Ami Ji's Trials and Tribulations of Spending 10 Days in Antalya

I had to leave Crete; it was time. The 90-day Visa limit would be over soon. Originally, I had planned to travel to Tanzania. My host’s parents were ill in India, though, and she needed to be there for them (not hosting me :). Then, Niko, who was in Athens, said he’d be traveling to Bali mid-January. “I’ll travel to Bali with you,” I had joyfully said. Then Niko decided to stay with his family in Athens.

I went onto TrustedHousesitters.com and found a ten-day cat-sitting job in Antalya, Turkey that started the next day. We worked out a plan, so I’d have a couple of days to prepare. I was cold. I wanted warmth. I thought Antalya might be warm. It wasn’t.

I flew from Crete to Athens to Istanbul to Antalya. The last two flights were rough. It was raining and windy and we hit a lot of turbulence. It was so turbulent, there were moments when one could hear passengers gasping.

Before the second flight took off (from Istanbul to Antalya), we sat on the tarmac for over an hour. No explanation. No updates. Just… sat. By the time we landed in Antalya, got off the plane, went through customs, I got out of the airport and into a taxi, and arrived at my destination, it was mega late, like, after midnight, late.

The person who was meeting me (to give me the key to the apartment) was waiting. I felt super bad about that, and he was super sweet about it. As we walked around the corner to the apartment where I’d be cat sitting, I thought, oh, this is not a good neighborhood. It was dingy and dirty, with a dull, barely-surviving kind-of vibe. My temporary host unlocked the door to the building and turned on his phone light, because there were no lights inside. He carried my luggage up two flights of stairs. Again, super nice guy. We stood in front of a door that smelled like cat urine as he unlocked the door to let us into the apartment I would be staying in.

It was COLD, like… freeze my nose cold. At first glance, there seemed to be a lot of dirtiness (jam covering the bottom of the fridge, stained and dirty surfaces) and falling apartness (broken and crunchy kitchen floor covered by a thin rug, and tape covering or holding things together).

What was supposed to be my bedroom tipped me over the edge.

When I arrived, the bed was unmade. After midnight, this feels like a solid unwelcome sign. Stacked on the bottom of the unmade bed, there were two very old (mega pilled) bottom sheets, (no top sheet), two old pillowcases for the two old lumpy pillows, and three blankets. I was thankful for the blankets. I was thankful the pile of folded laundry smelled clean.

In the bedroom was a large window with a curtain that did not block light. And there was light… all day and all night. Outside the window was a neon hotel sign. There, nighttime was the same as daytime. It was confusing.

The mattress was rock hard.

It was a lot to take in.

I felt I needed to leave, immediately. I couldn’t, of course, because there was a very cute kitty at my feet asking for my attention and care. I played with Seneca for about two hours after turning the heat on in the bedroom and living room (the only sources of heat), unpacking, and acclimating to this, my new home.

The living room was nice. Once I turned on the heat, it got fairly warm (in that room only, so I ended up spending most of my time in the living room). I would’ve slept in the living room if there weren’t so many large windows with streetlights and neon signage shining in. I ended up sleeping on the floor in the hall, because there was a beanbag mattress (probably for Seneca :).

There was a large bathtub. I love me a large bathtub. And there was hot water for the bathtub. Once I found a store that sold a plug to cover the drain, I loved taking hot baths.

The hot water in the shower/bath was especially appreciated because there was no hot water in the kitchen or bathroom sinks. I realize this was probably because the house water (other than the shower/bathtub) ran on solar, and the days had not been sunny. Still, I missed hot water when I was in the apartment in Crete, and it was a bummer to miss it here too.

The next morning, I texted my host (who’s apartment this was). My message did not go over well. Her response was… neither empathetic nor helpful.

Let me back up.

When we video chatted on the phone about me cat sitting for her, “Jo” was having a hard time. She needed to vent and I let her. I think that’s why she liked me (a lot). I think that’s why she thought I was “nice before” (as she said after I told her the state of the apartment upon entry).

When we first chatted, Jo suggested that, after 10 days, I could sublet the apartment for longer. She wasn’t living there and needed both someone to care for her cat and to make money. I told her it would take me a few days living there to know if I wanted to stay and I’d let her know.

She said the person who had sublet earlier told Jo that the heating bill was quite low “even though she said she’d turned on the heat in a regular way.” I think this was meant to encourage me to sublet the apartment. Jo further warned that if the heat were left on all the time, the bill would be outrageous.

With that information (especially about Jo's finances), I felt frugal about turning the heat on. When I got there, I turned on the heat in both the bedroom and the living room, then turned them both off when I went to sleep. When I woke, the whole apartment was again, feeling freezing cold. When I texted that the place was cold, Jo replied, “Turn on the heat.”

Her whole response to my whole text sounded like she was frustrated with me, dismissive and condescending. I called her. Talking is much more personal than texting.

I explained I did turn on the heat and was also aware I should not turn it on too much… “because of what you said.” “I never said that” she said. Huh, I thought, communicating with this woman may be tricky.

I told her about the (lack of) available mattress cover and sheets and (very kindly) said I’d go buy bedding – so I could be comfortable. “I don’t want that” she said, rather aggressively… defensively maybe. “I don’t need to make a proper English bed,” she said, “I’m not a consumer.”

She told me that if I bought stuff, I needed to take it with me or find someone to give it to (when I left). She said, “There was enough bedding to make two beds.” After a bit of me listening to her with kindness, she explained, “My friend was staying there. I told her to take what she wanted. I expected her to leave good/enough bedding for the bed.” I said, “I guess she took you up on your word!” Jo said she had nice bedding in her room, but it was locked. “I’ve learned to put away the good stuff,” she said.

Just so you know (dear Reader), this is not Turkish hospitality. Jo is not Turkish.

Jo told me that when she first heard my message she thought I was “privileged and complaining.” This did not open communication. “I want you to tell me what’s going on and how you’re doing” she said at one point later, but it was not true, and I did not talk with her anymore about anything of consequence. Until later that week.

Jo texted she wanted me to update her. I had missed sending pictures and an update for a day. I sent her a voice message, apologizing and explaining that “I was sick earlier this week and I’ve been nursing myself to health. And today and tomorrow are anniversary dates for me, so it’s a rough week.”  The voice message I got back was stunning.

Jo told me that she too was having a rough week. She had talked with her mom, who had been upbeat. Then she talked with her mom again and “she complained and was negative about everything, like she had been. It’s a pattern. I thought she was over it. But she’s just the same. So, you see, I’m having a hard time – harder than you.”

I looked at my phone, thinking WTF. Did she say that out loud? To me? After me saying my best friend’s and son-in-law’s death anniversaries and my deceased dad’s birthday were today and tomorrow? Did she just play a one-up whose day is worse game? And said she won? Because she wasn’t getting on with her mom? Shocking.

At that moment, I did not give this woman the benefit of the doubt (as I had been). I was pissed. I was done. I was caring for her cat. I was not caring for her.

I’ve had too many experiences with what you might label narcissistic people.

From that moment on, I was looking forward to my sentence with the selfish lady to be over. The next day, when she asked if I could make up my mind and let her know if I wanted to sublet, I had no trouble deciding. “No,” I said, “I will be leaving on the 20^th.”

I was off-my-guard, out-of-my-compassionate-zone, and present most of the time. On the 19^th I realized I hadn’t made plans for where I was going next (the next day).

On the 16^th (my dad’s birthday), I thought, I could go to Thailand. For years, my dad and Uncle Dave went to Thailand for a month every February. I let that thought sit on the backburner. When I realized it was the 19^th, and had no other viable options, I booked a flight to Thailand for the next day.

I started to pack and clean and put my winter coat into the washing machine. That was a mistake.

In the end, the washing machine door got stuck closed. It was not because I tried to open it too soon, or because I was unaware of how to open a washing machine door. (That seems to be the go-to response I’m getting when I tell this story). The washing machine door got stuck closed because (like most everything else in that apartment) it was broken. I texted Jo. “Is there a trick,” I asked. “There’s no trick, Ami,” she responded. “It works fine.” Gotta love a good gaslighting.

When I suggested she now has my coat, Jo responded, “I don’t want it.”  “Well,” I said, “I don’t want to leave it. But it is stuck in the washing machine.” And what did my host then say? “I got my period today. I can’t deal with this.”

So, yeah, my coat is stuck in Jo’s washing machine.

The upside of that apartment stay was the cat. Seneca (who is a boy cat, though, for some unknown reason, I kept referring to him as “she/her”) was a very cuddly, sweet, and impressive kitty.

Seneca jumped ridiculously high (while playing) and talked very loudly, often, in a variety of voices. He would stand in the echo hall and converse super loud. I’d say “Wow, that’s a cool echo, Seneca,” and he’d look at me and murp thank you. He’d look at me and talk and talk. I’d say, “You have a lot to say, Seneca,” and he’d murp Yeah. We had many conversations.

My favorite thing that Seneca did was cry at me to go to bed at night, and then push himself under my covers to snuggle under my arm. He’d push down, turn around, snuggle in, knead me for a while, stretch his paws up over my shoulder, and go to sleep. It was super cute, plus nice to have a warm little fur-body on me.

A few times, he stood next to my head and, in one move, plopped down on my face – with his body over my ear so I could hear him purr. It blocked out the city noise, which I really liked.

Once, he started to stick his little snout up my left nostril, which made me think of… One night, way back when, asleep in my bed in Brattleboro, Vermont, I woke to Kenzy with her snout up my left nostril. I remember I had looked sleepily at Kenzy, laughing inside, wondering Why? This was not different. The only difference this time was I laughed out loud.

Maybe there’s kitty gold up there. Some things we’ll never know.

The other good thing that happened in Antalya was seeing Efe. We met on Sunday (two days before I left).

I walked to Konya Alti, at the other end of the beach where I used to meet with the exercise group I so enjoyed. Walking to Konya Alti, I remembered what I had loved about Antalya. I made a little video of this trip. After all this reading, you may like to watch it. Maybe you'll fall in love with (that part of) Antalya again with me.

I took a picture of myself by the elevator across the street from the beginning of the beach. Efe found me. He rode his (new) motorcycle and gave me a little ride. It was wonderful.

We walked together before and after we got something to eat. We talked about everything a Turkish nationalist 17-year-old boy and a 67-year-old American peaceful free-spirited woman could possibly talk about.

One thing we talked about in detail was a motorcycle accident that happened a few days earlier. Efe was on his bike (with a passenger-friend), following another friend (on his own bike), when a car clipped his friend. Efe watched his friend go down, skid, and hit his head on a parked car. He told me he thought his friend was dead. Efe’s bike went down, with both Efe and his bike skidding toward his friend. He told me how frightening it was to think he might hit his friend. He told how his passenger-friend was fine because, as the accident was happening, he (Efe’s passenger) jumped off the bike. That was quite impressive to hear. The story ends well. They’re all (three) ok, with minor road rashes. They all had helmets on. That proved possibly to be lifesaving for his friend whose head made quite an impression on the car it hit. Efe showed me pictures.

While we were sharing, I told Efe how I’d been sexually mistreated by an employee at a Hammam the day before. He told me I needed to say what happened in a review. So, I did, right there and then, sitting at a table in a restaurant on the beach. The next day, I received an email from the company asking me to call. I did not and will not call. I will not be compensated. I will not be bribed to remove the review. The review stays.

The Hammam was ok before that. First, I met a spiritual man in the sauna who lives in Los Angeles, California. That was cool. A few days later, we took a long walk together (to Konya Alti – the first of the two times I walked there). After meeting the guru-following man, during my massage, I got violently sick. I think I filled a quarter of a plastic shopping bag. It was nasty, big sick. I laid low for the rest of that week and finally, went back to the Hammam (on Saturday) to finish my package. It went well. Until it didn’t.

After the "incident," I hung out in the bathroom for a while, feeling sick – though (this time) for a different reason. I got dressed and told the man at the desk (via Ms. Google Translate) what happened. As her read my words, the look on his face was like mine must have looked before I got sick a few days earlier.

I thought that was enough. When I told Efe about it, though, he insisted I write a review. “I hope that man got fired,” I said. “Writing a review will ensure it,” he said back. So, I wrote the review.

The slimy employee, selfish apartment host, and Antalya are behind me. We're all gonna let it go now.

I’m currently on a plane flying forward to Bangkok, Thailand.

On the first leg of this trip, from Antalya to Istanbul, I sat next to a 60-year-old American man from Florida. We talked the whole trip. He’s been traveling the world for several years and had lots of very cool details to share about places he’d been, like Antarctica. He wanted to hear about where I’d been, too. I told him about Crete, and Malta, seeing my friends in Germany and England, and about the magic landscape of Cappadocia. We talked about the grandeur of the Grand Canyon and (individual) dreams of further US travels.

“Mike” is also on this flight to Bangkok, sitting (or, more likely laying) in the sleeping pod mega expensive section up front. We both agreed that the business section is both awesome and feels a bit over the top embarrassing.

He came back (to the economy section) to visit me. We chatted a whole bunch more. Then he said, “I should go back and get my money’s worth!” Indeed, my new friend.

Now I’m writing to y’all… starting to feel exhaustion creep in. Bye for now, my Dears.

(Here's that little video I promised)...