Bodrum Beaches, Sezen Aksu concert and the Place

We awoke early and caught our flight from Istabul to Bodrum, a beach town on the Asian coast of the Bosphorus. We were met by our minivan driver upon landing and 30 minutes later arrived at our hotel. The view of the sea from our cliff top hotel was stunning, the ancient castle of Bodrum surrounded by gullets on the water looked majestic. In the lobby we met the greeter (must be a Turkish thing) who was the spitting image of Robin Williams in the remake of “La Cage aux Folles/The Birdcage” with Nathan Lane. The greeter was Italian but spoke at least 7 languages fluently and had a penchant for Bono-style sunglasses and white linen. He implored us to come to the pool tomorrow evening from 9 to midnight as that is when he sings for the guests. We assured him we wouldn’t miss it.

We were shown to our rooms, unpacked, grabbed a bite of lunch on the outside terrace above the main pool, and spent the afternoon lounging by the pool as the pool DJ spun tunes on his turntables. This was the first daytime poolside DJ I had encountered and I must say he took his work as seriously as any nightclub DJ. At 8pm we were picked up by a driver who took us to downtown Bodrum where we had dinner on the water near the marina at a place called “The Place.” This gave Justin hours of fun as he kept asking “Where are we going for dinner?”, to which I replied, “The Place,” and he continued “Mom, where are we going for dinner?”, to which I replied, “The Place,” and he would then ask, “What place?”After 6 or 7 of these interchanges I finally had to sick him onto my mother who kept answering him earnestly, “The Place is the name of the restaurant Justin,” as he cackled wildly. After dinner we explored the market area which is teeming with knock off handbag and watch shops. David summed it up best, “It’s like a poor man’s St. Tropez.”

The next day we boarded the hotel shuttle and headed to the private beach. Beach in Bodrum means large floating dock area with loungers, umbrellas and restaurant with pleasant waiters but no actual sand. Beach apparently also means “place where Queen Latifah-sized women wear itsy bitsy bikinis and slather on tanning oil between their flabby folds.” I have taken a decided dislike to women who are deeply bronzed all over but miss the area where their legs meet their buttocks. This particular area, let us call it the “rear butt-thigh hollow”, is forced to form a fold when one with any amount of excess chub lies flat on their stomach and leg thus pushes against round buttocks burying that area of skin beneath the layers above. So many of these was I faced with that I felt compelled to devise a strategy to rid the beaches of Turkey of this problem. By simply propping a towel or small pillow under the pubis one could easily raise the buttocks outward away from the lounger, ever so slightly bending the knees, and thus expose this area for tanning. Of course this would present other unsightly but easily foreseeable problems and a smartly placed umbrella could shield innocent passersby from the view. Suffice it to say, I have seen more than my fair share of mahogany colored women with snowy white patches of exposed rear butt-thigh hollow. Quite disturbing really.

Anyhow, we swam, read and ate while Chloe made friends with a group of French teenagers staying at a nearby hotel. Given that Chloe speaks about 5 words of French and all five are from nursery rhymes I used singing to her as a baby, it was impressive to see how well she got on with the group.

That evening we had dinner at another restaurant near the marina (excellent fresh grouper) and then headed to the ancient amphitheatre to see a concert my mother had seen advertised. Sezen Aksu is described as the “biggest” pop star in Turkey and as we found out this referred as much to her physical largesse as to her popularity. We arrived at the amphitheatre around 9pm and waited patiently as we shuffled passed security along with throngs of Turks, and then made or way to our seats, which as in all ancient amphitheatres are carved marble slab steps. Fortunately TurkCell had the presence of mind to sponsor the event and provide a branded seat cushion for every derriere in the amphitheatre. The crowd began rhythmic clapping and whistling, so eager were they to see their beloved Sezen. I had told the kids that Sezen was like the Britney Spears or Madonna of Turkey and we were all excited. Suddenly the band appeared holding all sorts of flutes, lutes, odd shaped string instruments, and a few tambourines; not a positive omen. Then from behind the stage curtain appeared a diaphanous white bulbous figure, as it approached the front of the stage it became clear that it was human and likely female, and was being assisted by two large security guards to descend the steps to the stage with a rocking motion like a Weeble.

The spotlight then shone brightly on what can only be described as the human personification of Ursula the Sea Witch from Disney’s “The Little Mermaid.” Weighing in at no less than 250 lbs, she stood smiling, with short platinum bleach blond hair teased to the heavens and sprayed with industrial strength hair spray that rendered the hair immobile in spite of a mighty wind created by the numerous powerful fans at her feet intended to no doubt cool down her body temperature. Sezen resembled an obese Joan Rivers dressed in an enormous white wedding gown adorned with Swarovski crystals and constructed within from an obviously Kevlar reinforced corset. The folds of her back fat hung over the top of her sleeveless gown like thick frosting dripping down a wedding cake. She had clearly undergone numerous plastic surgeries, the last of which had left her large red-painted mouth affixed in an eerie Joker-like smile. She wore 4-inch white stilettos which presented a significant balance challenge and so rather than move about the stage, she chose (and I think wisely given the circumstances) to stand in one spot teetering on her heels and wave periodically to the adoring crowd like a parade queen.

She opened up with a folk song both dull and uninspiring, yet the crowd went wild. She invited the over 4,000 enraptured fans to sing along at every chorus; this was a clever though ill-fated attempt on her part to catch her breath from the exertion of singing and standing. Two more painful folk songs later she called for the security guard and was brought a large, high stool which she employed fully. When she broke into a most painful and not entirely on-key ballad we decided to make a run for it. For anyone who has yet to try and flee an ancient amphitheatre please be advised that if seated in the center of the bottom section the only way out is to descend the stairs and walk around the front of the stage past the headline act to the side stage exit. More than one irate fan shouted Turkish obscenities at us as we made our escape. I hoped they mistook us for English tourists.

We flagged down a taxi bus and returned to our hotel where our Italian Robin Williams lookalike greeter was still singing his little linen-wearing heart out. We stopped for a song or two, and though his career will never take him beyond the confines of the Hotel Marmara in Bodrum, we all agreed he was infinitely more talented than Sezen.