The wheels on the bus

Another 13 hours of rolling through the night in the turkish countryside got us to the mediterranean.   Sleep came in snatches and involved both of us dreaming of earthquakes and explosions.  The bus was half empty which was good as there were a fair few broken seats and we were able to sprawl out a bit although I did wake to find myself sharing with one of the attendants, a bit disconcerting when you're half blind and delirious from broken sleep.  Upon arriving there was a bit of confusion with the issue of transferring to the otel and we were told to wait here then wait there then go over there and after an hour of frustration and multiple phone calls on dwindling credit and battery life we ended up taksi-ing to an average otel with a spectacular view, just the place to shift out thoughts of wayward teenagers and irresponsible exes (although I still cannot believe I'm living in such a cliche ... its like a bad sitcom).  Plunged into the mediterranean for the first time (I did dip a toe in the middle of winter back in '98 but that doesn't count) and worked on a suntan whilst churning through the worst cathedral building historical epic I've ever read.  We decided to bus it into town, checked with the driver to make sure we were on the right one but weren't sure where to get off.  Forty minutes later as we meandered through the outskirts of antalya we finally plucked up the courage to ask whether we'd gone too far (we had).  No matter, the bus was on a loop and our 15 minute ride turned into a (very cheap) 90 minute tour of the city.  Sampled overpriced local fish and tried on fake trainers, avoided the ubiquitous germans (although I've been thinking we might be able to find someone to have a game of settlers with, let THEM feel the wrath of the lady ...)