Fourteen days in Bayraklı

We are staying in Bayraklı, a suburb of Izmir. Our apartment, home for 2 weeks is on the 10th floor of a futuristic 47 storey tower. The Folkart Towers are an identical pair with supermarket, Starbucks, restaurants, bars and car showrooms on the ground floor. The view over northern Izmir and out to sea is amazing.   

 

 

The towers seem to create their own micro-climate. Being 200 metres tall, they are sometimes exposed to stronger winds at a higher level than on the ground floor. Winds, hitting the building are deflected downwards. They whistle and howl around the building and one feels the need to wrap up warm when going outside.  Only 100 metres away, all is still and the heat of the sun is undisturbed.

The wide pavement outside our tower is home to four large, homeless dogs that laze about in the sun. They keep the numerous feral cats to the other side of the busy street where they loiter around the neighbourhood camii or mosque. Yesterday, a boy, about 10 years old gave a loud whistle which sent the dogs scurrying away. They were obviously old aquaintances. As the lad joinded a young friend they made their way up the street trying various mopeds and scooters for size.

 

 

The narrow streets (or Sokaks) opposite, consist of old, poor qualty housing packed into a confined space. Here, tiny shops, cafes and hairdressers manage to scrape a living. Boys play football in the street and the ball lands at my feet as I pass. I decline the obvious invitation to join in. I'm getting too old for a kick about. In the next street two women have placed a couple of old sofas under a tree. They are accompanied by three youngsters, perhaps their grandchildren. Their evening meal is cooking on an open fire.

Beyond these streets are more modern developments. A large hospital, offices shops and apartments. Everywhere, coffee shops are to be found. Near the hospital, three large establishments sit side by side, devoid of customers. The numerous hairdressers, barbers, beauty salons and nail bars, on the other hand, all do a roaring trade. Life goes on through the night,  for a large restaurant offers kebaps, pide, pizza and burgers around the clock. A fleet of motorcycles makes home deliveries.

We sat yesterday at our favourite coffee shop watching the world go by. A man with an electric vehicle, rather like a motor rickshaw, did his round of businesses, collecting cardboard packaging for recycling. A boy, no more than about 8 or 9, off school for the public holidsy delivered bag after bag of bread and fruit to nearby catering establishments. 

 

 

Then came the cry of a hawker who eventually appeared, draped in large Turkish flags. He did sell three to a woman from the fashion studio opposite. As we walked home, we realised flags and pictures of Ataturk were appearing everywhere. The 29th October is Republic Day, the most important public holiday and celebration of the year. The day commemorates the occassion, 101 years ago when Kemal Mustapha (Ataturk) declared Turkey a republic, thus endjng the Osmanli Empire which had been decimated by the World War. Large parades, fireworks and music are anticipated.

 

 

The suburban railway station is a 10 minute walk from our apartment and trains are frequent. It is only a short ride into Alsancak, one of the city centre districts. Our pre-charged public transport cards are scanned on entry to the station; an efficient and simple system. Alsancak is a busy shopping area as well as being a centre for entertainment. There are numerous restaurants, bars and clubs catering for a diverse range of interests and tastes. Leaving the station, we join a large and growing crowd who wait patiently in order, when the traffic police make up their minds, to cross the busy road. The route to the waterfront is lined with restaurants offering varieties of kebaps and many shops selling all kinds of tourist tat. All is intended for local consumption for it is unusual to see a foreign visitor here. One wonders though, who would buy this rubbish or wear those luridly coloured clothes. 

 

 

At the waterfront, all is calm. Plenty of people sit enjoying the warm sunshine and a traditionally dressed woman tries to sell flowers to the visitors. Ferries frequently shuttle backwards and forwards taking passengers to the outer suburbs on the northern shore.

Izmir is an important port, located on a large sheltered inlet of the Aegean Sea. Three tug boats fussed around an inbound tanker and guided her to her berth.

Interesting to see another part of Izmir but a pleasure to return to the relative peace of Bayraklı.

 

Cats are everywhere. They think they rule the streets and go where they please. They will sit at your feet while you enjoy a meal in a restaurant or stand in your way in the supermarket aisle. Nobody ever moves them on. Today, in the bazaar, a black cat stalked a large dog which looked cowed and scared. Some market traders looked on and one went to comfort and reassure the homeless kopek. Only the crows get the better of these cats. They brazenly taunt the felines which skulk away in defeat.

The bazaar incident took place in the street of Optik traders. Whether these are opticians or just dealers in glasses is uncertain but they are all gathered together in a corner of the market, there must be about 20 of them all in close competition. Selling glasses can be very profitable.

Likewise, much money is to be made from matrimony. On the road leading from our apartment are 5 or 6 wedding venues. These are large gardens laid out with tables and chairs arranged around a canopied platform. Associated buildings provide catrring and other facilities. Every weekend these gardens fill with wedding guests and loud music fills thd air, sometimes a dreadful cacophony as the different sites try to outdo each other. These events are supported by the shops of Gazi Bulvari where dozens of outfitters offer wedding dresses and shiny men's suits. Thèse large expensive looking shops sit side by side on both sides of this broad tree lined street, all in neighbourly competition. One wonders just how many weddings they have here in Izmir.

 

Saturday afternoon and plenty of people were out enjoying the sunshine on Izmir's north shore. As usual, there were many who tried to earn money from the visitors. Coloufully dressed women offered flowers to sell, a makeshift cart carried coffee and tea and a man in a wheelchair had little packets of tissues. Bottled water, cool from a chiller box found a ready market but it was the young boy with helium fiĺled balloons who found the most custom. He started with so many that he must have been at risk of taking to the skies.

 

 Another line of balloons bobbing on the water, seemed to have something to do with the fishermen lining the shore. One man was having a long conversation on his mobile phone when his rod started to bend. It took some time to reel in and quite an audience had gathered around. Finally a large plaice like fish was flapping about on the surface. It would have made a fine meal but the fisherman, happy with his catch, spared its life.

 

 

The Kemeralti Bazaar in Izmir seems vast. It's narrow streets are like a rabbit warren and once inside it feels impossible to escape. There must be hundreds of stalls selling clothing, fresh fruit and vegetables, freshly caught fish and the inevitable souvenirs. Cafes offer hot drinks and a kebap menu whilst stalls selling freshly squeezed fruit juice are never far away. 

 

 The streets are just wide enough for the occassional vehicle but hand carts are the usual transport for making deliveries. Motorbikes too deliver goods, brushing shoppers aside to make way.

Homeless cats loiter around the fish market waiting for the opportunity to steal a tasty meal while their canine counterparts laze in sunny courtyards.

 

 

Between the Bazaar and the sea is Konak Meydani, the main square of Izmir. The elaborately decorated clock tower was built in 1901 although it looks much older. Nearby is a diminutive mosque, the Konak Camii built in 1755.

Konak Iskele is only a short distance away and from here, ferry boats make regular crossings to Bostanli and Karsikiya on the norther shore. It's only a 15 minute crossing but the passengers are entertained by a couple of young men singing traditional folk songs.

 

 

Most cars are white and of similar style. More than 50%. A further 25% are grey. Renault and Volkswagens are most popular. It seems that white cars are considerably less expensive and easier to sell second hand. They reflect the sunlight so tend to be cooler inside. So identical white cars are everywhere. How ever do they know which are their own.

The north shore of Izmir is quieter than the south. The waterfront is laid out with parks and gardens for a considerable length and these feature a number of monuments including a group of dolphins rising from a water feature and busts of notable people. A road leads into the sky, a monument to human rights, dedicated to Olof Palme and Willy Brandt. 

 

 

 The most notable monuments feature Ataturk as they do throughout Turkey. His image is ever preset, watching benevolently over the populace.

 

 

The Next Stop

 

Spath Lane Annie, as she was known to bus crews, travelled daily from Handforth to Manchester. She was elderly and it was said that her daily commute was in order to visit the Housing Department at the Town Hall to berate them for rehousing her in Handforth. We never heard if she won her argument for a return to the city but after several years as a regular traveller, she disappeared from the scene and the Handforth public could breathe easily again. Annie would always push her way to the front of the queue in order to claim her seat on the nearside front row. Woe betide anybody who dared occupy it.

The woman standing at the bus stop opposite The Rex in Wilmslow didn't seem to know whether to stop the bus or not but we pulled up anyway. Are you waiting for the bus?, I asked. well, I don't know, I am staying at the Stanley Hotel. Come aboard then, we're going your way. I collected her fare but had to tell her when she had arrived even though she was looking at the hotel through the window. Dora Bryan proved to be just as unworldly in real life as in the roles that she played on stage and screen.

It was at the Spath Lane stop in Handforth where we pulled up one day on the way to Manchester to let three passengers and a dog aboard. I assumed the black labrador was with one of the people until it took its own seat towards the back of the bus. It stared out of the window and completely ignored my attempts to move it. Only as we reached The Griffin at Heald Green did it leave the seat; it had arrived at its destination. My driver, John Platt told me that when he had been based at Stockport, he often drove on the 358 route to Hayfield. Every day, a dog would be waiting at Birch Vale. The drivers all knew the dog and would always stop. Attached to its collar was a small purse containing a few coins. The conductor would take the appropriate fare and leave a ticket in exchange. The dog rode to Hayfield where after a brief look around he would wait for the next bus home.

Back at Heald Green on another occasion, I could see a woman struggling to board the bus. She had stepped on to the platform with two heavy bags but her shopping trolley was still at the kerbside. I carried it aboard but even I strained to lift it. What have you got in there, I quipped, house bricks ? She opened the lid to show me that it was indeed full of bricks !

Breakdowns weren’t uncommon and sometimes gave a welcome break from routine. On one occasion, I was working with driver Jack Plant on the 29 route into Manchester. We reached the southern end of Upper Brook Street before we realised that we could travel no farther. We transferred our passengers to a Selnec No 50 and phoned for help. It was clear that it would be a good while before relief arrived but fortunately we had stopped opposite the Plaza Cafe. This establishment was renowned for its biryanis and was popular with students. They provided us with a welcome cup of coffee. Refreshed, we returned to the bus to wait for help but not before exploring an adjacent derelict house. It was awaiting demolition but it was evident that it had been recently occupied. In the back yard were two “mountains”, one of wine bottles, the other of dog food cans. The occupants hadn’t followed a healthy diet !

One evening in January 1976, we set out from Macclesfield for Manchester on the 29 route. The weather was dreadful and we saw very few passengers. Reaching the motorway bridge on Manchester Road in Cheadle, my driver stopped to compare notes with the crew of the inbound service. The bus, a single decker, was rocking so violently that it felt as though it would be lifted off of the bridge. We made it safely to Piccadilly but as we left and turned into Portland Street, sheets of corrugated iron were flying through the air at head height. These were the hoardings from the Arndale Centre, then under construction on Market Street. We reached Alderley Edge where we were stopped by police who told us that the road ahead was blocked by fallen trees. Our journey back to Macclesfield was completed by taking the Wizard route. Despite the hurricane “Capella” we returned early to the Bus Station.

Frank was a pleasant, inoffensive man but his earlier mental health problems meant that he could sometimes be a touch erratic. On one journey out of Macclesfield, I was still collecting fares when I realised that the bus had come to a standstill. We were in Longacre Street which, although parallel to our correct route, was too narrow for a big green double decker. Despite all else, Frank was a skilled driver and eventually managed to manoeuvre the bus around a very tight turn. Another day, we had arrived in Cheadle 10 minutes early. I told Frank that we would have to wait our time but he was having nothing of it. “You want a cup of tea in Town don’t you? Leave it to me and you’ll be alright” We arrived in Piccadilly nearly 20 minutes before time and left 5 minutes late. Plenty of time for a brew and nothing more was said.

Crosville in their wisdom, sent a diminutive single decker from Chester to relieve a vehicle shortage at Macclesfield. I can’t remember what model it was but it was probably an old Bristol. It was a curiosity and was soon dubbed “A Puddle Jumper”. It was parked at the back of the garage, unwanted and of little use. A few days later, I was spare conductor and heard that a bus had broken down and we needed to pick up school children from Nether Alderley School. This was a “one man” duty and neither I, nor the driver knew the route. “Take the Puddle Jumper, it’s all I’ve got” said Neville, the garage driver. We protested but he was determined that we should take it. We headed out towards the Wizard and had been told that a left hand turning lead down towards the school. The road we took however, led us through some huge ornamental gates where we were faced with the home owner driving out in his Bentley. It must have been quite a shock for him to come face to face with this green monster which was rapidly becoming enveloped in a cloud of steam as the radiator overheated. We managed to extricate ourselves and limp down to the school. We eventually completed the journey but I don’t suppose the engine suffered too much.

The bane of every busman’s life was Miss Johnson. An elderly woman who travelled regularly from Bollington to Macclesfield. On arrival at the bus station, her first call was invariably at the office in order to register her latest complaint. Her role in life – to make everybody as miserable as herself.

 

I worked as a  bus conductor from  the Macclesfield garage of Crosville Motor Services from about 1972 until 1979 when all remaining services converted to one man operation.