And on the seventh day, God rested. Like a boss.

Day 7

And on the seventh day, God rested. The Bible tells us that this was because he had been busy for the previous 6 days creating everything – I reckon he was to a party the night before and had a few too many Raki’s and nargiles.

Right. So, after Shakira and I had hit the piss so hard the night before, when we got up (and by we, I mean Sparkles and Shakira) the suggestion was floated that we catch the overnight bus to our next destination, Pamukkale (Pamuk-kal-e). Sparkles (rising bright eyed and bushy tailed) agreed wholeheartedly, as this meant that we could spend a day at the beach and she could work on her tan. And I could start on my tan.

I unfortunately arose too late to partake in the hotel’s breakfast, but I did manage to stand around in my underwear for 30 minutes gazing vacantly at my luggage, sure that everything should fit inside my bag, I just wasn’t sure how. And these weren’t my Superman undies either.

We managed to pack our bags and make it downstairs to check out by 11am, which was when Megan was supposed to start working. She looked as rough as we did, but like a boss (since there was no sign of Pauly) she took care of us checking out. We spoke with Megan about going to Brighton Beach, the original planned landing place of the Anzac forces, for an afternoon of R&R. We were going to catch an earlier bus, and when she had a break in her shift at 1pm she would come and meet us.
We gathered our togs and towels and headed out.

Following Megan’s directions, we found the spot that the little buses left from to take people to Brighton Beach. A lad of about 12 came up to us and asked us if we wanted to go to the beach (by pointing to the sign on the front of the bus, as he spoke next to no English). We asked him how long until the bus left. He made a sign for 5 minutes, then 10 minutes, then shook his hands, signaling that it could be any time around then until the bus left. We took this in our stride, and headed to the local bakery.

My stomach was in no shape for food, but one lesson I have learned on this trip – never get in between Shakira and food. She picked up several items to eat, some to share and some for herself. We headed back to where the bus was due to leave 5/10 (maybe) minutes later, and were the first people to get onto the bus. The ferry from the other side of the Bosphorus straits arrived, and the bus quickly filled up. The bus took off, and within 20 minutes we were at our destination.

Brighton Beach – not to be confused with the Brighton Beach back in Melbourne as there are no brightly coloured beach sheds – was the original planned landing spot for the Anzac soldiers in World War I. As our tour-guide from the previous day, Bill, had told us it was probably fortunate for the Anzacs that they landed off course, as there were 3000 Turkish soldiers camped there, while there were 300 Turks waiting at Anzac cove.
On this day, there were no soldiers lying in wait. This was a beautiful beach, with pine trees providing plenty of shade in the lead up to the beach, a few tables and even a number of hammocks for people to lie back in comfort.
Ok, so no soldiers lying in wait, but there was a guy that approached us and told us “5 lira, 5 lira” while we were sitting at the tables applying sunscreen.
We were a bit unsure whether he was somebody that saw some tourists and was trying to fleece us for money for the use of the tables, but he did have a whistle around his neck, which I thought made him look half-way official. We paid him 5 lira and trundled down to the beach, where Sparkles set up our encampment beneath the shade of a few cane umbrellas while Shakira and I went out into the water for a paddle.

The water was beautiful! Crystal clear and nicely refreshing. It was starting to turn into a rather hot day, so this was the perfect day to go for a swim. I had brought along my trusty waterproof camera (such an amazing last-minute purchase!) and many photos were taken… particularly of Shakira… self portraits. We started referring to these pictures as 50 shades of Shakira.
We started doing handstands in the water. I epically failed, so I was handed the camera when Sparkles joined us in the water for me to take photos of the two of them.
Megan had expressed interest in coming to the beach as well, but had been looking rather behind the 8-ball when we left the Crowded House hotel that morning. I commented to Sparkles and Shakira that I hoped she would come, as it was sooooo beautiful there… and turning to look at the beach, who should be walking down to the shore but MEGAN!
She dropped her stuff off and came out to join us in the water.
Before long, I was handed the camera again to take photos of the three girls doing hand stands.

We splashed around in the water, headed back to the shore to bask in the sun, headed back out to the water, basked again, until we were all watered out.
At one point Megan grabbed one of the umbrellas sans pole and put it over her back for shade. “I’m a turtle, I’m a turtle!” she cried.
I was given the task of putting up a few more umbrellas for shade, which is extremely hard to do in sand with a top heavy umbrella. Sparkles showed that she had an engineering streak and succeeded where I had failed. Although she did use me to hold the umbrellas while she dug and then filled in the holes she had dug.
While in the shade, we played several games of 500. I neglected to mention that we had reintroduced Megan to 500 last night, but the game came back to her quickly, and before long she was quite a shark at it.
Sparkles, Shakira and I have a loooong history of playing 500, as it is a fiercely played card game amongst our circle of friends.

We opted to head into the shade to a table, for a more civilized gaming venue and environs. I picked up a couple of icecreams for everybody, and Sparkles had a tactical snooze on one of the hammocks while Shakira, Megan and I played more 500 with a ghost hand and consumed copious amounts of pippas (sunflower seeds in their shells). Sparkles rejoined us after a while and we had a fourth player once more.

As 6pm was approaching, Megan announced that she would have to head back to work that evening at the Crowded House, and that there was also a local tattoo artist coming in and she was after a new tattoo of the word “home” on her ribs..
Megan had some awesome tattoos. On one of her wrists she had the word “Happiness”, so that she could have happiness in the palm of her hand. And with her “home” tattoo, suggestions were thrown around that later on in life she could have “I am…” written above the word, or “… is where the heart is” below.
We jumped back on the bus to Eceabat and headed to the Crowded House for a shower and a bite to eat before jumping on the overnight bus to Pamukkale.

Sparkles and Shakira had the first showers, so Megan and I played a few games of backgammon while we waited for them and then for dinner. She popped over to meet the tattoo artist, who she started referring to as ‘McDreamy’. I referred to him as ‘TurkDreamy’ although as a guy, I really can’t comment on whether he earned that moniker or not.
Sparkles and Shakira returned and I had my shower, and we ordered some dinner.
Post-dinner, Megan and I played a few more games of backgammon, although she was called away several times to serve people and we didn’t get to finish our best of 5. She was a mean backgammon player, and I will miss our games.

The girls and I grabbed our bags and trundled out to where we were to jump on our bus to Pamukkale. The bus arrived and we loaded our bags and jumped on. The bus drove on to the ferry that would take us across the Bosphorus to the town of Cannakale (Channa-kal-e)… and we had to get off again, as passengers weren’t allowed to ride on the bus while it was on the ferry. It was about 11pm at this stage, so the girls and I grabbed an apple tea and jumped up onto the top deck of the boat.
While we were up there, an extremely tall young Turkish guy approached us and asked us where we were from. Given that this is normally a sales approach, we were a bit wary, but as we started chatting with him, it turned out that this young guy was an English teacher from a small town near Pamukkale and he didn’t have a great chance to practice his English. His name was Hiyarti.
My seat on the bus was next to his, so we chatted for a couple of hours before I had to get some sleep after my big night of drinking the night before.

We had a few stops throughout the night, which all blurred into each other given how tired I was and the early hour of the morning, and when we arrived in Denizli the next morning, he had already disembarked.