|Hanging in there above the ramparts of the newly-restored Marmaris castle|
|Sea Cloud picks up a mooring in Deep Bay|
|Lentil soup weather|
|When the sun came out, coffee was on Enki|
|Helping Cathy into the Hobie hot seat|
|Then the prof put the kayak through rigorous on-site stability testing|
|The magnificence of Marmaris harbour, seen from the castle|
|Friday afternoon regatta on the bay|
|Torso from Knidos (in Marmaris castle)|
As a rule, your Manchester man doesn't like to wear a shirt. He likes to let it all hang out - as does your Manchester woman (sorry, Manchester - the name trips easily off the tongue, but you stand for a type, and I'm stereotyping like crazy here).
This can be bad news on a packed dolmus (public minibus), as Alex found today on the way back from Norbert's when six shirtless, overweight Englishmen squeezed in alongside women and children (and a man with a bruised back). Those who dared to mention the stench coming off the fat naked torsos were given looks that could kill. Marmaris makes its tourist income at a high cost.
|It's my town too|
|Inside the old town, where the sun doesn't shine|
Come November, when the tourists go home, things change for the better. We'll be happy to be back in Marmaris then....if and when we get out of here. It's not only Alex's back keeping us tethered to the marina dock. There's a pesky problem with a leaking CAT pump which goes back to the workshop for a third time later today. Then next week it's bayram, Sacrifice Feast, when traditionally families would slaughter a sheep (think back to Abraham and his son). They make a meal of the long public holiday, sheep or no sheep, as we do of Easter. More fodder for the Pause.
|The heart of town, looking back up into the hills|
|Bronze hand from the ancient city of Knidos|