Day 185, 186 and 187: Antalya again


I have no idea what the second scar is. Maybe my break lever?

I have no idea what the second scar is. Maybe my break lever?

I’ve recovered well. With piles, oceans and galaxies of thanks to Bryan, I can now sit cross legged, walk without needing to lean on things or vomit, poo and pee normally, raise my foot off the ground and sleep painfree – I’ve got the flexibility and athleticism of a morbidly obese pirate. The next things to cross off are dancing, showers, jumping, running, burpees, swimming and looking sexy (some of these are potentially unattainable).

The recovery has been so rapid and surprising to me that I started to entertain the idea of living out my last two weeks in Istanbul hobbling in between cabs and restaurants. But as enjoyable as it would have been actually becoming obese, it’s not to be. I’m coming home tomorrow. The draw of loved ones and the heroism of my Mum is too great for me to do anything else.

I realised yesterday, a day of particularly substantial recovery, why I may have been struggling so intensely the second day after my accident. Sure my leg had been stabbed by a metal cylinder and my arse bruised by a platoon of horny rocks but I also remembered something else. Before I started this trip I had set out to get really fit – on night one of my Turkish tour I did pilates, yoga and sportsecize until I was too dead to do anything else. The next day I had my accident. So while I was lunging myself around Bryan’s house, using every wall edge, table and implement I could find to support myself, my back, abdomen, shoulders, arms and bum were shaking and swearing like a bag of drug addicts who’d never seen light or nutrients.

I haven’t done much in the last few days. I’ve spent most of my time finishing On the Road*, napping and reading articles like ’26 weirdest beaches in the world’ and ‘why it would be bad to date a disney prince’. But fuck that, today’s my last day in Turkey. I’m never going to be able to recover two weeks worth of incredible rural Turkish deliciousness but I’m fucking well going to eat something good.

1st stop – where the hell are all the good bakeries around here. Oh hey. Everywhere. Great, thanks.


There was some baklava to go along with this as well but I ate that up as soon as it was within pecking distance*. The two puffy ones covered in little sinewy black seeds are doughy and dry – the large one with olives and the smaller one with dill and soft salty cheese, the squarish pastry has a heavily churned Turkish sausage and some rubbery cheese, the roll is chewy and layered with sweetened tahini (didn’t know that existed) and the long jagged thing is crunchy like a biscuit and full of cinnamon fig jam.


My next opportunity (my sedentary lifestyle restricts my appetite to fairly routine and sparse eating times) was dinner. I told Bryan and his girlfriend to pick whatever restaurant they liked and I’d shout.


It was a specialty restaurant of the North East, the region near Georgia. They had a heap of fresh fish to choose from and then mezze style salads next to it. We got a pile of fried anchovy fillets, a frittata thing with tiny mysterious bok choy like bulbs, Turkish corn bread, some hard Turkish liquor and the best dolmates I’ve ever had. Fucking great choice guys. That was my best meal in Turkey.

*I was reading this ages ago, I can’t remember if I said so, but I lost it in one of the many cars I hitchhiked in. I bought it again not long ago and aimed to finish it on the road but I can’t now, unless of course I loose it again.
*a rather short one considering the length of my shnoz

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