When Is A Honeymoon Not A Honeymoon (Part Two)

A loud hammering at the door awakened my from my morning slumbers and just as I was being serenaded on some exotic beach by the gorgeous Enrique Iglesias! I reluctantly left the comfort of my warm bed to tiptoe to the front door. Upon opening it I discovered a Turkish woman of indiscriminate age, carrying a heavy tray alongside last night’s drunken Turk, who was looking slightly worse for wear and very sheepish. I didn’t understand a word she was saying but I gather she was scolding the man, whom I later discovered was her son and as a form of apology she had brought breakfast.

On the battered tray covered with a hand crocheted cloth, were an array of fresh produce including tomatoes, bread, olives, eggs, butter, fruit and cheese. As she pushed past me into the apartment she continued berating her son. She continued on through the apartment until she found the kitchen, and then busied herself making çay and searching through the crockery. As there were lots of tutting going on, I don’t think she was impressed with the holiday apartment tableware. She ushered me out of the kitchen and laid a place for me at the dining table. She gestured for me to sit and eat whilst continuing to talk to her son. I was almost grateful when my dirty stop-out friend chose this moment to open the door and do the walk of shame through the apartment. At this point my Turkish benefactors took their leave but the son popped his head back round the door and said “I am very big like you”. Good I thought, glad we’ve got that settled.

As my friend admitted to “hanging out of her arse”, we spent the day by the pool reading trashy novels. To be honest I hadn’t really wanted to venture afield for fear of being ambushed again by my admirer. So after a nice long leisurely swim and a late lunch, we headed back to the apartment for a power nap before freshening up for a night on the tiles. No sooner had we sat on our balcony for a pre-dinner drink when there was a loud knocking at the door again. “Don’t answer the door” I hissed to my friend!

Too late, and this time my Turkish fan (who I have to admit had brushed up rather well) was accompanied by two brothers, a sister, various children and his mother, all carrying pots, pans, portable barbecue and various produce trotted into the apartment out onto the balcony. Then the whole family proceeded, like a colony of worker bees, to set up a barbecue much to our amazement. It was fascinating to watch how they worked together and before long the food was ready and we were told to sit down. I have to say that the meal was amazing and our hosts very gracious. Whilst we were eating we got to know them a little better as the brothers and sister all spoke English.

The Turkish women were fascinated with us particularly as I didn’t have any dark hair covering my arms; owing more to the benefits of Immac than nature I have to admit. Whilst our new friends packed away their supplies, my room-mate implied that had I succumbed to a little Turkish lovin’ the night before, they would probably have adopted me and we could have dined for free for the remainder of the holiday. I made a mental note to unfriend her from Facebook upon my return home. She also thought that they were checking me out as potential daughter-in-law material and as neither of us were familiar with Turkish traditions, could this have been an unofficial betrothal party? To add insult to injury she also pointed out that to get over someone, you needed to get yourself under someone else and besides I seemed to have my future mother-in-laws stamp of approval.

As we bade these lovely people goodnight my admirer said to me “I am very big like you! Tomorrow I am coming, we go eating Turkish food beach bar”. There’s an offer you don’t get everyday!


28 thoughts on “When Is A Honeymoon Not A Honeymoon (Part Two)

  1. LOL. I think I agree with your friend. What do you have to lose? And… you even said he cleans up nice, maybe there is something there? Either way, live it up. 🙂


  2. I love Turkey and drink Turkish tea every day (but English-style with milk – don’t tell the Turks). I love reading your stories. It takes me back to my one brief visit there.


  3. LOL! This is so funny! Can’t wait to know what he meant by being ‘big like you!’ I have always loved Turkish food and tea and have it on my travel wish list. Imagine if all indebted drunks’ parents were like this?


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  5. HAHAHAHAHA!!! you must have had apoplexy wondering what was going on….mind you the food looked divine…..
    Oh this story just gets better & better…
    Sherri-Ellen & Nylablue
    (you haven’t lost us yet…)


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