Antalya
Two weeks in the sun
Floating in the sun, sweat and cold water in equal measure.
Turkey welcomes with warmth and sincerity; for two weeks the pressures of the reality of life fall away. The relaxed pace takes some adjusting to, but I submerge into serenity like I do the sea in Konyaaltı and I feel at home.
Turkish time is at least half an hour late. For my birthday you make an hour-by-hour itinerary which is as much of a gift as everything else you gift me, and I love you for it. We swim far out and have deep conversations, I fight to keep my head above water, but the sun keeps shining.
Everyone in your apartment block knows each other, neighbours call on each other, new partners are introduced to everybody in the neighbourhood with heartfelt authenticity.
I am in love with the energy; it sizzles in the midday sun with every animated conversation, every warm greeting, every generous offering of köfte, sütlaç and çay.
As a stuffy Brit, the culture shock is palpable but not overwhelming. For me it’s completely and totally absorbing.
The ease differs to London.
In the UK there is a gap between you and everybody else.
You can pull into the slow lane of Antalya’s north circular, stop, and live your life smoothly and unencumbered. Traffic stops and starts lazily, and everyone can easily visit every family member, old friend, or local shop that they want to. The culture facilitates familiarity and creates a sense of home.
In London you pay to park on every street, if there’s space at all, or you have to commute in by train, or park miles away from your destination. I feel that this inhibits the economy, and moreover, more tragically, it inhibits society.
On the Mediterranean you build your shop and your house above it, creating a stable, local base for your family. You are graciously invited to your second-cousins’ house for dinner, staying till midnight drinking kahve and walking home because it’s still warm. Life is comfortable. Local. Soulful.
In England you leave the house at 5.30am, head down in the drizzle, and march to the train station. You don’t want to talk to anyone on your overpriced commute; the first human interaction you have is at 8am, buying your overpriced coffee. You return to your commuter-belt house where you don’t know your neighbours, you watch TV until you fall asleep, and repeat.
Life in the sun by the sea is reflected in my beautiful partner’s passionate outlook life. We dance on beaches and balconies together. She feels like home and her home feels like home.
I also have to admit that the UK doesn’t have to be like that if you make the effort.
But the ease at which Turkey fills my heart felt worth noticing.
A full Turkish breakfast is divine. I still dream about the feast that gets served.