I left my last tale on a ponderous moment, about the imminent dangers of a Turkish gym and high risk pbm moment. Fortuitously heavy squats were a touch and go, but ultimately safe encounter.

What was most endearing about this gym, were the locals using it. They'd start on a bench, push out a couple of sets, go out the front smoke a cigarette, finish there sets, move on to the next ecercise, smoke another cig, and repeat. I was almost expecting to see little ashtrays beside the machines, that would have been truly turkish.

So time to leave, say good bye to the bablands of Istanbul. I packed my stuff, and legged it to the bus station. A paraglider is not an insignificant piece of luggage to wander around with and certainly draws looks and comments from passerbys.

The trip to Oludeniz was a 14 hour overnighter. It was a pretty plush sort of bus, and it all started out in grand style, until I had a lovely old gentleman sit next to me. He was old, white with a lovely smile and though spoke no english seemed very friendly. He was however genetically blessed with extremely long arms and impeccably sharp elbows.

So the lights went out and I attempted sleep. Meanwhile my elderly companion, in the midst of his slumber decided it was high time to practice his chicken dance. He got it down by the end of the trip.

Oludeniz, its changed a lot since I was here a couple of years ago. It still has the reassuring sky filled with paragliders, but the beach has become covered in english style umbrellas and deck chairs. It looks like Brighton. And its filled with english tourists. Not the travelling set, but the middle to elderly skin a pale shade of blue not quite svelte set. And they travel in hoardes.

There is only one kebab shop here, everything else offers the full english breakfast all day, yorkshire puddings, chip buttys and curries. Its disturbing. It doesnt feel turkish at all. When I ask for things in my pidgeon turklish they dont understand me. They have become pommified.

The flying here though is nothing short of awesome. A launch from mt Babadag some 7000ft above the sea and after an adrenaline filled drive up the mountain. A few light thermals and then heading to the beach to land. There is just something about this place that makes one spiral dive, one just simply cant help it. I love the flying here. Its epic.

I am staying in a nice little 'bungalow' made of plywood. Its thoughfully got insect netting over the windows, and a large gaping open vent over the toilet. The mosquitoes know of this one, much to my sleeping horror. I awoke to the walls covered in them, and me in fierce itchy lumps.

There is some serious frump and some definite f n h here.

Days are spent in a way that can easily become weeks, run, fly, swim, drink. Chilling on the beach one can look up and watch acro pilots pulling some of the most rad manouvres, at the same time as watching the not so proficient pull out some near misses.. in the words of Mustapha a local pilot "so many clumsies".