Africa & Middle East > Turkey > Aegean (Bodrum Peninsula) > Fethiye > Articles > The Land of Light

‘Watch out, you’ll fall in.’
I was determined to get a winning picture but the turtle was far cleverer than I. She popped up to the right, popped up to the left, teased for a second or two as she flashed coppery gold just below the surface then vanished with barely a ripple.
‘See the bubbles, here she comes.’
This time I gave up on photos, happy to gaze at our playful friend, the sprinkling of islands all around, the mountains rising in the distance, the gulets sailing across the bay. We dropped anchor on Flat Island to snorkel and swim among shoals of silvery fish and scramble through fragrant Mediterranean scrub for fabulous views of the Turkish coast. On the long pebble spit, nomads tossed pancakes in cushion-filled tents and the scent of wild honey and lemon drifted through the pines.

Fethiye was our home for the week, a convenient and delightful base to explore the Lycian shores, named after early settlers. Where else could you buy fish at the harbour-side and have it delivered and cooked, free of charge, in your favourite restaurant? We enjoyed sea bream and sword fish on a bed of grilled tomatoes and peppers, aubergines and stuffed vine leaves yet I had to return again and again to the mouth watering selection of Turkish meze, fresh salads, cheesy pastries, yogurt flavoured with garlic, mint and much more.

Unlike nearby purpose-built resorts, Fethiye is a real Turkish city with minarets bristling above the palm trees and a colourful bazaar where water pipes bubble in the lanes and under the vine-trellises, ceramics and ‘blue eye’ charms mingle with carpets and table cloths, ‘sweat free’ cotton shirts, leather bags, belly dancers outfits, spices and apple tea. The Tuesday market is a vast head-spinning affair –allow two hours to get around- though serious jewellery hunters head straight for the Gold Centre in search of quality items and tax refund at the airport. We were not surprised so many visitors should return for we grew fonder of Fethiye every day. There’s a ruined medieval fort on the hill, ancient tombs hewn out of the rock, turning all shades of ochre and gold in the sunset, a crumbling amphitheatre swooping down to the sea, steep alleyways and cottages jostling for space among potted plants and bougainvillaea, chickens, goats, freshly-picked cotton spilling out of plastic bowls and laundry flapping on the balconies. Fishermen mend nets on the promenade while outdoor cafés serve sweet orange juice and lashings of ice cream.

Squeezing between the mountains and a meandering king-sized harbour, the town has no room for a beach but you can board the half-hourly water taxi to Çalis, a low key resort proud of its sweeping beach and spectacular sunsets. For just 3 liras the ferry takes you across the bay, Fethiye dwindling in the distance, fish jumping out of the water, until you approach the landing stage through a mysterious reed channel where kingfishers dive in the shallows.

South of Fethiye, pine forests climb to the booming mountain resorts of Hisarönü, famous for nightlife, and Ovacik popular for its Aquapark, before winding down to the turquoise waters of Ölü Deniz. Belcekiz, the main beach, recalls a beautiful nomad who died of a broken heart while in the nature reserve, the legendary Blue Lagoon shimmers among pink oleanders and eucalyptus. Here the sea is always calm and you can swim for ten months of the year, in temperatures hovering around 25º C in early autumn. Everything in Ölü Deniz is new and fortunately low rise, except the paragliders. They jump from the top of Babadag, at nearly 2000 metres, pirouetting across the sky from morning to dusk to see for real the stunning scenery on the postcards. ‘Would you like to try, lady, tandem jump with instructor?’ I was tempted but unsure about landing, either on the beach or promenade, I settled for a stroll in Butterfly Valley. Another time, perhaps.

Further along the bulging peninsula, a cliff hanging road links the easy-going resorts of Kalkan and Kas. Fairytale harbours, cobbled lanes and overhanging Ottoman balconies, rooftop terraces looking across to Greek and Turkish islands, you can’t help falling under the spell. Kas (pronounced ‘cash’) has a handful of ancient ruins, Kalkan more restaurants per inhabitant than anywhere else along the coast. You find boat trips to the sunken city of Kekova, invigorating Turkish Baths and beaches, from the heavenly cove of Kapitas, all white sands and crystal waters, to Patara, a 21km stretch of golden sands blessed by cool sea breezes and turtles nesting in the rolling dunes.

Yet there is more to Patara than the beach. According to legend, this was the birthplace of Apollo, god of sun and light, and St Nicolas, forerunner of Santa Claus, and it is also the site of an ancient city whose ruins are scattered among meadows and marshlands. Lycian, Greek, Roman or Byzantine, they bear witness to centuries of history and often ignored by beach hugging tourists, they are among the most atmospheric in Lycia. Close rivals in these parts are the temples and theatre of Letoon, the hilltop ruins of Tlos dotted among the olive groves and above the fertile Xanthos Valley, the extensive remains of that ancient city haunted by chilling tales of battles and death.

We followed the river up to the spring gushing out of a gorge where few tourists venture. At ease under the feathery pines, we picnicked on fresh trout and swam in an emerald pool. It was a world away from Saklikent, the awesome buzzing canyon we had visited earlier, with plush Turkish-style restaurants at the water’s edge, white water rafting for all, tree houses and a rushing stream you must wade across, holding hands for safety, before wandering any further below the soaring cliffs.

If you’d like to explore a little during your holiday, you can flag down a dolmus –a minibus for short distances, frequent and cheap-, hire a car or join a coach trip or a jeep or truck safari. We opted for a truck, with cool open sides and a roof to give a welcome shade as we drove through rural lands studded with snowy cotton, maize, peanuts, sesame stacks drying like aliens in the fields, greenhouses full of juicy tomatoes, orchards heavy with ripening figs and pomegranates, roadside fountains and silky black goats grazing on the slopes. The bleached summits of the Taurus rose above pine-clad hills and sometimes, the driver stopped to carry a tortoise across the road, ‘endangered species,’ he explained.

We fell in love with Üzümlü, the ‘grape village’, a homely hassle-free place though if you wanted to buy an embroidered cloth or home-made wine that was not a problem. My camera worked overtime, every shot rewarded by a smile and a present, here a bunch of grapes, there a handful of almonds or a sprig of sweet basil from the garden. Children in sky blue dress and dainty white collars peered at the school gate and village elders relaxed on the square under the maple tree. A herd of goats scampering past the mosque caused a brief commotion, then all was quiet but for the half-hearted barking of a dog and swishing of a weaver’s loom.

On our last morning, we got up extra early for the late evening flight. There were still three places to tick off my list, on the way to the airport, I argued, more or less.

How about Göcek for breakfast, tucking into watermelon and sizzling pancakes as you marvel at the super yachts in the harbour? This is a stylish resort yet we found prices lower than along the coast, except on the private beach. Sheltered by mountains and islands, the village basked among red roses and palms, with a single shopping lane, bicycles and fountains and gaily-painted gulets ready for the 12 island cruise.

‘Tired?’ I asked as my daughter stifled a yawn. I had the perfect solution, mud from head to toe. So off we went, in the footsteps of Cleopatra and the Queen of Sheba, ready to test this age old remedy for good health and beautiful looks. The more, the merrier, and in Dalyan, that was true as exhilarated crowds jumped in slimy pools then stood in the sun, mud-caked and petrified, before being hosed down with icy water. Did it work? Sure, if you believe it, but when we sailed down the Dalyan Delta that afternoon, it didn’t seem to matter at all. Gliding through reed beds, we glanced at the rock tombs of Caunos, spotted egrets and storks, kestrels, purple herons and lonely fishermen drifting in frail skiffs. Relaxed, still glowing from the mud baths, we stepped ashore on the long sandbar of Iztuzu fringed by silvery surf and oleanders fluttering in the breeze.

‘Look,’ called our guide, ‘over there, a loggerhead turtle, they come back every summer.’
With my newly-found youth and a turtle promising long life, what more could I want? Only to return and maybe, just maybe, try that magical glide over the Blue Lagoon from the top of Babadag.

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