The vivid colors of the seashore soon drain away, replaced by gray skies, chalky rocks, and scraggly maquis. High on a lonely mountain ridge, it starts to drizzle—but with this comes the unexpected gift of a double rainbow. I pull over to let Kim capture the moment on her iphone.
Farther on, we descend into the broad bowl of Bezirgan village, at the heart of which is a cluster of crumbling stone farmhouses and tin-roofed wooden granaries called ambars that look like they’ve been around for centuries. For all I know, they have. Yet we don’t see a soul, not even 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—flame-grilled zucchini and big yellow peppers, fried halloumi cheese, a tangy yogurt dip, and kısır, the Turkish version of tabbouleh.
“Excellent nosh!” Kim declares as we linger on the terrace sipping little glasses of sage tea and gazing down the valley to the hazy blue of Kalkan Bay. “And that’s just for starters. There are zillions of 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 goes for about US$2.70 a liter. Only in Norway will you pay more at the pump.) One day we visit the market town of Fethiye, 80 kilometers east of Kalkan and still abuzz with Daniel Craig’s April visit to film a scene for the latest Bond film. Like 007, sunseekers head straight to the beaches. We, however, make for the shade of the central bazaar,
To marvel at the seafood counters and cuts of dry-aged beef and a cornucopia of Turkish produce: barrels of olives and dates; goat hides packed with crumbly tulum cheese; slabs of honeycomb; and a kaleidoscope of Turkish delight.
