STAGE ONE: MAKING FRIENDS
The first step of being alone whilst on your travels is this strange sense of overconfidence when it comes to strangers. All of a sudden, I'm this social butterfly, befriending people from all over the world with my charm and boundless self-assurance. I don't know how it happened. It just did.
|Touring Blue Bays of Fethiye :)|
|Only just managing to stay upright in Saklikent Gorge.|
STAGE TWO: GETTING BORED/LONELY
In trying to recreate my sudden surge of social ability, I went on another day trip. Well, that's not exactly the reason. Saklikent Gorge is mindblowing- and warrants a day trip regardless of whether there's any likelihood of making new mates or not. Whatever. My friend-making skills were scaled down to zero, as no one spoke any English. In fact, I felt very conscious that I was the only person in a group of twelve who never had the faintest idea of what was going on- how long the journey would take, the price of entry, how to not fall and die in the gorge. It would have been pretty maddening, but instead, it just got boring. Not speaking to anyone frustrated me. I became sulky in the evening, having not uttered a single phrase other than "sorry, I'm English" all day. I'd read all of my books, the wifi connection was failing me, I didn't feel like going to a bar where I wouldn't know anyone and have to sit on my own. So I frowned all night instead.
I'm my own worst enemy when I get like this. Nothing anyone says can swing me out of a grump like this one. But that was irrelevant. No one was saying anything much to me at all, nevermind trying to lift my lonely spirits. So I moped around my hotel room and bitched at my friends when the wifi connection lasted long enough for me to send a facebook message (sorry, friends). I was lonely and bored and I wanted to watch fucking Coronation Street already. Moodily, I went to bed for lack of better things to do.
STAGE THREE: EMBRACING THE LONELINESS
After a good telling off via email from a few friends, I decided to shut up whinging and make the most of having some time to myself. How often do you get an entire week, unimpeded by any responsibilities, unmarked by any urgencies, to do exactly what you want with? And considering how rare this week is, what better place to do it than on the edge of the Mediterranean coast? So I packed myself a little bag of pens, books, notepads and my iPod, and marched out to the dolmus station.
I spent the day writing. And I mean the entire day. I wrote things I'd intended on publishing for The Yorker, I wrote reviews of the places I'd been, I wrote things I wouldn't dream of publishing on here for fear of people actually reading them. The bemused waiter asked me if it was my diary. "Sort of", I replied, flashing a quick smile and accepting my third refill of fresh orange juice. The orange juice glasses got increasingly decorative and elaborate as my time in the cafe went on. The first glass had been simple, ice, straw, drink. By the time I left, I was getting flashing straws, umbrellas, slices of exotic fruit wedged onto the glass, fireworks. I like to think they were playing a game of "How-much-shit-can-we-put-on-her-glass-before-she-looks-up-from-her-notepad". They were probably just trying to increase the chances of a tip, but a girl can imagine.
|Sighh. I guess I can go without speaing English for a day if this is what the evening looks like.|