It's 2 months since my first ever trip to Turkey, and all I can say is that I'm utterly lovesick. I was only there for one week, but even so the place has totally captured my heart and my imagination. I have surrounded myself with novels set in Turkey, Turkish recipe books, Turkish language books, Turkish history books, and Turkish travel books. Whenever I hear the word Turkey mentioned my pulse starts racing, and I look deeply into the eyes of the person speaking to see if they've been bitten as completely as I have by the Turkish bug.
My travel companions on this occasion were all women: myself, my Mum, our friend H, her daughter N and cousin D. The average age of our group was forty five, and as far as I was concerned we were about to embark on a fairly innocuous week of sun-bathing, reading, and having a laugh in the evening over a meal and a bottle of wine. I certainly never anticipated the emotional pull of the place, nor the abiding fascination with its culture and lifestyle that I seem to have come away with.
As England hadn't made it to the Euro 2008 football competition I was more than happy to lend my support this year to the Turkish team instead. I urged on the players from my English armchair, sitting on the very edge of it as they snatched victory from the jaws of defeat over 3 games, one of which ran to penalties.
Thinking of my new friends in south west Turkey I was proud to see the "never say die" spirit of the Turkish team put them ahead for an amazing total of only two and a half minutes in the whole of their campaign. I exchanged texts with my new friend Bekir, the manager of a bar in downtown Dalyan, celebrating footie success, then commiserating their final exit from the competition against Germany.
Before I went to Turkey, H, a frequent visitor to the area herself, would wax lyrical about the place, the people, the food, the hospitality, the beauty of the landscape and all the fun things there are to do there. I listened of course, but part of me suspected that she just had a bad "the-grass-is-always-greener" case of holiday nostalgia, and that she'd feel the same no matter where she travelled to.
Sure enough, when we arrived and we were greeted at the airport by the wife of the owner of the apartment block in which we'd be staying, I felt a bit squeamish about the emotional reunion between H and this diminutive Turkish lady who didn't speak much English. Hugs, kisses, whoops, squeals, tears and laughter all seemed a bit much for my travel weary English reserve at that point, especially having just emerged from a cramped airline seat surrounded by what can only be described as the worst kind of holiday maker to come out of Britain.
On board the bus from the airport I started to take in my surroundings. On the face of it, the road from the airport looked pretty much like any other airport route around the Med. Dusty billboards, urban apartment blocks, roadside shacks, shops selling hardware, white goods and appliances, and people put-putting along without a helmet on 2-stroke mopeds.
This being Turkey though there were a number of notable differences which made this place stand out in my memory. Firstly, the language. Personally I loathe going on holiday and not having a clue how to say at least a few words in the local tongue. I speak Spanish and French fluently, and can at least relate to other languages like Italian and Mallorquin. When my husband and I went to Sri Lanka for our honeymoon I wouldn't rest until I'd learned how to say "Bohoma istuti" - thankyou very much in Singhalese.
Anyway, my Mum had given me a Turkish phrase book prior to our departure, and I had studied it a little bit on the plane, but I still could make no sense of the written language I saw on shop-fronts, signs and public buildings. Already tired from the early start, by the time we arrived in Dalyan I was positively dizzy with confusion about how to pronounce the words I was seeing, and what they might mean.
The other thing that stood out for me was the presence on every single roof of a water tank and solar panels. Then I noticed hardware shops specialising in this type of kit, proudly displaying its wares on the dusty pavements. My husband had given me a camera as an early birthday present before we left for Turkey, and I have to say that I was so impressed by this resourceful show of eco-friendliness that the first photo I took in Turkey was of the roof-top arrangement of tank and panels that I could see straight out of my bedroom window!
OK, so I'm weird.
Less surprising I hope would be my delight in seeing rows upon rows of citrus groves and other vegetable plantations, and polytunnels bursting with ripening tomatoes, which made me look forwards all the more to tasty Turkish salads and delicious local food. Even the humblest of houses were flanked by the most beautiful gardens, reminding me of that lovely line by U2 "life should be fragrant, rooftop to the basement."
My first sight of a mosque had been on the approach to Dalaman airport, as the plane banked round to the east and I found myself looking directly down onto the slender minaret and perfect dome. As we travelled to Dalyan by road I saw a number of other mosques and realised that of course there are as many mosques here as there are churches at home. I found the buildings intriguing and beautiful, and I felt myself getting curious. How did this building figure in the lives of Turkish people? How would our all-female holiday go in a country whose main religion is Islam?
On arrival at our apartment we were greeted with apple tea and home-made cake. At this point I had no idea about the depth and sincerity of Turkish hospitality, and, feeling exhausted, made my apologies and retreated to my room for a much needed power-nap.
Nevertheless, my love affair with Turkey had begun.
