Bodrum Doldrums

Bodrum, Turkey
21 July 2002

The beach in Bodrum, Turkey with it's distinctive 'sugar cube' architecture, a favorite get-away for Europeans.


I wanna go home!

I WANNA GO HOME!

Are we there yet?

Its official. I am burned out on travel... ...for now.

I slog through the motions here in Turkey - ambling aimlessly along at the semi-posh Mediterranean beach resort of Bodrum. I am tired of beaches, buses, hostel breakfasts, cold showers, hot stuffy rooms, and looking at stupid ruins.

Holed up in my hotel, in vain I searched the satellite TV for a broadcast of the British Open. Instead I sleep off my hangover and avoid the midday sun.

Catering to upper-class Turks and middle-class Europeans, this famous beachside resort boasts the Halikarnis disco (the largest outdoor open-air club in Europe) which cranks along till 5am. The crowds don't even show up until midnight. With my convertible pants and tevas - I don't make the velvet rope hurdle; even if I wanted to pay the $20 cover charge. I feel like I'm back in New York trying to get into some Meat-Packing chichi spot...and getting thrown out. So I stick to the $2 local Efes beers at a breezy beach bar.

Resistance is futile. The bars and restaurants and promise of meeting some of the tanned, string-bikini clad partygoers pulls me out of bed at 10pm. I cruise the narrow street along the beach, both sides clogged with bars, restaurants, and stores - all beckoning for hard currency sporting tourists - Euros welcome, Dollars not.

I chill out at Lodos, a popular but easygoing bar that opens onto the beach; actually everything lies along the beach and therein lies Bodrum's appeal. A dual bay and yacht harbor bisected by an ancient crusader castle jutting up between the twin harbors filled with masts, like something impaled on a bed of nails.

During the day, the beach resembles the typical nightmare Mediterranean resort; every inch of the rocky strip of land called beach covered with lounge chairs, umbrellas, and red Northern European bodies; juextaposed among the drak chocolate tan of the Turks. Cigarettes in evidence everywhere tell you this ain't Santa Monica.

I perk up in a conversation with Kata, short of Katarina, a beautiful blond German woman at Lodos. Maybe going out was a good idea afterall. Tagging along with her friends for a nargila (waterpipe) on the beach, things go well. Near 3am we still chat and sip beers when I ask Frank, a guy looking roughly my age who he came with. He gestures to Kata, "My daughter and I..." DAUGHTER!!! DAUGHTER GOES MY MIND. UH OH.

I ask Kata a few moments later, "So, how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"DOH!!!!" My Homer squeal echos off the castle walls and over the water. Time to call it a night. I excuse myself and retreat to my shabby room. I'm getting too old for this shit. The next day my hangover reiterates that point. Too old.

So I hang in and watch TV and eat some greasy Burger King lunch to soak up the ethanol. Instead of the horror of Tiger Woods' impossible collapse Saturday at the (British) Open at Muirfield; BBC World brings me non-stop coverage of the sýnking ship called the US stock market.

All I think about is home. I imagine walking down West Broadway, window shopping; I see myself dining at Asia de Cuba, wearing all black and Gucci; I want corned beef hash and scrambled eggs at the University Restaurant near my old studio; I want to hit golf balls out on Long Island like the old days.

I want to drive my Boxster... whoops, sold it. I miss the service in the US. I miss holding a sophisticated conversation with a native English speaker. I miss driving a car and listening to my own music. I miss soooo much.

One thing I've learned on this trip is to listen to your heart and soul. It'll tell you what it wants - if you know to LISTEN. Sometimes we can't get what we want right away - like Kata and satellite TV. But as the song says: 'sometimes, you get what you need' and I need to just relax a little and create a comfort zone around me - a little bit of home. So I dine at BK and Mickey D's, and browse through 'Entertainment Weekly' at the bookstand, and surf the net.

It's enough and on this last day in Bodrum before heading to Ephesus, the famous Roman ruins up the coast, I feel like laying out on the beach, playing in the water, and drinking a couple beers in my last night in Bodrum; no longer in the doldrums.

The doldrums will return someday, as they always do, but I know just the prescription to ease the pain...listen to your heart and do something for yourself and like that silly 'dance as if no-one is looking,' eat what you want, sleep when you want, and have a beer if you want.

Or not.