Buying fish in Akyaka

We had decided to have a fish supper - Jane's kitchen is a delight to cook in - there are wickedly sharp knives, deep saucepans, mysterious implements - a cast iron frying pan of immense size invites you to conjure up fiery curries -

In the vegetable garden, there's a green riot of coriander, parsley, mint, rocket, mangetout - vines cloak the walls of the garden - you can pull up enough garlic to encircle Lucy Westernra twenty times over -

We'd had a breakfast in Akyaka -  we ate walnuts in honey, splashed dollops of strawberry jam over warm village bread - the beach was a few yards away - there were only one or two bathers upon its dark sands - the holiday season had yet to begin - I saw no yabancis - straw sunshades were heaped upon the shore - a small boat crossed Gekova Bay -

We found our fish in a kiosk near the fishing boats - I looked at the snub nosed boats for some time - there were nets heaped up in drying tangles on oily decks - the icy river ran into the bay -

Some slender glittering fish caught our eye - the two Turks behind the counter regarded us with casual disdain -

An unshaven worn man in a black tee shirt scurried out - cigarette in mouth, he gutted the fish with expert movements - his tee shirt said Thailand Arts and Crafts -

Had he gone there? I thought for a moment - a sleek cat watched us -

Jane was told to give him one lira for his work with his cruel knife - later, I baked the fish in tin foil - thick slabs of lemon flavoured the delicate white flesh - a salad accompanied the dish, as did Ken's stories of wonderful crumbling palaces in India -