Chapter 12 #2
‘Thank God for that,’ I say, a little too loudly. Sweat is pouring down my face even though a hot breeze is whooshing against it, thanks to the one remaining open rear window; the other seems to have already fallen out.
The driver turns to me with a thumbs up.
‘Yes. Thank you,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to be late for the boat.’
‘Late?’ he repeats. I can see him mulling over the word. ‘Ah. Vroom, vroom?’
I nod enthusiastically, repeating ‘vroom vroom’.
And immediately wish I hadn’t as we freewheel our way down the winding track at breakneck speed.
I clutch tightly to the seat, terrified.
Even the glorious sight of a huge gulet boat looming into view does nothing to quell the tide of panic.
While I’m very grateful to see the boat and that the driver is making every effort to get me to it, I’d like to arrive in one piece.
The air blasts around me, creating a wind tunnel that is stiflingly hot.
However hard I try, there is no way to clamp my hair to my head against the G-force at play as we hurtle towards the group of reps standing neatly dressed, talking to a man wearing a cap and uniform who must be the captain.
We screech to a halt beside them, skidding on the dirt to send an arc of dust spraying into the air.
By way of a discreet entrance, I’d have to give myself nul points.
Minus points in fact. The reps turn to look, shaking dust from their sleeves as I clamber out, war-torn, stressed and extremely sweaty. The sniggers do not go unnoticed.
‘Where have you been?’ asks Shaun, eyeing the clapped-out vehicle. ‘Baghdad?’
‘I, erm, I got a taxi from the hotel,’ I say, retrieving my case and bags from the taxi driver.
I fish out some notes to pay him. They all look the same and have a ridiculous number of noughts.
The exchange rate is 50,000 Turkish lira to the pound.
As I dither, he plucks one from me, says something that sounds like it could be ‘I’ll just help myself because I haven’t got all day, and you obviously have no clue’ and drives off.
‘But aren’t you staying at the Hello Tropicana Banana Sunshine Aparthotel?’ Shaun looks around the group, grinning. ‘Why didn’t you just come out the back way?’ He points to a small side street. I follow his finger to see a huge sign for the aparthotel just yards away. ‘It’s much quicker to walk.’
Sodding hell.
Fortunately, the captain invites us to kick off our shoes as it is time to board the gulet.
He has a clipboard with our room allocations on it.
While he is checking the list, Garry loudly claims to have a touch of ‘pharaoh’s revenge’ and hurries on board ahead of us.
‘Best give it a few minutes!’ he yells, winking at us before disappearing below deck.
‘What does he mean?’ I ask, dreading the answer. Surely he wouldn’t be that unprofessional.
‘You sure you want to know?’ Shaun grimaces.
Vile.
I shake my head. ‘No. Absolutely not. But for reference, shouldn’t it be sultan’s revenge?’
Blank stares.
‘Because we’re in Turkey? Persia?’ Doesn’t anyone know their ancient history?
Shaun looks at the captain, wincing. ‘I hope I’m not sharing with—’
‘You two men, cabin four,’ yells the captain before pointing at me. ‘You three womens, cabin sixteen.’
‘Any chance I can have a single cabin?’ Shaun looks pleadingly at the captain, but he is having none of it.
I slip off my shoes, bending to pick them up.
‘Leave big cases. We will bring.’ The captain points to a scraggly man hovering to the side of the dock.
‘Thank you.’ I grab my hand luggage and make my way up the swaying gang plank onto the boat.
The sun is beginning to set, and we are losing daylight quickly, but the grandeur of the sailing vessel is not lost on me.
I peer up at the masts with their sails tied to them like giant sun parasols waiting to be untethered.
The back of the boat is wide and has white and blue striped thick double sun lounger mattresses lining both sides of the gleaming white plastic deck area.
I walk carefully down the centre towards the steps that I saw Garry Gee disappear down.
They lead to a covered dining area with polished wooden floors, wooden tables and chairs and banquette seating made from elaborately patterned fabric in swirling greens and blues.
Even the ceiling is made of shiny wooden beams dotted with lights.
A glossy bar and high stools form a semi-circle centrepiece.
The bar is stocked with hundreds of glass bottles of alcohol of all shapes and sizes.
Glasses hang upside down from racks above it.
Everything is sparkling clean as the evening sun streams through the portholes to bounce attractively off every surface.
I let out a slow breath. Wow. This place is stunning.
It’s how I’d imagine a five-star hotel to look.
Not a thing out of place. Beyond the bar I catch a glimpse of an outside dining area, the tall-backed wooden chairs each fitted with a cushioned sleeve in royal blue arranged neatly around oval-shaped tables.
It is all very glamorous. Finally, as I crane my neck, the pointed bow of the boat looks to have a padded seating area in the same smart blue and white stripes.
To my left is a spiral wooden staircase.
Jackson wasn’t kidding when he took us through the fire safety procedure. Literally everything is made of wood.
‘Welcome on board,’ beams the captain. ‘Your new home for the week. Please do not put paper down the toilets or you will cause big problems.’