dispatch.31.layout TB

asia’s
FroM its Mediterranean
Ports to the
resort toWns oF the
aegean, turkey’s southWest coast
is More accessible than ever, teMPting travelers With
a Mix oF natural beauty,
Fabulous Food, and evocative ruins
—including tWo oF the
seven Wonders oF the ancient World.
isn’t it tiMe you
exPerienced its delights
For yourselF?
Farthest
shore
By Christopher p. hill
PhotograPhs
by Martin Westlake
Bay Watch
Woven-rush umbrellas
shade sun loungers on
the pebbly beach at
Kalkan, an old OttomanGreek fishing village that
has emerged as the ideal
base for exploring
Turkey’s Lycian coast.
december 2012/january 2013 — DESTINASIAN.com — 77
meze magic
Flame-grilled zucchini
and chili peppers at
musa, a trout restaurant
in the mountains behind
Kalkan. Opposite: a simit
(sesame bagel) seller at
myra, whose rock-cut
tombs and roman
theater are among the
Lycian coast’s most
visited attractions.
Breakfast–that’s what I’ll miss most
British-born, Australia-raised, Hong Kong–based friend who stumabout Turkey. Not that my trip isn’t filled with memorable moments bled upon Kalkan while on a Turkish holiday two years ago and fell
(it is, and then some), but there’s nothing like starting the day the Turk- in love with it. More precisely, she fell in love with Halit, and he with
ish way, with a tulip glass of sweet black tea, bowls of glistening olives, her, and now splits her time between frenetic Hong Kong and this lowmounds of salty goat’s cheese, plump red tomatoes, fresh fig preserves, key slice of the Mediterranean.
Romance aside, I can understand Kim’s attraction to the place. The
and wads of the paper-thin flatbread they call yufka. Savored slowly over
good conversation, Turkish breakfasts are, to borrow my new friend setting is lovely—sun-drenched villas tumbling down a hillside to a
big blue bay; narrow lanes framed by fig and pomegranate trees; limpid
Halit Ada’s favorite expression, “Fantastic!”
It’s over one such spread, augmented with spicy lamb salami and waters that mirror the sky’s soft pinks and purples at sunset. Yes, it’s
omelets drizzled with Anatolian honey, that I quiz Halit about life in entirely devoted to tourism, but Kalkan is not what you would call
Kalkan, the Anglo-centric resort town on Turkey’s southwest coast overdeveloped. The largest hotel has 136 rooms; every other place is
boutique by comparison. There’s not a disco in sight. And, unlike at
where I’ve based myself for four nights.
“In Antalya, you have the
Russian tourists. In Alanya, the
sun spots
Left: a 10-minute drive
Germans. Here, it’s mostly Britfrom Kalkan, Kaputaş
ish,” he says, flashing the impish
beach nestles at the foot
of a mountain gorge.
smile that served him well as a
below: Halit ada outside
stage comedian in Istanbul during
his just jewelry shop in
Kalkan’s Old Town.
his youth. “Twenty hours a day
Opposite: The view of
talking English, four hours talkKalkan bay from a
balcony at blue bay
ing Turkish. My God, can you
apartments, in the
imagine? It is like Little Britain.”
Kisla area.
Halit doesn’t mean that as a
knock. Originally from Kars in
eastern Turkey, he first came to
Kalkan in 1986, at the age of 23,
to help one of his five brothers sell
silver jewelry to the town’s trickle
of visitors. “It was so small back
then, maybe 300 people, just a few
carpet shops, pansiyons, a marina
only half the size it is now,” he
recalls. “To tell you truthfully, it
was a little boring. But it changed
my life.” As European sunseekers
began venturing beyond the
Turkish Riviera’s more established resort areas—places like
Bodrum and Marmaris and Antalya—Kalkan flourished. And
so, too, did Halit.
“I came here with just half a Quiet lanes
kilo of silver,” he says. “Today, my scented With sea
shop carries 2,000 kilos. Fantas- salt and jasMine
tic!” Halit’s business ventures lead to Quaint
now range from his jewelry store,
Just Silver, to the Mediterranean houses that date
restaurant next door and a three- back a century or
hectare farm in the hills near Sak- More, to When
jaded mass-market resorts such as Bodrum,
lıkent Gorge. During the tourist kalkan Was a
the people here seem genuinely hospitable. Or
season, he rents out his 560- PredoMinantly
perhaps they’re all just in a good mood because
square-meter villa to guests; from
the season’s almost over.
November to April, when Kalkan ottoMan greek
There is also much to be said for wandergoes into hibernation for the win- trading Port
ing aimlessly through Kalkan’s compact Old
ter, Halit builds vacation properTown, with its riotous bowers of bougainvilties (at last count, 77 of them).
lea and sun-burnished Juliet balconies. Just
I’m visiting in early October,
and Kalkan, to judge from the vacant sun loungers on its small peb- watch your step—countless feet before yours have worn the cobbleble beach, is already winding down. And that suits me just fine. After stones ice-slick in spots. Quiet lanes scented with sea salt and jasmine
all, I didn’t come all the way to Turkey to hobnob with holidaying Brits lead to quaint houses that date back a century or more, to when Kalkan
in a town that one local quips is so un-Turkish, he sometimes feels he was a predominantly Ottoman Greek trading port; many, like the old
needs a passport. I did, however, come here to hang out with Kim, a Custom House, which sports a fresh coat of salmon-pink paint, have
80 — DESTINASIAN.com — december 2012/january 2013
lycian legacy
clockwise from left:
Fishing boats and tourist
craft crowd the harbor at
Kaş; a byzantine fresco
on the chapel ceiling of
St. nicholas church in
demre; Lycian tombs at
myra; a glass of sage tea;
stacks of sesame drying
in the sun in the fields of
bezirgan village.
82 — DESTINASIAN.com — december 2012/january 2013
Beyond the Beach
clockwise from above:
Trinkets for sale at the site
of the Temple of artemis
in Selçuk; farmhouse
masonry in bezirgan;
inside Saklıkent Gorge; a
kaleidoscope of lokum
(Turkish delight) in
Fethiye; what remains of
the great Library of
celsus at ephesus.
december 2012/january 2013 — DESTINASIAN.com — 83
in the dun-colored fields, where stacks of unthreshed sesame cast conical shadows across the stubble of a recent harvest. By way of explanation, Kim tells me that many of the village’s 600-odd residents have
winter homes and pastures on the coast, where they retreat when the
weather in the mountains turns cold and dank.
With thunder rumbling overhead, I’m tempted to follow them.
Instead, we push on through the drizzle to Islamlar, a tiny yayla (mountain resort) where trout are raised in pools fed by gushing spring water.
Two of those fish, grilled to perfection and served with pomegranate
juice, find their way to our table at Musa, the little roadside restaurant
where we stop for lunch. They’re delicious, though by the time the
establishment’s eponymous owner brings the trout over, I’ve already
gorged myself on mezes—flamegrilled zucchini and big yellow
Bodrum Beauty
Set on a pine-covered
peppers, fried halloumi cheese, a
hillside outside Türkbükü,
tangy yogurt dip, and kısır, the
amanruya is among the
bodrum Peninsula’s most
Turkish version of tabbouleh.
sophisticated retreats.
“Excellent nosh!” Kim declares
right: a waitress at one
of the resort’s four
as we linger on the terrace sipping
dining pavilions. below:
little glasses of sage tea and gazamanruya’s 36 stone
cottages feature canopy
ing down the valley to the hazy
beds and traditional
blue of Kalkan Bay. “And that’s just
charcoal fireplaces.
Opposite: Overlooking
for starters. There are zillions of
the main swimming pool.
things to see and do along this
coast. Here …” Taking my notepad, she jots down a roll call of
local attractions under the heading “Kim’s Tips for Turkey”:
Patara, birthplace of St. Nicholas
and home to one of the longest
beaches in the Mediterranean;
Saklıkent Gorge, the country’s
longest, deepest canyon; the
sunken city of Kekova; the Lycian
ruins of Letoon, Tlos, Xanthos,
Pınara ... the list goes on.
With Kim as my plucky guide
for the next few days, and me
behind the wheel, we cover a lot
of ground. (We also burn through
a lot of gas money—petrol here
no aMount oF
goes for about US$2.70 a liter.
lycian toMbs,
Only in Norway will you pay
more at the pump.) One day we
greek teMPles, or
visit the market town of Fethiye,
crusader Forts can
80 kilometers east of Kalkan and
PrePare you For
still abuzz with Daniel Craig’s
ePhesus, Much less
April visit to film a scene for the
the sight oF the
latest Bond film. Like 007, sunKim promises me a taste of the real Turkey— gleeFul erections
seekers head straight to the
or at least some really steep switchbacks.
beaches. We, however, make for
brandished by
The vivid colors of the seashore soon
the shade of the central bazaar,
Fertility idols
drain away, replaced by gray skies, chalky
to marvel at the seafood counters
rocks, and scraggly maquis. High on a lonely in its giFt shoPs
and cuts of dry-aged beef and a
mountain ridge, it starts to drizzle—but with
cornucopia of Turkish produce:
this comes the unexpected gift of a double rainbarrels of olives and dates; goat
bow. I pull over to let Kim capture the moment
hides packed with crumbly tulum
on her iPhone.
cheese; slabs of honeycomb; and a kaleidoscope of Turkish delight.
Farther on, we descend into the broad bowl of Bezirgan village, at
Another day, we trace the scenic coastal road west to Kaş, a small
the heart of which is a cluster of crumbling stone farmhouses and tin- but bustling port town backed by craggy limestone hills. Dive boats
roofed wooden granaries calledambars that look like they’ve been around and two-masted gulets with names like dragoman and alibaba crowd
for centuries. For all I know, they have. Yet we don’t see a soul, not even the wharves. Kim makes a beeline for a cobbled shopping street
been spruced up as vacation rentals. Waterfront cafés beckon. And at
night, there’s no better roost than one of the neighborhood’s rooftop
dining terraces. One of the most bewitching meals of my trip unfolds
atop the candlelit Olive Garden restaurant, whose aptly named owner,
Fatih, conjures plate after plate of Anatolian delights: sweet red peppers filled with spinach, hazelnuts, and aged feta; lightly battered shrimp
with walnut sauce; cinnamon-scented goat stew; and pan-fried chicken
livers in cherry sauce.
Kim, however, is eager to get out of town and show me the sights
of the Lycian coast, which takes its name from the ancient civilization
that once inhabited the region. Leaving Halit to mind his shop, we jump
into my rented Fiat and head into the mountains behind Kalkan, where
december 2012/january 2013 — DESTINASIAN.com — 85
called Uzun Çarşı, popping into one boutique to try on embroidered well-preserved Greco-Roman theater, the biggest on this coast. Its
lamb’s-wool shawls, then into another to admire updated Byzantine acoustics still impress: from the uppermost of its 35 rows of seats, I can
broaches and Ottoman pendants by jeweler Hüseyin Sağtan, who, we’re hear Halit, down on the arena floor, laughing away as though he were
told, designed the faux-period baubles worn in the other boleyn girl standing beside me.
Myra—or rather the modern town of Demre—is also home to the
and troy.
Kaş is built on the foundations of the ancient Lycian port city of Church of St. Nicholas, who was bishop here in the fourth century. PreHabesa (later Antiphellos). Its economy, however, much like Kalkan’s, dictably, Santa gimmicks abound out front, including a jolly Bakelite
rests squarely on tourism. People come here to hike the hills, dive the statue of St. Nick and an eatery that optimistically announces itself as
offshore reefs, or make daytrips to the rocky Greek island of Kastelorizo, SANTA CLAUS® RESTAURANT. Don’t let this put you off. The church,
whose unspeakably cute harbor lies just a couple kilometers across the built over St. Nicholas’s tomb in the fifth century and rebuilt in the eighth
bay. But there are antiquities here, too, almost casually stitched into century, is an exquisite ruin. An ongoing restoration has brushed some
the town’s modern commercial fabric. The 2,500-year-old Lycian sar- of its Byzantine frescoes back to life, and repaired the brickwork ceiling
cophagus that casts its shadow
over a trinket stand at the top of
port of call
The harbor at datça, left.
Uzun Çarşı. The ancient cistern
below: Turkish breakfasts
in the basement of Echo bar. The
feature everything from
pan-fried halloumi cheese
Hellenistic theater just across
and olives to baskets
from the kebab joint where we
of bread and chopped
salads. Opposite: entry
stop for skewers of grilled lamb
to bodrum’s castle of
and lahmacun, Turkey’s piquant
St. Peter—via a stone
tunnel—sets the mood
answer to the pizza.
for the imposing ramparts
One runs the risk of becoming
and couryards within.
blasé about archeology in this
part of Turkey—there’s just so
much of it. “Everywhere in these
mountains, treasures,” says Halit
one overcast morning as the three
of us drive through the hills above
Kaş en route to Myra. At first, I
assume he is talking about the
Lycian rock- cut tombs that pock
the distant cliff faces, or maybe
even the Ottoman-era gümbets
(domed rainwater cisterns) that
occasionally flash past on the
roadside. But what he means is
buried treasure—caches of jewelry, gold coins, and other valuables—left behind by the Greeks
who were deported during the
population exchange of the early
1920s. “They buried these things the legendary
thinking they would come back halikarnas disco
some day. But they never did,” he May be bodruM’s
says. “At night, you can see lights nocturnal nexus,
where people are digging, always
but by day, the
digging.”
Any treasure-hunters would iMPosing 15thhave a cool time of it today; from century castle
yesterday’s high of 30°C in the oF st. Peter
of its vaulted nave. Even the normally ebullient
Halit seems hushed by the antiquity of it all.
shade, the temperature has dipped is the toWn’s
In a side chapel, I find him gazing up at a dome
to a blustery15°C. But that hasn’t
MarQuee tourist
frescoed with a depiction of the Apostles.
deterred busloads of Russian
“Fantastic!” he whispers.
tourists from mobbing what attraction
remains of ancient Myra. Served
by pomegranate-juice squeezers
HAvING WORKED MY WAY through Kim’s
and simit (a sort of sesame bagel)
Tips for Turkey, it was time to move on to the
sellers, the ruins lie at the edge of a coastal plain that, from the road Aegean coast. One last big breakfast at Halit’s and I’m off, driving northabove, looks like it’s been Saran wrapped—plastic greenhouses stuffed west past Fethiye and Dalaman and on toward Marmaris. I’m winging
with tomatoes cover every inch of ground. The sea of plastic, in fact, this leg of the trip. Despite my best efforts to buy one in Kalkan, I have
laps right up against a cliffside Lycian necropolis of yawning tombs no map. Nor have I booked a hotel for the night. After being coddled
carved temple-style with pediments and pillars. Right next door is a by Kim and Halit for the better part of a week, cOnTinued On PG. 120
86 — DESTINASIAN.com — december 2012/january 2013
TURKEY
cOnTinued FrOm PG. 86
I’m ready for some unscripted adventure.
The scenery soon grows monotonous, but
the roads are excellent, none more than the
newly blacktopped stretch that zigzags down
to Marmaris. For a moment, I consider stopping here for the night: my back is aching from
three hours behind the wheel. But no—Marmaris’s reputation as a big, brash resort city
precedes it; Kim was adamant that I “give it
a miss.” I settle for stretching my legs on the
ridge above, and then push on through pine
forests and hairpin bends to the bay-scalloped
Datça Peninsula, where I’ve heard rumors of
empty beaches, Hellenistic ruins, and grand
seaside villas. Rumors they shall remain: I’m
only halfway along the peninsula when the sun
begins to slide into the sea. So down I go to the
workaday harbor town of Datça, groping
my way through dimly lit streets to the first
hotel I spot. After rousing the night clerk and
dropping my bags in a cramped room redolent
of mothballs, I console myself with shots of raki
and a plate of calamari at a restaurant overlooking the town’s little yacht marina. By 9
p.m., the streets are deserted.
One benefit of this detour is that I get to
make my way into Aegean Turkey on the
Aegean, hopping a feribot across the sea to
Bodrum, a 90-minute passage. Another benefit is that my first sight of Bodrum is from the
water, surely its most seductive perspective.
Sugar-cube buildings spill down undulating
slopes to a harbor teeming with yachts and
gulets, a forest of masts that is dwarfed by the
ramparts of the Castle of St. Peter. The legendary Halikarnas Disco across the water may
be the town’s nocturnal nexus, but by day,
this 15th-century Crusader fort of imposing
towers and amphorae-strewn courtyards is its
marquee tourist attraction, and well worth
braving the crowds to see.
The birthplace of Herodotus—Bodrum
was known as Halicarnassus in his day—is also
home to the original mausoleum, built in
350 B.C. as the tomb of the satrap Mausolus.
Counted among the ancient world’s Seven
Wonders, only its foundation remains today;
the knights who built the Castle of St. Peter
120— DESTINASIAN.com — december 2012/january 2013
carted off much of its stone, while other relics
ended up at the British Museum.
When the crush of Bodrum’s waterfront
becomes too much, I head across the neck of
the Bodrum Peninsula to Amanruya, where
I’m spending the night. Mapless, I miss the
turnoff twice, but eventually make my way
down an unmarked lane to a compound of
Anatolian-style cottages of gray stone and
pink mortar arranged across a thyme-scented
hillside above the Aegean. Nearby Türkbükü, I’m told by Astrid Killian, the resort’s
French front-office supervisor, is “the Turkish St.-Tropez,” but the terrain here better
recalls Corsica, with its copses of pine and aromatic carpet of maquis. After my fitful night’s
sleep in Datça, it’s all I can do to resist the
temptation of the canopy bed that commands
one side of my cottage. A bracing dip in the
plunge pool outside revives me enough for a
stroll down to the beach club, where a wooden
jetty accessorized with sun loungers pokes into
the bay. Later, after yet another fine meal
and a look around the resort’s tower-like
library, I fall asleep to a silence broken only by
the whirring of cicadas.
NO AMOUNT OF Lycian tombs, fallen Greek
temples, or Crusader forts can prepare you for
Ephesus, much less the sight of the gleeful
erections brandished by fertility idols in the
site’s gift shops. Once the Roman capital of
Asia Minor, Ephesus is among the best-preserved cities of Mediterranean antiquity, with
a vast theater, colonnaded streets, partially
intact Roman houses, and the trademark
facade of the Library of Celsus.
Its gateway town, Selçuk, a three-hour
drive north of Bodrum, proves to be something
of a marvel itself. From my room at Ephesus
Suites Hotel, I can gaze out on a remarkable
overlay of history: the sole remaining column
of theTemple of Artemis,another of the Seven
Wonders; domed Roman baths crouched
against a field of corn; and the 14th-century
İsa Bey Mosque, set below a Byzantine citadel
and the reputed tomb of St. John.
An overgrown market town, Selçuk is
also the most real place I’ve visited so far, with
tractors rolling down its main street and a central plaza area where the air carries the mingled aromas of shisha smoke and sizzling
kebabs. I take it all in that night from a seat at
a patio restaurant run by brothers Cem and
Cüneyt (a.k.a. Jimy and Juju) Ozkan, who
also own the hotel where I’m staying. Just
meters away stand the remnants of the aqueduct that once watered Ephesus: five pillars
crowned with storks’ nests. A balladeer strums
his guitar; young Turkish couples canoodle at
sidewalk tables, oblivious to the muezzin’s call
to prayer. Where, I wonder, have the tourists
who thronged to Ephesus gone?
“To Kuşadası,” Juju tells me, referring to
the hedonistic beach town just down the
road. “Kuşadası has all the big hotels, all the
nightclubs. It’s taken all of the bad.”
Which leaves me with this small but captivating swirl of East/West, old/new, exotic/
mundane. As my dinner arrives—zucchini
fritters, veal meatballs with homemade mustard—I flip back through my notepad to find
Kim’s Tips for Turkey. At the bottom of her
list, I scribble a tip of my own: Selçuk.
—WhERE TO STAY
TURKEY
izmir
Selçuk
bodrum marmaris
Fethiye
datça
the details
TurKiSH deLiGHTS
—gETTing ThERE
antalya
Kalkan Kaş
The gateway airport for
the Lycian coast is at
dalaman. Turkish
Airlines(turkishairlines
.com) operates several
daily flights between
dalaman and istanbul’s
atatürk airport, where
the carrier connects to
Hong Kong, bangkok,
Singapore, and jakarta.
its domestic network
extends to bodrum and
izmir,where the closest
airport to Selçuk/
ephesus is situated.
Kalkan’s lodgings
scene revolves around
vacation villas and
apartments; the author
stayed at Blue Bay
Apartments(safran
select.com; threebedroom units from
uS$800 per week) in
the Kisla area, to the
west side of Kalkan bay.
For those looking for a
hotel stay, there’s no
better choice than Villa
Mahal (90-242/8443268; villamahal.com;
doubles from uS$318),
a 13-room resort on
the water’s edge in Kisla.
datça town’s best
accommodation (as
the author belatedly
discovered) is provided
by hotel Villa Tokur
(90-252/712-8728;
hoteltokur.com;
doubles from uS$100),
where 15 charming
roomsoverlook the
yacht-filled harbor.
Amanruya(90-252/
311-1212; amanresorts
.com; doubles from
uS$1,020), which
opened a year ago on
the north coast of the
bodrum Peninsula, is all
amanresorts-meetsanatolia chic, with 36
supremely comfortable pool cottages. a
teak-paneled yacht
offers a sophisticated
way to cruise the
nearby bays.
Ephesus Suites
(90-232/892-6312;
ephesussuites.com;
doubles from uS$108)
is as fancy as hotels get
in Selçuk —ask for a
room with a view of the
Temple of artemis.