beach, wrapping around into a peaceful lagoon. Very nice.
Unfortunately, it's almost entirely colonized by the British. I'm not kidding. It's like they've got an exclusive to this place. So much so that all the prices are also stated in British pounds.
Now, I've got nothing against Brits, but it's only a matter of time until their accent starts to get on your nerves. I mean, all the guys sound gay, and all the women stuck up. It just gets to you.
So two days was the perfect amount of time to spend there. On Wednesday we loafed around on the beach and in the water and then headed by bus (the Drool Express) to Bodrum.
Bodrum is Turkey's party central. Nightclubs, discos, cafes, bars,pubs, live shows, you name it. Not a good place for those retired folks with a pacemaker, if you know what I mean. The whoomp-whoomp beat of the music goes through the night. Fun place.
We didn't stay up too late, because I had a fairly upset stomach. I must have eaten about 57 chickens since coming to Turkey, but I think what finally pushed me over the edge was the liter of Apricot juice I drank earlier in the evening.
I didn't regurgitate, mind you. I simply felt that the fact that my intestines had declared war on my stomach did not warrant a night out dancing and jumping around till the wee hours of the morning. Wisdom beyond my years.
The next morning, the casualties of war were evicted, and all was well.
In the center of Bodrum lies a very impressive looking fortress, which now houses the museum of underwater archeology. We spent the late morning / early afternoon visiting that, and it was a blast.
There were a bunch of historical facts and such that were interesting, but I'll spare you the history lessons. The only comment I'll make is that I've never seen so many amphores in my life.
I mean, my God, there's a whole science around these things. Big amphores. Small amphores. Wide amphores. Narrow amphores. Ugly amphores. Amphores from the 3rd century BC. Amphores from the 2nd century BC. Amphores with one handle. Amphores with two handles. Amphores from Constantinople. Amphores from Thessalonia. Amphores from Tunis. Amphores from Mars. Whatever. Who the hell cares?
There were also dungeons in this fortress, dark and creepy and complete with a torture chamber. Didn't look pleasant at all.
Overall, the visit was a lot of fun. It's hard to pin down what made it so exciting (it certainly wasn't the amphores), but perhaps I'll allow myself a little cliche by stating that it was the whole of the experience that made it memorable, as opposed to any particular part.
For example, there were all these exotic birds in the gardens. Ducks, pigeons, peacocks, other unknown species. One of these looked like clumsy feathered boulders, and the way they skittered around in packs just kept cracking me up.
It's hard to visualize (unless you think I've been smoking hashish), and even harder to try to convey in a paragraph, but this is just one of the things that contributed to a great few hours.
From Bodrum, a bus to Kusadasi. This is the launch pad from which to visit Ephesus. Like I've mentioned before, these are supposedly the most extensive ruins of a Roman city in the world. I'll let you know if I spot any amphores.
All the best,
Gabriel
