The first part of the trip took my partner and me to Kas, on the southern coast of Turkey, from where we set off to Finike. As we left, we heard the muslim call to prayer blaring loudly from a mosque and saw old men coming out of their houses to a public well, slapping water on their faces and hands to clean up before going in to pray.
We travelled a precipitous section of the pot-holed Highway 400, running into a few swarms of bees along the way. Although it was summer it was an overcast day and the car windows were shut - otherwise we would have scooped in enough bees to make a bucketful of Turkish honey.
Finike turned out to be fairly uninteresting. The Rough Guide To Turkey had warned us that the beach featured uninviting black sand and so we stopped only to go to a bank. Our attempt to change British sterling into Turkish lire involved a large number of interested bank personnel arguing in heated tones while we sat looking at climbing plants that grew in an undisciplined fashion out of old petrol cans. Apart from peeling paint on the walls and a large poster of a mosque, the greenery was the bank's only decoration.
With our lire finally pocketed, we headed off to Ucagiz, starting along a road into the mountains. In the first field we passed we saw camels laden down with heavy baskets, their front hooves tethered so they couldn't run free. Every so often we'd swerve to avoid a tortoise plodding heavily along the highway. With trucks hurtling to and fro at lightning speed, bursting with fruit and vegetables, and makeshift buses barrelling along stuffed with passengers, it was really no road for tortoises to travel.
Arriving in Ucagiz we were thrilled to find it was like a garden of Eden. A tiny village, it had one track running through it, made of rich red rock and earth. There were little tumble-down houses everywhere covered with huge flowering shrubs, children running about, scrawny chickens pecking at grain and scruffy dogs and cats milling around. The day was hot, cloudless, still and peaceful. A poorly-dressed man appeared and offered to take us to his friend's house - a pansiyon, or guesthouse - where we could get a room. The house was gorgeous - a rustic and sprawling timber-frame building draped with flowering bougainvillea and geraniums. The couple who owned the place, Atalya and Moisis, welcomed us like old friends and showed us to a large, rather funky room with low beams, a sloping ceiling and wonky floors. The windows were just holes in the wall, covered with mosquito nets. With a certain amount of joy we also discovered a shower with hot water. The room had a rickety wooden balcony on one side overlooking the beautiful Mediterranean sea and a window on the other which looked over hills and fields full of goats and chickens. Behind the house was a mosque and minaret.
Exploring the village, we found a couple of open air cafés, a restaurant, a few small bars and several stalls around the wooden jetty at the little harbour, selling cheap rugs. These were not the good-quality kilims that come from Van in the east and sell to tourists for high prices.
The young man who had directed us to our guesthouse came bowling along, introduced himself as Rafet and explained that the restaurant belonged to a friend of his, Ibrahim. That, we realised, was where we would eat during our stay in Ucagiz. But first we wondered along the seashore overlooking Kekova Island, where a sunken city is a huge attraction for visitors, and Simena with its hilltop castle ruins. The shore was littered with ancient sarcophagi, heavy stone tombs broken open and long since empty.
Rafet proposed tea in a little tea garden and my partner watched local men playing a game like dominoes. The counters had numbers and stars on them and the men played for tea, not money. Rafet explained that he had two girlfriends, one French, one Italian. It's not possible, he said, to go out with local girls - you have to marry them.
A little girl approached me and tied a home-made bracelet round my wrist. It was made with string and seashells. It's a present, she says in Turkish, her eyes serious and searching. She then offered me a headscarf which I must buy. I relented and paid her 20,000 Turkish lire - a couple of dollars. A second little girl shakes her head in frustration and offers me a second scarf for 10,000 lire. I decline.
We ate at Ibrahim's and found that he spoke English, French and German and had a good chef. We ordered meze - courgettes in tomato sauce, beans in olive oil, aubergines and artichokes - all in different sauces - followed by whole white fish, grilled. The Mediterranean lapped at our feet as we dined. I noticed a wolf's skin hanging on the wall. There are still wolves in Turkey, in the Taurus Mountains. Ibrahim had a girlfriend in Germany, he was telling us. You can't date Turkish girls, he says glumly. You have to marry them...
We'd noticed that here in this small southern Turkish village, all the women were wearing headscarves. Did they think it scandalous, I asked, that western women like me didn't have their heads covered? Not really, he said slowly. They are probably a bit shocked though, he added. Then he gave a little speech about how he liked the Dutch, the Americans and the English, didn't like the Greeks and hated the Germans. "When the Germans come here we take their money" he laughed, "but we don't buy their exports."
After plying us with free coffee to end our meal he told us the bill was a hundred dollars, then laughed and asked for seven. Tomorrow, he tells us, he'll rent us his boat and we can sail over to Kekova Island.
The next day was beautiful and Rafet piloted the boat over to Simena. We climbed the hill, explored the ruined castle and took tea in a wonderful open air café with a large balcony decked with huge cushions and kilims. The air was pulsingly hot and pleasant. An ancient, gnarled olive tree bore a legend saying it was planted 1449 years before. I sit with my back against its wide old trunk, feeling the weight of history.
We left Simena and set off for the sunken city of Kekova. Beneath the transparent turquoise sea, we saw the submerged stone harbour of the old settlement and the remains of houses where a small coastal population once lived. We swam among sea urchins and watched as a snake slid down a rock into the water beside us.
The trip is so lovely that the next day we hire a rowing boat for 2 dollars and set off again. It's turquoise and leaks a bit. Ibrahim gives me a tin can to bail water out every so often. My partner, David, rows through the ancient sarcophagi standing in the water on the Ucagiz shore. We cross to Simena, spotting large sail boats moored further off. They're attractive vessels, half white, half pale-brown wood.
Once on the island we were surrounded by gleeful children waving a jar. Inside was a large black scorpion keeping its sting tucked within the coil of its tail. We hoped they'd caught the only one on Simena but suspected not. Exploring the castle ruins we came across an elderly German man. He asked where we were from. Scotland, we replied. "I know Scotland" he said. "I was a prisoner of war in Aberdeen, then in England in Wiltshire in 1945 and 1946. A year and a half after the war I was released and went home to Germany." He said the German POWs were all well treated by their British captors - so well in fact that some decided to stay in Britain. "Trautmann was one" he said. "He became the goalkeeper for Manchester United football club. A great goalie."
Were we talking to a dedicated Nazi or just some German caught up in the war? It was impossible to tell. Certainly, he didn't say a word against nazism.
Later we rowed back to Ucagiz and had a last meal at Ibrahim's. We would leave in the morning. We met another local that evening, Farat, and chatted to him about life in Turkey. He told us there was a growing divide between those working in tourism and those working on the land. The average monthly income, he said, was around 230 dollars - but the people working in tourism made more. People like Atalya at our guesthouse were renting rooms out for 8 or 10 dollars a night, making three times as much as Turkish men who grew fruit and veg. I asked Farat if he thought Turkey would join the European Union. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "I don't care" he said. "Europe doesn't interest me."
In the morning we left Ucagiz. Atalya asked us to write a eulogy in his guestbook, which we happily did. He gave us a sugary black carob drink in cloudy little glasses and hugged us hard when we left. Ibrahim asked us to buy one of his rugs. He proposed one which he said was from Iran. It was small, thick and luxurious and we asked the price. 150 pounds he declared. 60, we said. He waved his arms around and cursed. "It cost more than that to buy!" Yes, yes. Now we offer 50 pounds. Finally he agrees and slaps us on the back, looking very pleased with himself. Farat and Rafet arrive to say goodbye. Rafet wants a lift along the highway so we all set off, waving goodbye to a little congregation of girls in headscarves, Atalya and his wife, Ibrahim and Farat. As the village recedes into the distance I still have the taste of Atalya's carob tea on my lips. It's treacly, thick and sweet. I turn my attention to Highway 400, the potholes and the journey west, to the airport and back to Scotland. But the holiday's not over yet - we have another week to go. I turn to look back at Ucagiz and wonder how it will develop in the years to come.
The car swerves to avoid a tortoise.
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