It's Saturday and as I sit under the olive tree overlooking the ruins eating an expensive but indifferent meal, drinking an expensive and even more indifferent glass of local wine the strains of Turkish music get louder. Being here is a bit like living in a permanent Eurovision song contest, whatever hour of the day or night, Turkish pop is blasting away from somewhere, even at daybreak. Perhaps the muezzins here are a bit modern and play pop instead of the call to prayer, who knows? But this piece of music heralded the belly dancer who wove through the tables gyrating away. Have never quite got to grips with the whole belly dancing thing - here we are in a Muslim country where most local women are well covered and wearing the headscarf, yet a young girl can dance away, minimally clothed, inviting poor Brit and Dutch men to join in and make complete prats of themselves, all for a ten lira note stuffed down her ample cleavage by said men. Bit too close to lap dancing.......
