Daily Mail - 7 August, 2004
Where Captain Corelli went next
Louis de Bernieres’ magical novel Captain Corelli’s Mandolin brought tourists flocking to its enchanting setting in Cephalonia. Will his latest book do the same for south-west Turkey?
A good novel can promote tourism even more effectively than a glossy brochure. Cephalonia, once a relatively obscure Greek island, was transformed into a hot tourist destination as soon as Captain Corelli’s Mandolin became a best seller.
Tourist boards across the globe must have been hoping Louis de Bernieres’ next big novel would be set in their patch.
As it transpires, de Bernieres has staged his latest, Birds without Wings, in south-west Turkey, in Eskibahce – a village now called Kayakoy.
At first sight, this wouldn’t seem to have the Turkish tour operators jumping for joy. It’s hard to imagine Birds Without Wings inspiring an onslaught of visitors banging on hotel doors in Kayakoy: it’s a ghost town.
In more than 600 pages, de Bernieres charts the life of Kayakoy before 1916, when Greek Orthodox Christians co-existed peacefully with Ottoman Muslims. He then follows the trail of destruction set in motion during World War I and the subsequent Turkish War of Independence, ending in 1923, when the Greeks were repatriated in a compulsory population exchange.
Soon afterwards, the once harmonious village became what it remains today – abandoned and in ruins. Halfway through the novel, struggling to keep turning the pages, I decided a trip to Kayakoy might inspire me.
Although it is possible to stay in villas on the outskirts of the ruins, I didn’t fancy the idea of sleeping next door to a ghost town. So I looked for somewhere within a reasonable distance and found the Regency Hotel Kalkan.
Two hours from Dalman airport and 75 minutes south of Kayakoy on the Lycean ‘Turquoise’ Coast, Kalkan was once a fishing village and is now one of those destinations which is at the perfect point for tourists: not so crowded that it has become overrun or tacky, but popular enough to have lovely hotels, restaurants and shops.
With mountains as a backdrop, the town slopes down to a beautiful harbour and Mediterranean bay. The Kalkan Regency is a ten-minute walk away, on a hill that has stunning views down to the town and out over the water.
On my previous trip to Turkey, many years ago, I’d been disappointed. The people seemed unfriendly and the food wasn’t particularly good. This time I was overwhelmed by the warmth of the population and the quality of the fare, both at the Regency and in the town itself.
My first night out in Kalkan, I ate at The Fish Terrace, one of the many open-air rooftop restaurants. Sitting at a candlelit table, listening to jazz and looking out over the moonlight bathed water while eating delicious sea bass, I had that ‘it doesn’t get much better than this’ feeling.
Owned by an Englishwomen, Claire, and her Turkish husband Uluc, The Fish Terrace has a classy but laid back atmosphere, serving fresh fish and upmarket Turkish cuisine.
Like Rick Stein in Cornwall’s Padstow, albeit on a smaller scale, Claire and her husband have colonised a small area of town, with another restaurant, Korsan a snack bar and a jewellery shop located just below The Fish Terrace.
The Kalkan Regency has a lot of everything. If you want to chill out or pamper yourself, there is a large pool with swim-up bar, a complimentary day cruise exploring the coast on a Gulet boat, a Turkish bath (Hamam) and a Well-Being Centre.
The hotel is also only a 20-minute drive from Patara, where there is an 18km strip of sandy beach. At night it is a breeding ground for loggerhead turtles. But if you want to learn more about south-west Turkey, the hotel offers tours of the Lycian region, led by a English-speaking guide named Oguz Cakir.
Oguz can pack a lot into a one-day tour. Four other guest and I set out in a mini-van at nine one morning bound for the ancient city of Xanthos, once the capital of Lycia.
On the way, Ogus told us that it had been customary for the Lycian Turks to leave their ‘good’ farmland to their sons, and their ’useless’ seafront land to their daughters. Now, because of the popularity of seaside resorts like Kalkan, he said: ‘The value of the land on the opposite to what it was. So you’ll see the men riding around on tractors while the women are at the wheels of new BMW’s’.
Half an hour later, we arrived at Xanthos and started our inspection of tombs that dated back to the 4th century, a Roman amphitheatre and a Byzantine church with mosaic floors. Afterwards we headed inland toward the mountains, stopping to see a typical Turkish house and to visit a village mosque.
Following lunch at a restaurant which had its own trout farm, we found ourselves wading through thigh-high icy water to reach the Saklikent Gorge, at 18km the longest and deepest one in Turkey.
By the time we arrived back at the hotel at 6.30pm, I was ready to get into relaxation mode – which meant a Turkish bath in the Hamam, a scrub and a traditional Turkish Massage.
Next morning, I was on the tour which would take me to the destination which had inspired my trip – Kayakoy. But before arriving at the ghost town, we would be visiting Fethiye – a larger resort city on the coast, west of Kalkan, where there is a popular Turkish market.
Stall holders there sell a mixture of ‘authentic’ Western goods – items such as wallets, belts and branded T-shirts – as well as Turkish clothing and jewellery. The vendors aren’t too aggressive and you can bargain with them without too much hassle. I bought two turquoise bracelets and a ‘Gucci’ wallet, but passed up the ‘Prada’ handbags which were selling for £10 apiece.
The road from Fethiye to Kayakoy winds upwards through pine forests in a series of sharp curves. After a 15-minute drive, Oguz pointed towards a steep hill side and I could just make out the remnants of stone houses.
From a distance it looked like a building site, but close-up I was taken aback by how spooky Kayakoy is.
Seeing more than 1,000 deserted, ruined houses, standing like stone shrouds on a hillside, is like suddenly coming upon a sunken ship. The houses are empty husks, with their doors and windows missing. The wooden frames, Oguz explained, were valuable and some inhabitants took them with them when they were repatriated. The others had been looted during decades of neglect.
I tried to imagine the characters I’d been reading about living in this place. But the feeling of desertion and abandonment was so strong, it was difficult to envision it as a thriving town which had once had a population of 6,500, schools, a pharmacy, a post office and a printing press.
One of our small group said he felt a sense of spirituality among the ruins. But what I felt was sadness: this was a dead monument to division, where it had once been a living testament to diversity. De Bernieres’ book had brought me to this place, but I have top admit I was glad to leave it.
Leaving Kalkan and the Lycian Coast, however, was very difficult. On my last day there, I went for lunch at Kuru, a restaurant on the coastal road between Kalkan and Kas, a town to the south-east.
Family-owned and run, it served traditional Turkish food. I sat cross-legged on cushions at a table underneath grape vines and stuffed myself with Turkish Ravioli and meatballs cooked in yoghurt.
The trip did spur me on to finish Birds Without Wings, and I understood why it is 600 pages long. If I were Louis de Bernieres, I, too, would have wanted to spend as much time as possible doing research around the Lycian Coast.