The Last Room in Town
The envious trait of independent slow travel is the ability to "wing it". Stay in a surprisingly beautiful town a few days longer, your last night there and your next stop unknown. Flip a coin, go where the next bus or train will take you, follow the good weather. The uncertainty and freedom of choice have a particular thrill. But sometimes, "winging it" doesn't work out.
"Shit."
We had stopped for lunch in a backyard restaurant and Rob was surveying the dozen other hikers who were already carb-loading on flat bread. His frown deepened as more hikers made their way past, but he held onto his thoughts. A few more hours of steady trekking ended at our destination, Faralya, where it was apparent that "winging it" for a multi-day hike along the remote Turkish coast was a poor decision. Rob's fears were founded; the unexpected number of tourists that day had booked out the town. Hotelier #4 pointed up the street with a sympathetic look and said, "Faralya Misafir Evi".
Faralya Misafir Evi was a small hotel sporting floor to ceiling curtains and deluxe bathroom tiles, a private balcony, and fancy trimmings that came with its fancy nightly rates. Rob admitted to the hotelier that it was more than we usually spend, and his frankness resulted in a discount that made Rob's travel budget app a little happier. No longer facing the harrowing possibility of being homeless in rural Turkey, we were able to enjoy watching the dramatic cliff faces over Butterfly Valley turn orange with the fading sun.
Dinner was served on the vine-topped terrace and there we learned what else our fancy extra Liras had bought us. The hotelier was also our maître d and though he wore his casual daily trousers and shirt, he may as well have worn a bow tie and vest with shiny buttons. He bowed over with careful poise, a hand behind his back, and laid the fine flatware and highly polished silverware. Chilled water was poured into goblets and the first of four courses was placed before us. Breaking bread into the wholesome soup, we looked at each other across the candlelit table as delicious mezes were added. The soothing adhan (call to prayer) echoed off the mountains, lending the night a mysterious air. It was the fanciest dinner we had ever had, and would equate to less than $AU10 each.
Full and more than satisfied, we leaned back in our seats, feeling sheepish at having been resistant to their "fancy" rates. Then we bid our maître d tesekkurler for the meal and exemplary service, and tiptoed across the terrace to our fancy room in self-conscious bare feet.
"Shit."
We had stopped for lunch in a backyard restaurant and Rob was surveying the dozen other hikers who were already carb-loading on flat bread. His frown deepened as more hikers made their way past, but he held onto his thoughts. A few more hours of steady trekking ended at our destination, Faralya, where it was apparent that "winging it" for a multi-day hike along the remote Turkish coast was a poor decision. Rob's fears were founded; the unexpected number of tourists that day had booked out the town. Hotelier #4 pointed up the street with a sympathetic look and said, "Faralya Misafir Evi".
Faralya Misafir Evi was a small hotel sporting floor to ceiling curtains and deluxe bathroom tiles, a private balcony, and fancy trimmings that came with its fancy nightly rates. Rob admitted to the hotelier that it was more than we usually spend, and his frankness resulted in a discount that made Rob's travel budget app a little happier. No longer facing the harrowing possibility of being homeless in rural Turkey, we were able to enjoy watching the dramatic cliff faces over Butterfly Valley turn orange with the fading sun.
Image courtesy Otelz.com
Dinner was served on the vine-topped terrace and there we learned what else our fancy extra Liras had bought us. The hotelier was also our maître d and though he wore his casual daily trousers and shirt, he may as well have worn a bow tie and vest with shiny buttons. He bowed over with careful poise, a hand behind his back, and laid the fine flatware and highly polished silverware. Chilled water was poured into goblets and the first of four courses was placed before us. Breaking bread into the wholesome soup, we looked at each other across the candlelit table as delicious mezes were added. The soothing adhan (call to prayer) echoed off the mountains, lending the night a mysterious air. It was the fanciest dinner we had ever had, and would equate to less than $AU10 each.
Full and more than satisfied, we leaned back in our seats, feeling sheepish at having been resistant to their "fancy" rates. Then we bid our maître d tesekkurler for the meal and exemplary service, and tiptoed across the terrace to our fancy room in self-conscious bare feet.
Comments
Post a Comment
Thanks for taking the time to comment. Don't forget to choose Name/URL from the drop down menu if you are not logged in.