Turkish tales

Sometimes perfection is boring — by that I mean the polished flawlessness of a five-star resort with finely raked sand, manicured grounds and grand lobbies. My mum has never been one for such places, preferring small hotels in off-the-beaten-track places such as France, Greece and Albania.

For the past six years, she’s been visiting Çirali (pronounced chee-ra-lay) on the Lycian Coast in Turkey. Always the same hotel — the Aida — and she’s on first name, present-giving terms with the staff, as they are with her. Two summers ago, my sister and her family followed, then her friends (thus a certain annoying smugness arose, if I’m honest, among “those in the know”).

So this summer, guess where my family and I headed? An hour and a half’s drive from Antalya, reached via winding, darkly mountainous roads, we found the sleepy beach-front village, a handful of shops, restaurants and small whitewashed hotels. The endangered loggerhead sea turtles (Caretta caretta) that nest here each summer have helped keep development at bay.

Rural Çirali moved from an agricultural economy towards tourism in the late Eighties but instead of overdeveloping, as much of the Mediterranean coast has, the World Wildlife Fund stepped in, working with locals to develop a more responsible tourism.

This summer, the general sleepiness was broken only by the arrival of police and demonstrators — including Muslim women practising yoga in front of engineering vehicles — angry at the Turkish government’s demolition of hotels on the grounds that they were unlicensed.

Days after, we arrived at the Hotel Aida late one balmy night, crossing the pretty courtyard which doubles as the restaurant where friendly, mainly German families played cards or finished dinner circled by hanging boughs of purple bougainvillea. We were charmed from the start.

Come morning, we could witness the village in full bloom — fields of pomegranate trees, the tiny heart-shaped cerise buds waiting to bloom come September and fragrant orange groves — and enjoy the scent of pine from the forests clinging to the mountains behind. In the distance was a silver-domed mosque with its pretty minaret, emitting the mesmerising daily call to prayer (though less so when at dawn and joined by the resident cockerel).

Part of Hotel Aida’s charm are the lush, well-cultivated gardens, the pride and joy of owners Mehmet and his wife Ayseunur. They mirror the natural beauty of the area with hanging boughs of pink oleander brushing banana trees and giant palms thicker than a man’s waist imported from Egypt. Pathways are lined with such leafy greenery and flowers. Dusty, friendly cats and dogs lie asleep in the shade or prowl around under tables.

New two-bedroom wooden cabins, like posh saunas with flat-screen televisions, opened in the grounds this summer. Existing rooms lack televisions but are cool in the heat, whitewashed, with tiled floors and modern bathrooms.

The rest of my family arrived a few days after us but by then we had settled into their routine: breakfast in the courtyard of local cheeses, walnuts, honey, melon, Turkish tea, coffee, bread, watermelon and eggs cooked any way (the owners keep their own chickens).