Turkey

Everybody Loves Raymond. I don’t seem to be able to escape this second-rate TV sitcom. As if it wasn’t enough that it’s shown on American Airlines transatlantic flights, it seems that Thomas Cook thinks it’s suitable for flights between London and Dalaman, Turkey. Maybe it’s just cheap, because I don’t recall it being that popular.

Arriving in Dalaman, you need to get a visa before going through immigration. Fortunately, Brenda had forewarned me. £10, and they don’t have change. And you thought Gordon was the king of stealth taxes! I was a little nervous about this, because Turkey is a Moslem country, and I know how neurotic the US is becoming about such things – I felt sure it would attract some comment on my return to the US (in fact, it passed unnoticed). In actuality, immigration was straightforward, and customs negligible (or non-existent), and in no time at all I was picked up by Hilary (a friend of Brenda’s) and we were on our way to Kalkan – about an hour and a half away. 

Xanthos

Brenda had already arranged a Sunday excursion – Ali (the taxi driver) picked us up at 10am, and took us first to Xanthos. Like Greece, the ruins here are so extensive that they can’t possibly protect all of them. The exquisite mosaic floors are covered with tarpaulins to preserve them until they can excavate properly, and a few areas are roped off, but, for the most part, you are free to wander anywhere. Brenda and I were dressed in shirts and shorts; Ali wore a jacket, hat and scarf!

Brenda in Saklikent

Traffic jam!

After Xanthos, Ali took us on to Saklikent Gorge. The season had not yet started, so that, although we couldn’t wade up the gorge, it was easy to get a seat at the restaurant on the river – sitting cross-legged on the floor to eat fresh-cooked trout and salad from a low table. This was my first introduction to the abundance of every kind of fresh food that is available in the region. On the way back from Saklikent, we hit the rush hour, and were probably held up for at least five minutes.

Monday was a relaxing day – at least, if you consider the almost vertical descent into Kalkan village relaxing. Fortunately, Brenda invariably takes a taxi back! Almost immediately on leaving the villa, we ran into “Auntie and Uncle” – the cleaners who look after Brenda’s villa. “Uncle” approached us holding out the stem of a plant, stripped of its outer layer, indicating (because his English is non-existent, as is my Turkish) that we should eat it. It was only after we had complied (and I have to say it didn’t taste bad … actually, it didn’t taste of anything much at all) that he pointed out the source – a thistle growing at the side of the road. If there’s one thing that impressed me about the Turkish people, apart from the fact that they are so friendly, it was that they are truly frugal. Almost nothing goes to waste – Brenda’s discarded water bottles, for example, are snapped up as containers for marinating olives.

Lunch at ...

... Alibaba's

It’s not possible to “nip down quickly to the village”. Every store you pass invites you in for “chai” – a glass of hot tea – and stilted conversation. The language barrier is not really a barrier, either – as Brenda has noted, the Turks are perfectly happy to sit together in silence, and do not, as we would, find it at all embarrassing. We had lunch at a “kitchen restaurant”, where you can view what’s cooking, and make a selection. Turkish food is typically not spicy (in the hot sense), but definitely flavourful, and always cooked from scratch, using the abundance of fresh vegetables.

Meis harbour

On Tuesday, we caught the bus to Kaş (pronounced “cash”), and from there caught the ferry across to the Greek island the Turks call Meis. Because we were crossing the border, we had to give our passports to the captain of the ferry. I must admit to some misgivings as the captain disappeared on his motorcycle, our passports in his hand, advising us that he’d come back for us when they were ready to cast off. A seemingly chaotic bureaucracy, to be sure, but one that seems to work. The ferry to Meis (Kastelorizo to the Greeks) took less than half an hour. The destination was as tranquil and uncomplicated as you could wish for. Brenda and I walked up to the castle – others simply found a harbourside restaurant (and I don’t think there are any that aren’t harbourside) and drank Amstel Light. Brits abroad – don’t you just love ‘em. The short but energetic walk left us with an appetite for callemari and Mythos (the Greek beer). As we sat replete, a young couple walked past, lost in conversation. He held some broad bean pods in his hand, and popped a raw bean into his mouth every now and then – it seemed to sum up the cultural attitude to the food that is so plentiful, and often free for the taking.

Overlooking Meis harbour

No - they didn't let me drive!

We spent the early part of the evening in a restaurant near the harbor in Kaş, waiting for a festival celebrating the start of the tourist season. The speeches were so long-winded (and, according to our waiter, almost devoid of meaningful content) that we left early.

The amphitheatre at Patara

We’d planned on taking the bus to Patara on Wednesday, but met Ali at the bus station, and asked him to take us instead. He dropped us off in the town, and we asked him to pick us up later from the beach, a mile or two from the town centre. Patara is an ancient Lycian city, and many of the ruins are still being (slowly) excavated. The village itself reminded me of a scene from a spaghetti western. We sat, drinking a beer, while clouds of dust swirled down the main street in the occasional gust of wind. When the wind blew, the door behind us creaked sympathetically. A three-legged dog hobbled down the middle of the road, while an old man crossed, sat down at an empty table, and lit a cigarette. In the restaurant opposite, a man and his wife prepared for the day by painstakingly sweeping up the dust and laying fresh tablecloths. A woman disappeared inside a shop, and reappeared with an armful of fresh baked bread.

We enjoyed lunch, and walked through the ruins to the beach, imagining what it must have been like to sit in the amphitheatre several centuries ago, before the river silted up, rendering the port useless. On the beach, the wind whipped up the sand enough to make it unpleasant for more than the briefest of visits. On the way back, we found Ali already waiting, talking to friends. We decided to walk back to the village, and asked him to pick us up there. On our way, we saw hay being scythed by hand – most farm work here is manual – and came across some broad beans, obviously refugees from an earlier planting, by the side of the road. I picked us a pod each. I can’t say I’ve ever eaten broad beans raw before, but they were delicious.

Kalkan market

On Thursday, we went into Kalkan, to the market. Fruit and vegetables occupy a large part of the market, of course, but so do clothes, household items, and things you would find in markets everywhere. We had lunch at Fred’s Place, which, despite the name, is an authentic Turkish kitchen restaurant. “Kofta at the tile” – meatballs sizzling in a cast-iron dish. Sort of Turkish fajitas …

Kalkan is, of course, only a small part of the country, and it’s always dangerous to generalize, but I found the Turks to be friendly, and never “pushy”, the culture to be relaxed and informal, and the food to be always delicious.

Kas

Acquiring the language may take time: an old proverb says, “Arabic is a language, Persian is a sweetmeat, and Turkish is an art.” Somehow though, communication transcends language.