Finding Arcadia in Turkey You don't have to look far for the authentic, unspoilt, family-friendly Anatolia, says Jeremy Seal Sunday Telegraph, 10/8/2008
A roadside sign directed us to ‘Water Wall’. ‘Sounds like Thorpe Park,’ my wife sniffed. Which was not what had brought us to Turkey. We need not have worried. Parking the jeep and following a path into the hills, past stands of pine and liquid amber trees, we soon arrived at a scene straight out of Swallows and Amazons, Anatolian-style. A pristine pool lay in a rocky bowl. From the high ledges on either side of a thunderous waterfall a few local school children were perfecting tombstoning repertoires.
‘No problem! Eight metres deep!’ Osman reassured us before flinging himself into the air with a whoop. In no time the entire family had joined in the fun.
Associating such Arcadian cameos with Turkey, where industrial-scale tourism continues the transformation of one-time fishing villages such as Didim and Kusadasi, Marmaris and even Kalkan into sprawling building sites, has proved an increasingly taxing ask in recent years. In fact, as a week’s stay near Atakoy demonstrated, such eyesores remain the exception in a largely unspoiled land characterised by a durable local culture and brimful with family-friendly delights of the unpackaged variety. This village at the head of the Gulf of Gokova proved low-key and authentically Turkish. The area also brimmed with hospitality. Hospitality, of course, is something every nation likes to claim. It is hard, however, to imagine many 14-year-olds elsewhere comparing for courtesy or charm with Osman. The boy broke surface with a gasp of welcome before clambering across the rocks to share his satchel supplies with us. A genial lesson in the art of sunflower-seed extraction ensued. How much better off we were, it was generally agreed, than among the lines of sun-loungers at Marmaris.
We drew up that evening outside Atakoy’s only store. A shawled lady paused from studying the Koran to take half a lira (20p) for a loaf of bread baked that morning in the wood oven across the square. We continued up the narrow lane, past a crumbling chimney stack topped by an extensive thatch of twigs from which the red beaks of nesting baby storks poked, stabbing ravenously at the sky. Back at the leafy hillside terrace where our stone-built cottage-style villa stood, we disturbed a pool-side grass snake catching some late rays. We ate outside and watched the Gulf of Gokova turn to silver. Nightingales sang and clouds of bats rose with the dusk.
We might, given all this natural bounty, have expected to have to stint on the mod cons. But Turkish jerry-built is fast becoming a thing of the past, at least among the specialist operators. A washing machine, Ipod dock and properly kitted-out kitchen, and even luxuries like a daily maid’s service, meant we were well and truly set.
We had chosen Atakoy, only 45 minutes from the airport, for its proximity to a range of family-friendly, history-rich outings. Not that the week got off to the best of starts when we took the public service boat from the Camli pier across to ancient Cedrae, or Cleopatra’s Island. The plan was to swim from the beach where the Egyptian queen was supposed to have swum – the girls had been studying her at school – only to discover the strand in question had recently been roped off.
It is said that these sands were transported here from Egypt by Mark Anthony to impress his lover. Analysis of the sands has served to substantiate the legend. The result has been a dreaded protection order. Not only have the culturecrats banned all access to the beach but they have also installed a raised walkway plus an unsightly Tenko-style guard house. It is from here that a permanently stationed tourism policeman watches for the least sand incursion. While the adults were able to giggle at this idiotically wonky arrangement, the girls were seriously unamused. Nor did a wander round the olive-shaded amphitheatre, and a solemn promise to find plenty of beaches by the week’s end, seem to offer much consolation.
What saved the day was a chance visit to nearby Azmakbasi, a shaded restaurant where the statutory cats were not all that gathered at our riverside terrace for table scraps. To the delight of the girls, puppies arrived. Ducks and geese followed. Greedy turtles massed at the riverbank. Such entertainments left the adults free to admire the views of the mountain-backed river mouth, to enjoy the meze feast of aubergine salad, filo pastry boreks and a popular local samphire called deniz borulcesi followed by homemade baklava, and to appreciate a bill which came to 15 lira (£6) a head.
Another day we drove past citrus groves to Sultaniye. The eggy whiff of an authentic kaplica (curative thermal spa), as much a part of traditional Turkish culture as the hamam (Turkish bath), hung over the lakeside bathing pools and the mud bath. Tour groups from nearby Dalyan mixed with local Turks, shawled women and flat-capped men, who dozed on the verandahs of their rented lakeside huts. We caked ourselves in mud. Once it had dried, we plunged our crazy-paved selves into the lake to wash. Among the remnant Byzantine walls and chunks of classical masonry an ugly touristic restaurant and shopping complex had sprouted. We opted instead for the nameless pide (Turkish pizza) parlour where the chef slid canoe-shaped dough bases topped with herb-mixed mince into a flaming wood oven.
A longer outing (two hours each way) took us through the mountains one day to Aphrodisias. Among the most enchanting of all Turkey’s classical sites and a treasure trove of Roman sculptural art, it was nevertheless one for the parents. The beaches were overdue. The spectacular strand at Iztuzu, reached by river boat from the town of Dalyan, proved popular. But the beach the girls most enjoyed was at nearby Akyaka, clean and shallow and backed by an authentic mix of sleepy bars and local-style timbered villas resembling balconied Ottoman pavilions. We swam here late one afternoon before a short walk to the rivermouth harbour. Retired fishing boats hung with dried starfish and old nets had morphed into simple quayside eateries. On the upper deck of a boat called Fisherman Mustafa’s, we sat cross-legged at low tables and gorged on baguettes filled with fried fish and salad. Then it was home up the hill, past the sated storks, to the bats and the nightingales.
Jeremy Seal travelled with Exclusive Escapes (www.exclusiveescapes.co.uk, 020 8605 3500). A week’s holiday at Villa Terra Incognita, Atakoy, from £550 per person, including flights, transfers, jeep hire and accommodation based on two sharing.
Simply Travel (0870 405 5005, www.simplytravel.co.uk) also feature Atakoy. Anatolian Sky (0845 365 1011, www.anatoliansky.co.uk) feature Akyaka.
Authentic Turkey.
Kaya: Idyllic scatter of restored village houses overlooking the haunting ruins of the ‘ghost town’ of Levissi, setting for Louis de Berniere’s Birds Without Wings. Walking trails, al fresco family-run restaurants and traditional village life a short drive from the famed lagoon beach at Olu Deniz.
Through Exclusive Escapes, Cachet Travel (020 8847 8700, www.cachet-travel.co.uk), Tapestry Holidays (020 8995 7787, www.tapestryholidays.co.uk) and Creative Traveller (020 392 5870, www.creativetraveller.com)
Cirali: Simple wooden chalets stand among verdant hammock-strewn gardens above the beautiful beach and atmospheric classic ruins of Olympos. The Lycian Way trail runs through the forested hills above the village. Here, flames from natural gases seeping from the earth mark the lair of the monstrous Chimaera. Through www.journeyanatolia.com
Resadiye: This sleepy village is home to the Mehmet Ali Aga Hotel, a sumptuously converted Ottoman mansion. Perfect base for exploring the wild wooded uplands and sandy coves of the little-visited Datca Peninsula. Through Elixir (020 7722 2288, www.elixirholidays.com)
Further information: www.gototurkey.co.uk, 020 7839 7778.
A £10 visa fee is payable on arrival in Turkey.
‘No problem! Eight metres deep!’ Osman reassured us before flinging himself into the air with a whoop. In no time the entire family had joined in the fun.
Associating such Arcadian cameos with Turkey, where industrial-scale tourism continues the transformation of one-time fishing villages such as Didim and Kusadasi, Marmaris and even Kalkan into sprawling building sites, has proved an increasingly taxing ask in recent years. In fact, as a week’s stay near Atakoy demonstrated, such eyesores remain the exception in a largely unspoiled land characterised by a durable local culture and brimful with family-friendly delights of the unpackaged variety. This village at the head of the Gulf of Gokova proved low-key and authentically Turkish. The area also brimmed with hospitality. Hospitality, of course, is something every nation likes to claim. It is hard, however, to imagine many 14-year-olds elsewhere comparing for courtesy or charm with Osman. The boy broke surface with a gasp of welcome before clambering across the rocks to share his satchel supplies with us. A genial lesson in the art of sunflower-seed extraction ensued. How much better off we were, it was generally agreed, than among the lines of sun-loungers at Marmaris.
We drew up that evening outside Atakoy’s only store. A shawled lady paused from studying the Koran to take half a lira (20p) for a loaf of bread baked that morning in the wood oven across the square. We continued up the narrow lane, past a crumbling chimney stack topped by an extensive thatch of twigs from which the red beaks of nesting baby storks poked, stabbing ravenously at the sky. Back at the leafy hillside terrace where our stone-built cottage-style villa stood, we disturbed a pool-side grass snake catching some late rays. We ate outside and watched the Gulf of Gokova turn to silver. Nightingales sang and clouds of bats rose with the dusk.
We might, given all this natural bounty, have expected to have to stint on the mod cons. But Turkish jerry-built is fast becoming a thing of the past, at least among the specialist operators. A washing machine, Ipod dock and properly kitted-out kitchen, and even luxuries like a daily maid’s service, meant we were well and truly set.
We had chosen Atakoy, only 45 minutes from the airport, for its proximity to a range of family-friendly, history-rich outings. Not that the week got off to the best of starts when we took the public service boat from the Camli pier across to ancient Cedrae, or Cleopatra’s Island. The plan was to swim from the beach where the Egyptian queen was supposed to have swum – the girls had been studying her at school – only to discover the strand in question had recently been roped off.
It is said that these sands were transported here from Egypt by Mark Anthony to impress his lover. Analysis of the sands has served to substantiate the legend. The result has been a dreaded protection order. Not only have the culturecrats banned all access to the beach but they have also installed a raised walkway plus an unsightly Tenko-style guard house. It is from here that a permanently stationed tourism policeman watches for the least sand incursion. While the adults were able to giggle at this idiotically wonky arrangement, the girls were seriously unamused. Nor did a wander round the olive-shaded amphitheatre, and a solemn promise to find plenty of beaches by the week’s end, seem to offer much consolation.
What saved the day was a chance visit to nearby Azmakbasi, a shaded restaurant where the statutory cats were not all that gathered at our riverside terrace for table scraps. To the delight of the girls, puppies arrived. Ducks and geese followed. Greedy turtles massed at the riverbank. Such entertainments left the adults free to admire the views of the mountain-backed river mouth, to enjoy the meze feast of aubergine salad, filo pastry boreks and a popular local samphire called deniz borulcesi followed by homemade baklava, and to appreciate a bill which came to 15 lira (£6) a head.
Another day we drove past citrus groves to Sultaniye. The eggy whiff of an authentic kaplica (curative thermal spa), as much a part of traditional Turkish culture as the hamam (Turkish bath), hung over the lakeside bathing pools and the mud bath. Tour groups from nearby Dalyan mixed with local Turks, shawled women and flat-capped men, who dozed on the verandahs of their rented lakeside huts. We caked ourselves in mud. Once it had dried, we plunged our crazy-paved selves into the lake to wash. Among the remnant Byzantine walls and chunks of classical masonry an ugly touristic restaurant and shopping complex had sprouted. We opted instead for the nameless pide (Turkish pizza) parlour where the chef slid canoe-shaped dough bases topped with herb-mixed mince into a flaming wood oven.
A longer outing (two hours each way) took us through the mountains one day to Aphrodisias. Among the most enchanting of all Turkey’s classical sites and a treasure trove of Roman sculptural art, it was nevertheless one for the parents. The beaches were overdue. The spectacular strand at Iztuzu, reached by river boat from the town of Dalyan, proved popular. But the beach the girls most enjoyed was at nearby Akyaka, clean and shallow and backed by an authentic mix of sleepy bars and local-style timbered villas resembling balconied Ottoman pavilions. We swam here late one afternoon before a short walk to the rivermouth harbour. Retired fishing boats hung with dried starfish and old nets had morphed into simple quayside eateries. On the upper deck of a boat called Fisherman Mustafa’s, we sat cross-legged at low tables and gorged on baguettes filled with fried fish and salad. Then it was home up the hill, past the sated storks, to the bats and the nightingales.
Jeremy Seal travelled with Exclusive Escapes (www.exclusiveescapes.co.uk, 020 8605 3500). A week’s holiday at Villa Terra Incognita, Atakoy, from £550 per person, including flights, transfers, jeep hire and accommodation based on two sharing.
Simply Travel (0870 405 5005, www.simplytravel.co.uk) also feature Atakoy. Anatolian Sky (0845 365 1011, www.anatoliansky.co.uk) feature Akyaka.
Authentic Turkey.
Kaya: Idyllic scatter of restored village houses overlooking the haunting ruins of the ‘ghost town’ of Levissi, setting for Louis de Berniere’s Birds Without Wings. Walking trails, al fresco family-run restaurants and traditional village life a short drive from the famed lagoon beach at Olu Deniz.
Through Exclusive Escapes, Cachet Travel (020 8847 8700, www.cachet-travel.co.uk), Tapestry Holidays (020 8995 7787, www.tapestryholidays.co.uk) and Creative Traveller (020 392 5870, www.creativetraveller.com)
Cirali: Simple wooden chalets stand among verdant hammock-strewn gardens above the beautiful beach and atmospheric classic ruins of Olympos. The Lycian Way trail runs through the forested hills above the village. Here, flames from natural gases seeping from the earth mark the lair of the monstrous Chimaera. Through www.journeyanatolia.com
Resadiye: This sleepy village is home to the Mehmet Ali Aga Hotel, a sumptuously converted Ottoman mansion. Perfect base for exploring the wild wooded uplands and sandy coves of the little-visited Datca Peninsula. Through Elixir (020 7722 2288, www.elixirholidays.com)
Further information: www.gototurkey.co.uk, 020 7839 7778.
A £10 visa fee is payable on arrival in Turkey.
