Engleesh? You like my nice article?
BRITS ABROAD – we're all the same, right? Well of course we're not. Everybody is different.
But I wouldn't mind betting there is a common feature shared by a majority of us who venture abroad for our annual holiday.
That is: we don't want any high pressure-sales patter when on our hols.
You know the thing, the waiters or shop assistants who try to drag you inside their restaurant or store with charm, guile, humour or straight forward blackmail.
Egypt, apparently, is host to some terrible examples of this dark art. And I remember having had a bellyful of it once in Athens. Oh and Tenerife too. And Madeira.
Come to think of it, those street-canvassers on Sheffield's Fargate get on my wick too. In fact, I think I have got an underlying problem here.
A friend had wound me up before my annual jolly, saying I was going to get pestered to hell in Turkey. I confess I'd been talked into hating the first waiter or sales person before I'd even got off the plane. On vacation, you are supposed to be relaxed. I went into this one with more mental baggage than holiday luggage.
So here we are on my first day, me and my wife Sue, walking down the high street in trendy, westernised Bodrum, on the Aegean coast.
It's late morning on a beautiful day. Yet something was wrong already.
Pasty-white complexion, daft hat, eyes unable to cope with the joint challenge of piercing sunshine and sun tan oil dribbling down from the forehead.
Too many inappropriate clothes, donned to prevent sun stroke in 35c heat.
In short, the perfect target for our mortal foe. Mr Annoying.
"Hello, Engleesh? How are you today?" asks Mr Annoying in the very first shop entrance.
I try silence as my first poker tactic. It doesn't work.
"Maybe Dutch, huh? Hoe gaat het?"
Oh please, spare me the linguistic skills. I just want to walk past without being harassed, I think, realising that my blood pressure was already rising alongside the temperature. "No thanks, we're fine" I offer.
(Mental reminder for the future: First rule of combat: don't say: "No thanks, we're fine.")
Mr Annoying smiles, knowingly. Cunningly, he clicks into phase two, a higher sales gear.
"Ah Engleesh, excellent. You like my shop? Look at the labels: designer. We only sell genuine counterfeits" he smirks, pointing to a dodgy Lacoste crocodile.
Then he pats his back pocket and announces: "All Asda price."
Oh, how funny. How desperately amusing.
I flash an uncomfortable smile, albeit with my head down. And keep walking. We have passed the first hurdle, but there are more coming.
"Pretty laydee. You like good clothes, stylish laydee?" Ooh, that's a potentially killer blow.
Mrs Westerdale is indeed a stylish laydee. Her stride slows. However much I'd tried to warn her in advance about this moment, nothing can halt that female shopping gene when it's triggered.
Mr Annoying thinks he has landed her on his hook like an expert angler. My grip on my wife's hand becomes a vice, though. Her hand is going white. Then blue.
"No thanks, er, mate" I offer, again advancing now several feet away from his store.
It's 'shop or bust' now for Mr Annoying. He plays his last, utterly pitiful card.
"Are you nice people?" he queries.
As we continue sauntering at a pace Jessica Ennis employs on the running track, Mr Annoying knew we were slipping away.
"Relax, darling, that wasn't so bad, was it?" said my Mrs, as she gently coursed a blood supply back into her hand.
"Oh, no, of course not" I lied. For I knew that many more shops and restaurants lay ahead on this particular stretch and similar irritating cameo sketches were to unfold.
Most of the tourist trap workers attempted similar techniques over the next 10 minutes.
I needed a drink.
A little early, perhaps, but I needed a drink.
Next up is a row of seafront cafes. Now which one is for us?
Not the first one where a Turkish waiter almost runs at me shouting the word: "QUICHE!"
At first I thought it was Turkish for 'Fire!' or some similar emergency. Then I realised his one-word play for me, my wife and our savings was based on pastry crust.
Is that what he thinks will instantly woo Brits abroad? Quiche!?
We move on. I'm desperate for a drink now.
Eventually, the Holy Grail. A beachside cafe, with nobody loitering outside to vex me.
I find a waiter inside and have a rush of adrenaline as I say: "Table for two please" - Me, the customer, asking for something rather than being railroaded into it. PERFECT!
We sit down, and (knowing that wine, for some reason is really expensive in Turkey) order a half bottle of locally-produced white. We have a nice lunch.
My heart rate and pulse is starting to find holiday rhythm. No one is bugging me. Life is goooooood!
We get the bill and discover the half bottle cost me 12. Ouch, these guys are experts. They can beat you without really trying.
On the short taxi back to the hotel, I am wondering what I'd prefer: to go back to that area again, or slip into a coma.
Yet calm reflection is required. I know I have gone completely over the top.
My wife convinces me I have a phobia. Just chill out, is her commonsense message.
And by the end of the week, with her counselling, I sort of did. I begun to develop a thick skin over the sunburn, learning how to deal with the unwanted attention, brushing it off with authority. Suddenly, it didn't really matter that much.
Looking at it in hindsight, I know my first-day reaction to unwanted sales patter lay at the extreme end of the scale.
But I bet there are millions of Brit holidaymakers who are at least mildly bothered by over-zealous caller-inners, or whatever they are called.
I was delighted to discover the authorities in Bodrum are actually targeting shop keepers and restaurant staff who pester potential customers.
That's more than many other countries are doing to rectify the situation.
And probably means Bodrum will clean its act up long before other holiday destinations.
That – and the high quality hotel we stayed in – actually persuaded me I'd go back (despite all the rantings above.) The hotel was a haven of peace and tranquility, cleanliness and contemporary style.
The boutique six-bedroom Aegean Gate hotel is run by Irishmen Gary and Rory, who are without doubt the best hosts of any place I have stayed at. They are utterly committed to giving you whatever you want – either solitary relaxation, company, a drink by the poolside or expert advice and tuition in how to navigate Bodrum centre or the wider, regional attractions.
They tell you what you might like – and just as importantly, what you might want to avoid.
During our 12 days there we went on only a few trips because we didn't really want to leave the place... and the hosts.
The day starts with an appetising breakfast on a terrace under a sun canopy, overlooking the sea.
It sets you up for a day of sun tanning, travelling or visiting sites of historic importance.
After dinner the evening concludes with a beer or chilled wine at the poolside bar.
It was all a wonderful antidote to the business of Bodrum... and those pesky waiters.
Now our holiday is over, I am skint and back at work – and wondering why I made such a fuss!
Buy The Star - Monday to Saturday - for local news, sport, features and ads. To subscribe CLICK HERE
READ MORE
Main news index
Your letters
Features
South Yorkshire's environmental news
Kids Zone
More business news
More Rotherham news
More Doncaster news
More Barnsley news
Latest sport
Email to a friend
Print this page
Looking for...
Featured advertisers
Jobs
Search for a job
Motors
Search for a car
Property
Search for a house
Weather for Sheffield
Friday 10 February 2012
Today
Fog
Temperature: -6 C to 0 C
Wind Speed: 14 mph
Wind direction: South east
Tomorrow
Sunny spells
Temperature: -2 C to -1 C
Wind Speed: 9 mph
Wind direction: South west
