Parasailing, Proposals, and Picture-Perfect Views

Marmaris and I met with an every other up and down moment. I went from locking myself in and shoving a table in front of the door of my shady hostel bedroom; to lasting all of five minutes in a fire-blasting, music-blaring, tabletop dancing, “don’t drink anything, people die here” night club; to endless sun and gorgeous pine-covered mountain views; to unknowingly sampling lamb intestines; then parasailing and boat rides; to becoming an honorary water sports staff member for the day; to receiving and rejecting marriage proposals and villa setups; and then arriving from an overnight bus in Istanbul wondering if the past two days was merely a 13-hour dream. 

After waiting in an exasperatingly long line unaware that I needed a visa, I became the last one out of the Marmaris port as passport control sent me to the very back to get one. One of the guys working offered me a ride to my hostel on his bike (saved myself the awkward questions this time) and from there I got a mini-tour of the pretty little town. He said I needed to see Bar Street; I said I was tired. A few convincing points later, however, I found myself sharing a couple beers and beating him at pool (default schmefault). We passed through streams of strobe lights flashing out of nightclubs, I mentally puked as we walked by bar windows offering deals on “10 tekila shots,” and enjoyed taking in the waterside Disneyland-esque lights of the city.

The next day I spent entirely on the beach: chicken kebabs out of boardwalk shacks, reading for hours, water wading and music in between. The evening was more low-key with dinner where the locals eat, and sitting on the beach seeing who could throw rocks farther into the water.

On my last day in Marmaris I packed my bags, stored it at my hostel and headed for the shore. I went straight for a water sports shack. I’d seen a few people parasailing the day before and thought, “I don’t care if I do anything else tomorrow, but I’m doing that.” Parasailing (absolutely amazing) was the least of what I did that day.

After some walkie-talkie directives, a boatful of people swung around a dock to pick me up. I would have been happy simply being in the boat; the three guys running it were such characters. Tired of correcting them every time they called me Jeanie/Jenny, I started responding to “America” the rest of the day.  One of the guys asked if I’d stay on the boat with them for the afternoon (which I later learned was against the rules). Hesitant, but knowing my other option was to sit on my towel, I said I could stay for a few hours. We dropped the other parasailers off at their docks and went back to the main water sports station on the other side of the island. I had no idea what I was doing, but before I knew it I found myself at a beach table surrounded by nine Turks, every once in a while turning to me for translation. And while I took money from tourists for their parasailing fees, I thought, "How do I get myself into these situations?" I ate with them on their lunch break, went back on the boat for a while, hung around while the boat broke down in the water, then got sent back to my dock on a small speed boat with a couple people from Manchester. 

On our way back, the driver stopped in the middle of the ocean and told us it was a swimming zone. I don’t think it was, but we jumped in anyway. He thought it’d be funny to act like he was leaving us. I laughed until he got pretty far.

“Wait. Is he serious?”
But before I could get too anxious, he turned around, amused with himself as he picked us up.

The rest of my evening, comparatively, was only mildly entertaining.

I’ve been enjoying my stay in Istanbul (will post a last update soon) and trying to soak everything in before I finally head home. It’s been a long and very short three weeks.