So Thursday morning we jump in the car prepared to drive to Bodrum (the kneecap is fully heeled thank you for asking, and the curse of the mushroom soup seems to be behind us, so this should be a pleasant drive). It is about 3-4 hours away through the winding mountainous roads, and it is supposed to be a beautiful drive with the coastline blanketing us all the way. We wrap up another indulgent leisurely breakfast and roll out. We had a small Turkish map and we decided to wing it. No one spoke good enough English to really give us directions anyways. We figured we would just start driving in the general direction of Bodrum, and figure it out along the way. Turns out – that plans works! WIthin 30 minutes of driving we picked up signs for Bodrum and just followed them all the way.

The best part, much like this trip, is that I could be an auto-pilot, just enjoying the scenery and the trip.  I wasn’t in charge of anything – Quag did most of the navigating, and I just drove where I was told to drive.  I felt like Balram, the protagonist in The White Tiger (don’t worry, Book Club post to soon follow), except Balram (who was a poor driver for the rich, hated driving without being in charge.  He wanted to be the one choosing where they were going, and why.  Just a reminder that, that which liberates the privileged is often the same thing that enslaves the poor.

About an hour out of Bodrum we stopped at a little seaside hole in the wall restaurant for a quick lunch. We ordered our normal Turkish fare (you should know this by now – chicken kebab, salad, yogurt, bread, coke) and headed to our table. Nads grabs me, and I look down and there is this little bird – maybe less than a week old. It isn’t moving, but appears alive. Closer inspection reveals that there are 5 or 6 nests built into the roofing of the shack, and it looks like this little chucklee fell out of his nest. We debate what to do for a minute or 2, and decide to pick him up and put him back in his nest. So I pick him up and we drag a table over under the nest, then a chair to get on the table. As I start to climb the little pyramid, he sticks his neck out and tries to flap his little wings. He is super tiny – not even fully feathered. I reach up and place him back in his nest and the excited chuckling begins. It was a nice little side story, because we never intended to stop at this shack – we wanted to stop at the one before, but missed the turn. Then just happened to walk to that table, or we would have missed him entirely. There wasn’t anyone else around, and he probably dies that day or the next for sure if we don’t put him back. One of those little “butterfly flaps his wings” moments when a seemingly small decision turns out in someone’s good favor…In this case it only benefited the bird. We got billed at least double for our lunch! Like they say – one good turn deserves a swift kick in the ass as a lesson not to be so naive next time! But it was worth it.

We cruise into Bodrum with the plan of checking in and napping by the pool/beach (what else). First things first – I have to refuel and return the rental car. The car was a Fiat Linea and it was pretty small with a small engine. We used up half the tank, and I figured it would cost $40ish dollars to refuel. Oh no my friends. A half tank of gas in Turkistan cost me 97 Turkish Lira (or about $80). Gas is $3.50 a liter (with 3.8 liters/gallon), making that a whopping $10+ dollars per gallon!!! Now that I think about this – this is really typical of most 3rd world countries…and Europe…and really – every non-Arab country but the US and Canada. We complain about $4/gallon prices, and these guys are paying almost 3X that much. I don’t know how these economies survive with the transportation costs – how can middle class people afford to go anywhere? Do anything? But I digress. We get our nap and our pool and our beach, and slog our way through an average dinner (tough to measure up to the last spot).

Tonight’s festivities include a jaunt to neighboring Gambet. Gambet, as we learned, means “home of cheesy Turkish bars”. Every bar was playing YMCA/Hey Baby Would You Be My Girl songs, and the proprietors/hosts were all well greased young Turks. Young gigolos with younger apprenti in training. At our first stop, the Atlantic Bar, we were looking at the cover of the menu and it showed a young Turk dancing shirtless with a couple of Euro-hussies. He looks familiar…wait a second – he is the dude who served us our drinks? We ask him to confirm – and sure enough, seconds later, shirt is fully unbuttoned and he has two Euro-jailbaities in tow, dancing on pillars to some cruise ship song. And our drinks had sparklers…oh yes my friends – the 4th of July kind – just hanging out of our drinks. Time to bounce.

The No Name Dancing Bar was stop #2 and final. It wasn’t much better, but it wasn’t any worse! The guy kept trying to get us to come in from the terrace because “the club” inside was starting up. The club was a DJ spinning disco, and the cheesy young dude dancing. Riight, we’ll be right in.

Back to the hotel, and in bed by 1. Tomorrow is the all day boat cruise!