Sorry- very long entry....
Mwahaha. I'm back from Turkey. A fantastic holiday. You know I've got this habit of always liking people who don't actually give a toss about me? Well, I've finally broken that. Here's a little love story for my little pumpkins out there.
It all started at the hotel when one of the waiters, Ramazan, decided to set me up with one of his colleagues, a junior waiter by the name of Musa. At first this didn't actually work, partly because I didn't really like Musa, and partly because I could tell he didn't really like me, but nonetheless, small, meaningless flirtations passed throughout the first week of my stay. Towards the end of that week, I was lounging in the pool on a foam noodle-thing, listening to Kiss Kiss by Holly Valance blaring from the pool bar, when I looked over towards the reception area and I saw Musa, waiting for the new guests to arrive. I smiled to myself and realised that I actually liked him. I realised I thought he was cute, charming and Ramazan was quite right about the fact he was a "good man".
The next day, the Monday, I looked over the hotel wall onto the street below, where I saw a figure speeding off down the dirt road on a motorbike and realised, with a start, that it was Musa. I squealed with delight and Ramazan wanted to know why I was so happy. I told him it was because I thought people with motorbikes were insanely attractive. Ramo, being the darling he is, asked Musa if I could go on the bike with him, and it was all sorted by that evening. I was sitting by the pool bar with Ramo when Musa appeared, holding a key in his hand. We escaped down the staff exit, and, with five other hotel staff watching us over the wall, drove off into the sunset. I can honestly say I've never felt so good. We went along the dusty roads, down to Kalamar Beach a few miles away from the hotel. I had my arms around his waist, the sun was shining off the sea, I could smell his aftershave. It was wonderful. We stopped off by the roadside and I looked at the endless mass of water and realised I'd never been so happy. It was simple. There was nothing deep or complex about it. I didn't even think about it then that I was on an uninsured motorbike. On a dangerous coastal road. Without a crash helmet. With a 19-year-old Turkish waiter. We went back to the hotel where I received a probing from the other guys as to what had happened, so I told them the truth- nothing. We just went to Kalamar beach, stopped momentarily and came back. My parents, thank God, hadn't seen; despite the fact the motorbike was in full view of their balcony. The next morning Ramo told me I had to tell my parents, and if I didn't, someone else would. So I did. And I hardly got into any trouble at all. They just told me that I'd put myself in a lot of danger, but that they weren't going to punish me for it seeing as I'm such a good girl the rest of the time. I didn't realise that Musa was the one who got in trouble. Ziya, the evil receptionist, had grassed him up to the manager who had given him a severe warning never to take girls from the hotel on his bike again. Musa just told him that he had been happy, I had been happy, my parents were ok, I was safe and he that he wouldn't do it again. All was ok.
Two days after that, the weekly barbeque night at the hotel was cancelled through lack of interest, so all the waiters got the evening off. Ramo and Musa took this opportunity to ask me to come to one of the bars in Kalkan with them, so I gladly accepted. The only downside was that Charlie, my horrible 12-year-old brother had to come too. We met the guys in town after dinner and went to some bar on the harbour. After a few minutes, Ramo stood up and told Charlie they were going for a walk to "go look at his boat". Charlie knew it was just to get Musa and I on our own, but still went. It turns out that Ramo made Charlie walk right down to the very end of the harbour because "his boat was the one on the end", and when they'd walked the full length of the harbour, Ramo informed Charlie that he, in fact, doesn't actually have a boat. They then walked around for a bit "looking for Kader" [the rep from the holiday company], and didn't find him, but later on, when Charlie did spot him, Ramo said "no, don't call him over- I don't want to see him". Evidently another one of his tricks to get Charlie out of the way. It did work, because while they were gone, Musa and I very daringly pulled in full view of the receptionist who grassed him up over the motorbike. We first kissed to the sound of Can't Stop by the Chili Peppers. Surprisingly romantic. He is an insanely good kisser, and I knew at that point, it wouldn't be the last time. We were at it again a couple of minutes later when I heard childish giggling behind me and we sprang apart, only to see Charlie peeing himself with laughter. The little pervert had been watching our little Public Display of Affections. Quelle surprise. A short while later, Charlie and Ramo went off with one of the other waiters to play backgammon somewhere else (yet another measure employed to get me and Musa alone time). Yet more kissage ensued, more half-conversations, more admiration of the night sky. One of my most vivid recollections was of me, gently touching the small, inconspicuous scar above his lip and telling him how cute and endearing it was. General stuff like that. I left after about an hour, safe in the knowledge that I was not merely a guest anymore.
Entertaining eye contact, demure glances and sniggers of the other waiters filled the next couple of days. I deliberately wore vest tops and thigh-skimming mini skirts to breakfast because I knew he went crazy over them. One of the highlights was my darling father talking to me over lunch about nothing in particular, and I was staring through the huge glass doors to Musa, sitting on one of the dining room tables, smiling at me. I smiled back and this subtle display of what we were thinking seemed funny when I considered the fact that my dad had no idea about anything beyond innocent going on.
By the time Saturday evening rolled around, I was horrified by the idea of going home, especially when I knew Musa was so unwilling to let me go. I was leaving on Sunday morning, at five to eleven in the morning, so we didn't have much time left. We tried to co-ordinate a meeting in my room that afternoon, but to no avail- he was too scared of getting caught by Omar (one of the less friendly senior waiters), or worse, my dad. I thought I'd never kiss him again, but then he told my English-speaking Turkish friend Aybuke, that he'd meet me by the lower pool between 11pm and 1am that night. It was settled, and after dinner, I returned to the hotel. I anounced to my parents, who were sitting at the bar, that I was going for a walk, and I slowly went down to the pool where I saw, through the moonlit night, Musa sitting on a sun lounger, holding some white roses. I ran over to him, literally threw my arms around him, and told him how much I'd miss him when I left. We kissed. A lot. It felt like something out of the movies- the darkness, the moon, the roses, the physical aspect of it. I'm sure a kiss like that would have worked well on camera. I said goodbye, and that I'd see him at breakfast tomorrow, and skipped back up to the bar, swinging my roses as I went. Only with hindsight did I realise that he'd sat there for two hours by the time I'd arrived, and would have waited two hours more if I had come later.
I was leaving the next day, and after packing all my stuff, I sauntered back down to the breakfast room, where I sat with my friend Sophie and we talked for a while. Then, Ferhat, one of Musa's waiter friends told me to "come here". He said goodbye and shook my hand, and then gestured to Musa who was perched on the table next to him. I walked over to him, shook his hand, and then he put his arms round my back and kissed me, one last time. If anyone had been looking through the glass doors, they'd have seen. If the manager had been looking through the glass doors, Musa would be out of a job. Finally happy, I winked at him in that funny way that he and Ramazan loved, and skipped off to rejoin Sophie. "You didn't see, did you?" I asked her, grinning. "See what?" she replied. "You know what" I said. "You didn't pull him again did you?!" she laughed. "Of course I did" I said, demurely.
And with that, I left. I'll probably never see him again, though he wanted me to go back to Kalkan next year. He was the only waiter who actually lived in Kalkan. One of the biggest mysteries was how old he was- upon questioning various people, I got different answers, all ranging from 16-23. It turned out that he was somewhere in the middle at 19. That's not bad, is it? For two weeks, I was so happy. I'm still happy now. I'll get the photos developed and I'll post them here.
Now, children, wasn't that a nice story?