(This follows on from my eventful stay in Istanbul — you can read part 1 or part 2 of my Istanbul story, if you want to ‘catch up’! There are photos in this story, towards the end.)

After a 3 day stay in Istanbul I said goodbye to the creepy carpet salesmen, the beautiful mosques and ankle-breaking cobbles (Rome was worse on the cobble-front, but only just). I jumped on a rather large commercial jet down to Antalya, the beach tourism capital of Turkey — Istanbul has the culture, and Antalya has the mile-long golden beaches and 18-30 clubs. Just a slight change from its role as naval base for Pergamon back in 150BC.

I didn’t see much of the beaches, mind. I was too busy exploring the lovely ‘old city’ of Antalya (called Kaleici) which was a lot more exciting than the over-developed touristy strip that ran the length of the beach (and thus the entire city). It was on the way back to lovely hotel (some kind of huge, converted barn), from the old city, that I took a shortcut through the ghetto.

I didn’t know it was the ghetto at the time, obviously. You see, I have a very good built-in compass. I can run around a very busy city all day and then work out which side-road I can take to ‘cut the corner’ back to my hotel. It’s a great ability, and it’s saved me a lot of time during my travels. It’s also led me into some interesting places… like the Antalya Ghetto. I think the first hint was the smell; the smell hit my senses like hammer. Hoping to ‘push through’ this entirely new and unpleasant smell, I started to descend into some kind of subway (I have no idea why in hindsight, but it was in the right direction, so…)

I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around.

Now, I’m sure most of you will agree that pet stores are fairly cruel to the animals. It can’t be fun for the animals, caged up day after day, awaiting some kind soul to buy them. I tell you, pet stores had nothing on this underground pit of animal depravity. I’d found the source of the smell; hell, I’d hit the mother lode of all disgusting smells — pet shop after pet shop. In what was obviously some kind of shopping mall 10 or 15 years ago, there was now about ten (10!) shops peddling poorly nourished pets. This was pet central for Antalya, I guess. I won’t go into too much detail, as it’s probably fairly upsetting to read about, but let’s just say that you shouldn’t put 10 rabbits in a meter-square cage. And not clean it out for a week.

Moving on from the Petshop Promenade of Doom… the highlight of my stay in Antalya was undoubtedly my trip to Thermessos (historically Termessos), the unsurmountable and unconquerable Pisidian city that sits a mile up the mountain of Solymos (it’s actually in the Taurus Mountains, which I didn’t know until now — that’s my star sign!). Because of its location (at the top of a damn mountain), and because Alexander the Great decided that it wasn’t worth the effort, it’s now one of the finest-preserved ancient cities in the world.

About half way into the climb up the side of the treacherous rocky mountainside, a path strewn with sharp-as-glass ancient marble chips, I began to realise why Alexander gave up. It was that kind of wise decision that probably let him conquer and rule the expansive Macedon empire.

Being less-wise than the Great, I continued to pick my way up the path. I knew I was getting close when I started walking over meter-thick chunks of marble that were once the outer city walls. It was rather odd climbing up steps made of the crumbled remains of a 2500 year old city. I knew now why the guy at the ticket office (you have to pay about 1 euro to be allowed onto this highly touristic mountain climb of death) took one look at my tarantulan legs and said in broken English ‘They will be useful!’

I finally crested the last few meters of the climb and was rewarded with a staggering view over the valley below the mountain.

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The photo shows what much of the run-down city was like: nature meets ancient civilisation. The past 2500 years have left the city in pretty bad shape, with all sorts of rare plant species growing through and around ancient temples of Zeus and Artemis. It was pretty spooky walking around an ancient city, not a sound to be heard except for the chirp of crickets. I didn’t see a single person for my entire stay… in June!

I think my favourite moment was standing at the focus of a 5,000-seat theatre and singing at the top of my lungs. Well, more like shouting. For a brief moment I was transported back in time, to a time when great Greek orators and philosophers such as Demosthenes or Plato ruled the roost and enlightened people the world over hung onto their words. For a moment, standing there, I was one too! Hopefully I wasn’t just experiencing the past; hopefully it was more of an omen of things to come.

I’m afraid there’s no cliff-hanger to this little story, I just wanted to talk about my exploration of Thermessos. The next story is a whole lot more exciting though, as I decided to venture into a rather deep cave, a mile up another mountain and about 10 miles from the nearest town. Obviously I didn’t die or anything, or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale… but it was a close call. My bones almost joined those of our ancestors that made their home in the caves of Karain 200,000 years ago!

These are my legs, Jesus sandals and shorts.
Sorry for opening with such a picture, it’s unforgivable. But all will become clear as you read on…

Being a man, body hair, schlong and all, there are some things that do not come naturally. Remembering anniversaries. Washing my hands after using the bathroom. And organisation, planning. Lists, I hate lists. I might come across as a deliberate, slightly-gay, well-measured guy that organises his books and DVDs alphabetically, and makes sure everything is just so, but I assure you that isn’t the case. There are a few things that I’m good at: photography for one, I’m perfectionist in that regard. Video games? I’m down-right pro at video games. Rational thought too: if you want someone to make the right choice at the right moment, I’m your man.

But these are living-in-the-moment affairs. It’s the long, over-arching planning that I suck at. If the devil is in the details, I’m Jesus. I don’t keep a diary or even a wall calendar marked with important dates. The only birthdays I usually remember are my parents’. When someone asks me if I’m available next weekend I shrug non-committally, say ’sure!’ and pray no one else has requested my presence elsewhere (I don’t have many friends so I’m usually safe in this department…) In short, I’m a man and I require a good woman to do my thinking and planning for me. Currently this is a role fulfilled by my mother, but I’m sure there’ll be a lucky wife eventually…

[If you can't deal with vivid 'male bits' imagery, the next bit is probably not for you. If you do like stories of this kind, go check out Lilu's blog!]

Anyway, to cut to the chase: I’m the kind of guy that packs his bags only a few hours before he leaves. And I always forget something. I’m fairly experienced at the whole bag-packing thing so I rarely forget anything important — I’ve only forgotten my mobile phone charger once and I’ve never left my passport at home! — but on more than one occasion I have forgotten to pack… underwear. That’s right, I spent 12 days in Turkey, in 40-degree (104F) heat with just a single pair of boxer shorts. (Don’t worry, I had two pairs of socks, my hygiene wasn’t that bad…)

I’m going to use the same picture so you can look at them again but with this new information in mind!

(See those crinkles? They are well worn. They say ‘kiss’ all over them, if you can’t make it out. And those are red lips printed on.)

You’ve probably heard about the ‘back to front’ and ‘inside out’ techniques of odor-mitigation and boxer freshness longevity (or more simply ‘the underpant inversion method’ as I like to call it). You’ve probably seen it joked about in films like American Pie or Van Wilder. You probably laughed and said ‘Eww! Gross! No Way!’

What you didn’t know is that men actually do it.

I know, it’s too disgusting to contemplate, but men actually wear the same underwear for days or even weeks at a time! With creative folding, those sprays that people use to remove the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and a radiator or hair dryer, a man can stretch out one pair of boxers an awfully long time.

In my case, on no less than three different holidays, I’ve taken only one pair of boxer shorts.

I wore them while clambering over the ancient ruins of Thermessos in Turkey. It’s safe to say I perspired rather heavily in the process. Six days later I was still wearing them when I went for a hot-air balloon ride with five other people — they kept throwing odd glances in my direction (which is not unusual) but instead of staring as they usually do, they grimaced and pinched the bridge of their nose, a look of revulsion spreading across their face.

Then in Prague, through 3 days of drunken debauchery and sweaty hiking around the city, I wore the very same boxers. I had washed them since Turkey though.

Finally, during a 4-day LAN Party, I forgot to bring spare underwear. Four days of sitting on my ass, four days of no showers. In the middle of summer and surrounded by 1000 other gamers and computers.

I had to use rubbing alcohol and a chisel to prise them from my skanky, geeky legs. I even had to get my mother to come and help. What can I say, we’re close.