The transition from Turkey to Greece has been more abrupt than I had imagined. Despite Marmaris being a quite cosmopolitan, secular, touristy, port town it is still Islamic and replete with all the traditional elements of Turkish society that we were becoming familiar with: many women in headscarfs (though not a single niqab or burka to be seen), men always drinking tea, the ubiquitous ‘doner kebab’ stalls and people out socializing at all times. Whereas Rhodes, and especially Faliraki the town we’ve ended up in, is the typical polyglot European tourist mecca. Not at all my style but we’ve got a great early season rate (25 Euro/night) on a beach front room through a chance acquaintance with an elderly Greek man who’d lived in Surrey, BC., while we await an on-going ferry to Crete…but more on that later.
After getting a new rim and wheel re-built in the university town of Mugla and a night hanging with a bunch of young students (we were invited to spend the night at the apartment of one of the bike shop staff), the last day of riding in Turkey was hilly, but smooth and reasonably quiet with a spectacular descent down into busy Marmaris. A lovely town with a scenic harbour full of these magnificently maintained wooden sailboats all primed and ready for, we assume, a busy charter season. I was blown away by their elegance and the amount of money afloat but Claire soon tires of looking at boats. As usual, we skimped on accommodation but I found a super cheap room, a 5th floor walk-up, with ocean view. The virtues of the view diminished with every climb back to our room and every time I whacked my head going out onto the rooftop deck but nonetheless, pretty funky digs for $30/night.
A highlight of our stay in Marmaris was our first visit to a ‘hammam’, a Turkish bath. With modern plumbing, traditional hammams are a dying breed and the typical modern experience is intended for the Western tourist where separation of the sexes is no longer the case. Whatever…. we found the ‘best’ hammam in Marmaris and were the first through the doors and had a delightful ‘exclusive’ experience. First a short sauna, then shower then to the hammam proper where we lay on a heated (hot) marble slab in this wonderful room architecturally similar to a mosque. After the perfectly relaxing interval in came two male attendants to first scrub us down with coarse sponges then lathered us up with soap followed by buckets of rinse water sloshed over us. All very pleasant! We then retired to the waiting room for a 20 minute cool down while served sweet apple tea. Then upstairs for a 20 minute, ‘full body,’ olive oil massage. I had a big swarthy Turk for a masseuse while Claire had a pretty young Balinese girl, fresh off the boat. At the end of my ‘basic package’ massage, the masseuse indicated (thru an interpreter) that I had problems in my lower and upper back and would I like the full ‘medical’ massage (he says that to all the guys!)…after some haggling on the price, I was successfully up-sold. Of course, this is an Islamic country so everything is done with the utmost discretion, accordingly my experience was somewhat different than Claire’s….and I guess, the same could be said for our overall experience of the country. As a strong, independent Western woman and despite her travel experiences, Claire sometimes felt a little like a second class citizen in Turkey, somewhat in my shadow. This wasn’t the case with the individuals who received us but in the villages even I noticed the difference with which Claire was regarded.
The only thing I look forward to putting behind us is riding in traffic. We have spent far too much time on busy roads that offer smoother riding than the rough secondary toads where we fear our bikes might fall apart. Accordingly, the traffic fumes (poor quality diesel?) have left my throat quite irritated. For someone who spends most of his time in the clear forest air of Squamish this has been a tough adjustment. We will now make every attempt to find back roads without regard for the steep hills and the longer distances they imply.
(Left) Enjoying the popular apple tea which we came to love. (Right) Classic donor kebab. Ottoman Turk, not Greek, in origin.
Our forced layover in Rhodes, waiting for a ferry, was spent doing day rides, walking beaches and visiting the two world heritage towns of Rodos and Lindos, both outstanding with many thousands of years of continuous history….but too many tourists for my liking. Claire insists I’ll just have to suck it up and get over my unrealistic demand for the ‘authentic’ experience (whatever that means?)
I’m writing this on board a ferry destined for Sitia, Crete – a 10 hour trip with multiple stops at quaint villages on small islands. The speed and seamanship with which this large ship pulls up to the rudimentary jetties (in stiff crosswinds!), loads and off loads vehicles and passengers with minimal crew and not a pfd in sight is a sight to behold. As trucks, kids and old ladies share the narrow loading ramp without guardrails, the image of safety protocols and excessive staff standing around at a BC Ferry dock make you want to cry…or laugh.
But more on that later…we plan, after landing in Sitia, to get a few kilometres up the road into a small village where there may, or may not, be someplace to stay. Vamos ver!
