Evening everyone,
Crashing back down to earth I would sooner be writing to you all from the beach bar in sunny Marmaris, Orgasm in hand and cocktail menu not too far away than where I am now. But alas our "Up yours COVID" holiday had to come to an end soon and so I am here writing to you from a very dark, blackened Autumnal night with drizzly rain and cold weather that hamper my spirits. Now, where did I leave you all ...
So after booking some excursions and haggling down the price, we had indulged already in a traditional Turkish bath is otherwise known as a Hammam (again I urge you if you have yet to see some uncomfortable bathtime photos you should really head over to my social media, they're a right scream) and also sampled some of the best Turkey had to offer with a boat trip. However what was meant to be our wedding night had been messy, to say the least, not many cocktails consumed but nevertheless woke up with a sore head.
You see it all started the previous evening when Mr Warehouse and I were trying to enjoy a nice steak dinner with each other at a time when we should have been dining on our wedding breakfast and dancing the night away with friends and family. As I have been doing throughout this holiday I was capturing our holiday and tonight was no different so as we grabbed our banana and strawberry daiquiris and posed for a selfie this strange man came out of nowhere and snatched my phone from out of my hands. Shocked I looked at him in absolute horror and disbelief as he placed the phone on the table and asked us to pose whilst he took a photo on his professional Canon. I was fuming and instantly it had ruined what was meant to be a happy moment in a bitter situation.
Now it was more bitter than a lime that had been snubbed for an Oscar. The last few days have been wonderful and now this. Mr Warehouse was pissed and asked him what the fuck he was doing and to hand the phone back to me. He didn't. As Mr Warehouse, my knight in vest-tops and jean-shorts (not the hot pant kind don't worry), got up to grab my phone from just the other side of the table our Turkish answer to Annie Leibovitz snatched it back and attempted to take photos on it. This is when my Beau really lost his rag. He demanded that the blog give the phone back or he would knock him to the floor. I knew he meant it, despite being such a reserved character normally he could see it was upsetting me and obviously wanted to make things better. But it was too late, we were flat and done. As he shrugged his shoulders and walked off after handing back my phone I looked at Mr Warehouse. He was ready to walk out. We had full and overflowing frozen cocktails but he was millimetres from throwing in the towel and just walking off and I could see it. He was fuming. Seconds later the bread come out and we had to say something.
The waiter apologized and explained it was a photographer from the strip that had nothing to do with the restaurant and was not affiliated. We explained the situation to both him and management and they seemed to take it seriously enough when we started we were seconds from walking out. Finishing our meal, however, we were brought a complimentary (although disgustingly toxic) shot of alcohol. Lord knows what the frick was in it, but it tasted like anti-freeze. And that's how we got talking to Mrs & Mrs Brave.
Leaning over the Scottish wife and wife asked us if we knew what was in the virulent shot. We shook our heads but laughed along as we all swigged in unison. As we got up to leave they asked about what had happened and we gladly explained. Mrs & Mrs Brave explained that if we were looking for a good night out we should head over to "Talk of the Town" as they knew a lot of the locals and some of the lads in the show, one of the only one's still operating in the small tourist hotspot. And so on the authority of good advice from some lesbians, we had just met we headed on over and booked our tickets for the following night.
And so following the football, Mr Warehouse and I spent the rest of the afternoon doing some more shopping (albeit stumbling around due to the intensity of said Orgasm cocktail) and hunting out fake goods at bargain prices was a breeze, including a Gucci scarf I am in love with for the upcoming season, a YSL glittery pink bag that screams "Clueless" or "Mean Girls" plus some cute Gucci sneakers a la Insta, Nike sliders for some poolside chic and a Gucci beach towel to make sure those Germans know we mean business with our sun loungers. Oh, did I say I liked Gucci?
Once we had shopped until we dropped, we headed back to the hotel for a few drinks and a chill by the pool before heading out. And tonight didn't seem to be faring much better in the way of drinking as we donned our glad rags for one of the only shows still in town. "Talk of the Town" has been one of the most hilarious shows in Marmaris which dates back to 1996 with a cabaret that guarantees a humorous evening out filled with outrageous antics and laughs all round. And Mrs & Mrs Brave did not disappoint. I had been to one or two drag shows and nights in the past but honestly one of the best nights I think I have had in my entire life. With the lad(ies) belting out hits such as Disney's Frozen; Let It Go and Titanic's OST My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion I was sure that I was being left with no voice tomorrow. Heck, they even put on a performance of Baby Shark halfway through which was a right roaring success, clearly among adults escaping the kids for a week or two.
Mrs & Mrs Brave seemed to enjoy it too whilst we shared their table and got to know them a bit more. I thought to myself as I sat talking to these married women, maybe fifteen or twenty-years my seniors, how similar they are to myself and my very own lover. Like chalk and cheese one of us was singing our lungs out whilst the other tapped their foot along in appreciation. Both quite short and portly, one with dark short hair and the other long and greying blonde they spoke fondly of their daughter back home and son and his new wife out in Australia whom they seemed to miss deeply. I couldn't help but think that maybe for a night or two, we were the replacement family - And they treated us as such, even inviting us on a specially arranged boat trip with a local friend for a couple of evening's time, just the four of us so as to celebrate a wedding that never happened and I suppose a holiday friendship. My god, is this how it starts!
Walking off after the show I was high on cocktails and my cheeks hurt from laughing (even if it was interrupted slightly by a brawl between two-lassies and their mom's beefing it out because someone was dancing to close to their table and you know, 2-Metres and all). This was insane. Swapping numbers Mr Warehouse and I made out way back to the hotel, laughing at the fact that one day were eating out at a crumby restaurant with basic steaks, the next were drinking in the company of some amazing Scots-women and in the next couple of days, we could be sharing their chartered Yacht around the small secret islands off Marmaris.
The alcohol soon wore off though and as we awoke early the following morning, promises of not getting too drunk that night we slipped into our swimming gear for our Jeep Safari. Looking for some sheer adventure during our Marmaris holiday, Mr Warehouse had really run out of steam by the time our adventure awaited in the form of a Marmaris Jeep Safari. The day started off well enough with us shunning the fried breakfast offered by the pitstop and instead opting to hunt out a local corner shop for something fresher, an apple it was decided and a bottle of water. As we continued our journey, exploring the terrain around the countryside among the stunning Bozburun Peninsula and the Marmaris National Park all in military designed jeeps (ours was aqua coloured!) As the convoy of jeeps bombed it down the highway at full throttle we soon reached the well-beaten tracks that we struck at full force!
As sold to us we were soaked by the time we came to our second stop of the morning, a small family-run resort, seemingly someone's home come pool, come shop, come cafe where we met the most adorable Akita pup, still teething and quite bitey at only a handful of weeks old. It took every ounce of Mr Warehouse and I not to smuggle him into said jeep and take him home with us. Heading to our next stop was Jesus Beach, jam-packing it in so you could walk the famous lake where the water was so shallow you could look like Jesus walking on water (although unfortunately thy hallowed had not been a visitor before) all before whizzing off for a basic yet tasty chicken and pasta salad lunch in a dusty layby hideout seeming for locals and probably home for them too. No rest for the wicked though as we were all frog-marched into the Jeep's for our next and final stop before home to the hotels - A beautiful natural spring pool and waterfalls, Turgut Falls, set deep in the forests outside of İçmeler to the west of Marmaris.
As Mr Warehouse and I headed back to our plush and less dusty hotel for a shower and freshen up before dinner, we thought it a good idea to decline the invitation from Mrs & Mrs Brave. In the joyousness of the evening, I had instead taken their number and them not mine, therefore meaning unless we reached out we would be nothing more than a tale to tell. One of the reasons I couldn't fathom a private chartered sunset cruise on a Yacht was that it did simply seem too good to be true. We had only just met these people and as red flags go, not knowing their actual surnames is probably one of them. Now I am sure it would have been fine, however I have watched enough serial killer docu-films and read enough crime books on murder and homicide to know that this has "press conference to find our missing family members" all over it. Now I am almost certain as I write this that our Scottish lesbian holiday friends were just looking for some simple company to share their boat trip, celebrating a wedding that should have been and welcoming in a new friendship soley exisisting over social media with the odd Christmas card thrown in. But I just couldn't shake the feeling that Mr Warehouse and I knew nothing of them, barely where they were from or what their lives were like, and being on a boat in the middle of the ocean with no phone signal and no internets connection just screamed Channel 5 documentary with a grizzly end.
Suffice to say the rest of our holiday was spent lazing by the pool, splashing around, drinking cocktails, reading a good book and of course some last minute spending, haggling (or at least Mr. Warehouse was, I seemingly, had lost my touch and couldn't haggle my way out of a paper bag) on hoodies and handbags we definatly didn't need. Leaving our luxe surroundings and comfortable hotel, our journey back home was not as eventful as the journey we started with however within moments of Mr Warehouse and I grabbed a bite to eat in the airport we had located out friends, brick-shit-house-Stormzy otherwise known now as BSS, Regina George and some other face from the Airport scrap that nearly happened on the way into our holiday. However, a couple of noted faces were missing including the someone impersonating Post Malone and the white portly gentleman resembling something from the Human-Centipede-2. We chose to believe that the threat about "meeting outside the airport" was true and it had all ended in hideous bloodshed and we would hear all about it when we got home, which of course, never actually happened. Landing on a darkened and drizzly Thursday morning at 1am I was ready for bed and excited to be soon at home with our fur babies - Oh and our Fourteen-day self-isolation to begin!!!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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