2am and amidst the equanimity of my Rhodes hotel room, this entry is being woven into shape with ingenuous details and an extra push of Turkish delights. Having just sailed off from an hour and ten minutes ferry (Catamaran as they call it here!) ride from Marmaris to Rhodes, it is safe to assume that I will be dead tired as of this time from strolling around the southwestern-most point of Turkey. But nope, I'm wide awake as an angry bird raring to destroy multiple blocks to the very core and much to the amusement and addiction of its iphone user (where did that come from?!?!?).
Enough being said, Turkey is not exactly assonant to its Greek neighbor. Although my first instinct would tell me otherwise in regard to its proximity between the two Mediterranean countries, I began regarding Marmaris (or Turkey for that matter, sorry for the generalization) solely as a tourist hub for impervious and express holidays. Every corner resonates typical British holidays – enjoying the sun and not withstanding anything else. I reckon that more square meters had been allocated to self-catering villas and two and three star hotels in contrast with local houses and establishments. Not that I have an aversion to this apartments but it simply overshadowed the supposed Turkish charm that I was expecting to unravel at that point in time.
Nothing was sort of spectacular. It would have been a welcome change to see a coalesce of Moorish and Modern Architecture but instead I was greeted by the Marmaris Castle who looks more like an abandoned crack house rather than a prime tourist attraction. It was more of a viewing deck of the Marmaris harbor rather than a historical site. That 3 euros entrance fee was definitely not justifiable. To add insult to injury, the guy in the tourist information center totally snubbed me when I was inside in my attempt to ask for directions to the castle. He was deeply submerged into a telephone conversation. Nothing else mattered. It felt like I was wearing Harry Potter's cloak – invisible.
The bazaar was also synonymous to Turkey's despairing inuendo to save their ailing economy. Pushy sellers will rub you of any feasible euros/Turkish Liras (TL) – down to its last bit. A typical turkish lamp, for instance, will initially sell at 65 TL where in fact you could grab them at 40 TL or even less (my bargaining skills worked somehow). The bazaar and hundreds of restaurants resonates a Turkish desert and character – destitute and empty. But then again, I have never been to Istanbul or Ankra so this might just be an early and unfledged judgment.
I never, for one second, ascertained that I was in a safe place. The glances and accession of every local dweller will put Bin Laden's forces to shame. I was branded and called a “Jackie Chan of Marmaris” or greeted “Ni Hao” by merchants and residents alike. Evidently, Asians seldomly sojourned the place. Quite unsurprisingly, I found a sense of isolation and desolation in no time and I was hasting to go to back to Greece – where a more welcoming hand awaits me.
Overall, Turkey fails to deliver to the discerning tourist. And if I have ever been asked if I wanted to go back to Turkey, let's just say that I will just buy those lovely Turkish delights elsewhere in Mediterannean shops in London. In that case, I never really needed to waste 3 hours flying time – harsh but ardently true.
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