It feels like a video game. The instructions are: Find the little lady who rows a boat across the Dalyan. She will take you to a cafe and they will try to make you have gozleme. You must buy something, or she’ll make you wait longer for the rowboat back later on. Get water, for the walk up is long and hot. Turn left and start to climb. Buy the fresh pomegranate juice from the second lady. In about forty minutes you will reach the ancient city.
All of this to explain how I come to make a snap decision — a bad one — on the ferry between Rhodes and Marmaris.
Rhodes, sunshine and the (brief) return of Paris
And don’t forget it’s three cheek kisses in Europe.
Brussels and Spain. Cruelly summarised.
What’s the difference between an old bus stop and a lobster with a boob job?
It’s beautifully, flamboyantly cliché. Ricky Martin has a house on one of the wide, green-canopied avenues. His music plays here more than is merited.