We awoke the next morning and shook off our Sezen nightmare with some freshly baked mini chocolate croissants on the breakfast terrace. Then we caught the shuttle back to the “Beach” which is called Tex Mex because they serve burritos and fajitas albeit an hour and a half after you order. Chloe spent the day swimming over to another “Beach” with Club Marmara emblazoned on the many flags on its docks. She returned with tales of pool bars and volleyball, her eyes wide with excitement and longing to join her posse of French friends whom I dubbed “the Frenchies” at Club Marmara where her new found friends were all staying and it was per Chloe, “Way better than our hotel, dude”.
Loving parents that we are, we agreed to investigate the Club Marmara and switch hotels if it seemed okay. After David visited the reception of the Club briefly, he booked us in for the remaining 3 nights. David asked me to keep an open mind and prepare myself for a slightly different experience, and I assured him that all would be well. We checked out of the swank Frette linen filled Hotel Marmara and into Club Marmara the next morning. Everything seemed normal at check in and it was only as we descended the hill and were shown to our rooms that I began to notice some subtle differences. The rooms themselves were small, white stucco or rather had once been white and were now more ecru from decades of use without repainting. The room contained a not insignificantly stained mattress, made up in polyester sheets with a terrycloth-feeling coverlet of a tea stained color. There were two built-in night tables, a built-in desk with a mini-fridge covered by a broken door. The mini-fridge door was literally off its hinges but the chamber maids had kindly propped the door up against the fridge to provide the illusion of an operational door so that when I tried to open it the door crashed upon my flipflop-clad feet. The double door terrace was all windows and faced out toward the al fresco dining courtyard. The curtains were of a thin white sheer fabric which enabled us, even while the curtains were drawn shut, to enjoy the view of the masses enjoying breakfast, lunch and dinner from the privacy of our room, and for the masses to view us as they ate. The piece de resistance though was the bathroom. A sign above the corroded sink stated that drinking the tap water was not recommended. This was expressed as merely a subtle suggestion but the wise traveler knows to respect such instructions as one would the gospel. The faucet handle itself was pitted with corrosion so that the only safe method of turning the faucet was with the careful placement of thumb, middle and forefinger around the corroded handle, in a sort of contorted finger version of Twister. The once presumably white basin stained and cracked. The shower/bath faucet had rusted and was difficult to shift into the correct position thereby providing an alternating freezing and then scalding shower experience with each adjustment and at times without any adjustment at all, so I thought of it as “la douche surprise”. The tub had rust stains that could be avoided by positioning one’s feet at twelve o’clock and three o’clock respectively, so that showering doubled conveniently as wind surfing practice; a perk they had not advertised. Let us not even discuss the condition of the towels nor the Club Marmara brand bath products which I dared not use given that the little plastic shampoo and body lotion bottles were not hermetically sealed and had been obviously refilled between guests.
The guests at Club Marmara were, with the exception of our family, all French nationals, who from their accents we could detect were mainly from the rural central and Southern parts. The food, wine, beer and soda were all you can eat/drink, which judging by the crowd was quite ample. I did not see signs confirming that cigarettes were also free but must assume this to be the case and a main attraction. The beach and pool chairs were tattered and well stained fabric covered folding foam chaises which one needed to nab early in the morning and mark with towels, flip flops, books and whatever other items one did not fear might be stolen. As long as you covered your chaise in your own towel (my mom generously bought 6 at the gift shop for us all to use) and separated your body from the soiled chaise by your towel then you could lounge in relative comfort, rising only occasionally to reposition the towel barrier. As you can imagine this set up was aimed at bargain-hunting French tourists who seemed perfectly content to dispense their own Nescafe, cheap Rose wine, and juice-like drinks as they chain smoked and applied Bain de Soleil oil to their naked breasts.
Chloe, however, was in heaven. I haven’t seen her smile so much nor swim so much, she was even performing flips off the dock into the sea to the delight of the Frenchies. Chloe spoke to me more in those 3 days than in the entire year prior, although this was mainly to seek my translator services and provide her with the correct word for everything from “drink” to “see you later dude”. When we did see her for more than a few seconds we were treated to numerous long stories about the Frenchies escapades. Here is an excerpt from one such story, typical of the 15-20 Chloe shared per day, “Oh my God, it was so hilarious, first Francois and Leo tried to dunk me but I got away and then Alexandre grabbed my ankles so I sat down, and then Constance was laughing so hard she was shaking, but then Jules joined in and then we stopped for a drink, it was like my 10th coke but I asked for it in French and said “un coca s’il vous plait”, and then we all swam to the raft ……..” The Frenchies which included Constance, Francois, Leo, Mathieu, Alexandre, Jules, Juline, and a few other more minor characters, were clearly taken by our California girl, and Chloe rose to the occasion providing them with hours of smiles and giggles.
Justin and Livvy spent the days complaining about how no one spoke English and fumed ever so slightly with jealousy at their sister’s joy. As for me, I kept my mouth shut and tried to focus on the positives: my eldest daughter was deliriously happy; I was working up a nice tan and losing weight as the food was inedible; and my skin had never felt softer thanks to the towels and sheets whose loofah like texture provided near constant exfoliation. Ah Club Marmara Bodrum……
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