I fell in love with a Turkish waiter on a girls’ holiday – my friends and family were not happy

WHEN Lisa Copur Jarvis fell for a Turkish waiter while on a girls’ holiday, friends and family told her she would get hurt.

But, 13 years on, the writer from New Eltham, South East London, and Serdar Copur, 41, a marketing manager, are happily married with two children.

Here, Lisa, 40, says she was right to ignore judgment from others and explains why women should be more open to finding love abroad.

“CHEERS to being single,” I said clinking my mojito glass with my two best friends.

It was the first night of a two-week break in Turkey.

After a run of disastrous dates over the summer, I couldn’t get on the plane quick enough.

I’d dated a balding car salesman who only wanted no-strings sex, then there was the clingy estate agent who wanted to make me his girlfriend after a couple of dates.

Finally, the worst one of all, a lorry driver with a secret long-term girlfriend who also happened to be expecting his first baby.

My dating life was starting to look like something out of Bridget Jones’s Diary and I’d had enough.

At 27, I hoped I’d be on the road to settling down with the man of my dreams.

Weeks earlier, I had been a bridesmaid at my younger sister’s wedding and had not long celebrated another friend’s engagement.

But the blokes I’d met that summer had put me off relationships.

“Why are men so awful?” I groaned to my pals Kiri and Laura as I took a sip of my cocktail.

“I’d rather be single forever than go out with any of those losers.”

Just as I’d declared myself officially off men, a handsome cocktail waiter caught my eye.

A crisp white T-shirt showed off his sexy olive skin and I was immediately drawn to his dark, twinkling eyes.

He gave me a smile then quickly looked away.

Tidal wave of negativity

“I think you have an admirer,” Laura said.

True, he was my usual type, but romance with a Turkish waiter? No chance.

A family friend had married and had a baby with a man from Turkey years earlier, only for him to cheat.

In fact, she’d called me before my holiday, warning me to steer clear of the locals.

Another friend also married a Turkish man, but two months later he was spotted in a bar with another woman — and without his wedding ring.

But little did I know, a few years down the line, that cute Turkish waiter would be my husband and father to my two sons.

I also didn’t foresee the tidal wave of negativity our blossoming relationship would come up against.

“You’ve lost your mind,” one friend said, “He’s probably only after your money, or a visa.”

Another rolled her eyes and told me: “He will cheat on you, that’s what Turkish men do.”

I was so upset.

I pride myself on making good decisions and their judgment bruised my ego.

I’d been unlucky in love in the past but why should finding love overseas be so unlikely?

One study found that 73 per cent of Brits who have had a holiday romance keep in touch when they get home.

OK, not all lead to lasting relationships, but many women do find long-term partners abroad.

Foreign men can be much more romantic than ones over here, they’re not all bed-hopping chancers.

My husband is the most gentle, considerate person unlike any man I’ve dated.

“Three more mojitos?” I heard a voice say.

It was him.

“My name is Serdar, what’s yours?”

I had butterflies in my tummy.

After delivering our drinks, he pulled up a chair and we started chatting.

My dating life was starting to look like something out of Bridget Jones’s Diary and I’d had enough.

Lisa Copur Jarvis

In perfect English, he told us he was from Istanbul but worked at the resort with his older brother and cousin every summer.

Every night after that we found ourselves in Heads Or Tails, the bar where Serdar worked.

I spent my days in the sun thinking about him and I’d be disappointed if he wasn’t the one to show us to our table at night.

Nothing more than a conversation had happened between us but I really liked him.

“We’re all going to a club after work if you want to come along?” he said one day.

“We’ll be there,” I replied, buzzing inside.

It was our last night in Hisaronu and I felt gutted that the holiday was nearly over.

That night, we danced and drank and had our first kiss.

Cheesy as it sounds, the DJ was playing (I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life from Dirty Dancing — my favourite film.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.

We swapped numbers but I figured that was it.

He was a waiter in Turkey and I worked at a celebrity magazine in London.

Back in London, I had a serious case of the post-holiday blues.

“Why didn’t I make a move sooner?” I thought.

Over the next couple of months we exchanged daily messages.

He’d tell me he missed me and couldn’t wait to see me again so I made plans to go back to Turkey with Kiri and Laura that October.

During that holiday I realised he was The One and, when our week came to an end, I was already looking at flights to go back.

From then on, our romance became long-distance.

We’d message throughout the day and video call after he finished working in the bar at night.

Most nights we’d sleep with our laptop cameras still rolling.

In the winter, I flew to Istanbul and met his parents which brought us even closer.

Then, in the summer I’d return to Hisaronu.

But I felt embarrassed telling people I was in a long-distance relationship, fearing their judgment.

My family were convinced I was setting myself up for heartbreak and weren’t shy in voicing their disapproval.

My family were convinced I was setting myself up for heartbreak and weren’t shy in voicing their disapproval.

Lisa Copur Jarvis

“We won’t come and meet him,” my mum said one day, reducing me to tears.

“Why won’t anyone believe this is the real deal?” I sobbed.

Despite the backlash, I followed my heart and, after we’d been together two and a half years, my parents agreed to meet Serdar.

We were nervous but I knew if they gave him a chance they would love him as much as I did.

“He’s really nice and so polite,” my mum said.

She then turned to Serdar.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“I feel terrible for judging you.”

My dad was equally won over.

“You have my blessing,” he said.

Six months later, Serdar moved to live with me in London and, on my 30th birthday, proposed.

In June 2014, we married in Oludeniz, a beautiful beach resort ten minutes from where we first met, surrounded by our family and friends.

Our first son, James, now seven, was born 18 months later, followed by Leo, now four, three years after that.

We’ve just celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary and this summer will mark 13 years since I went on that girls’ holiday to Hisaronu.

Anyone fed up with British men shouldn’t shy away from looking for love abroad.

I still believe there is a stigma that comes with dating foreign men from certain countries and that needs to change.

Men from Italy or France come with the connotations they are amorous and romantic.

Men from Turkey, Morocco or Egypt are seen to be after money or a visa.

News stories about 20-year-old men from these countries marrying women 50 years their senior do not help but it’s short-sighted to tar everyone with the same brush.

Some women might want to go on holiday for a fling but there are many, like me, who were genuinely looking for love.

Serdar and I are proof that holiday romances can go the distance.

I could have made the biggest mistake of my life by listening to other people over following my heart.

I’ve got an amazing husband and two beautiful children, all because I took that leap of faith.

You shouldn’t ever give up on finding love — I truly believe it will find you when you least expect it, even if that means when you are abroad.