[Learning to live in Antalya] Time out in Antalya

Saturdays

Something was clearly being planned amongst my workmates at school, but as Cumartesi (Saturday) was just about the only word I was able to understand, I had no idea what to expect. I was handed a carefully drawn map labeled with road names I had never heard of and a time of one o’clock was mentioned. This I guessed was to be the starting time. Over the years that I taught in the UK, I had spent many evenings in the company of fellow teachers putting the world to rights over food and generally large quantities of wine. It was a valuable way of bonding with colleagues, an opportunity to air those grumbles about the latest teaching initiatives and usually ended up with a minor hangover the next day.

So it was with some trepidation that I set out to find my new teaching friend’s house one Saturday morning. From every angle, this was going to be a very different experience. It was taking place in someone’s house. There would be food but no alcohol to loosen the tongues. Since the whole staff was female -- this was to be a women-only gathering. And, of course, the predominant language to be spoken was Turkish -- my grasp of which was still very much in its infancy. The deal was that each staff member takes a turn once a month at playing host and all those who come pay TL 15. I calculated that my turn was sufficiently far away not to panic at this stage.

I needn’t have worried. Turkish hospitality is legendary and guaranteed to make the guests feel like royalty. Liberal quantities of tea interspersed with perfect Turkish coffee accompanied some amazing home-cooked Turkish delicacies (börek of all descriptions, salads, bowls of mantı and cakes and baklava to die for -- to name but a few). I may have lacked the necessary vocabulary to participate in the conversations, but few words are needed to express enthusiasm and pleasure when food is involved. Two or three hours passed in a warm glow of food and tea with a background of chatter and laughter. I sat contentedly amidst my new friends. Then without warning a CD player began to pump out “oriental” rhythms. Next minute the delicate coffee tables were removed and my colleagues were strutting their stuff on the makeshift dance floor. I am no dancer but when sufficiently inebriated will take to the floor without much hesitation. This was different. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, the space was limited to a square meter and everyone except me knew the steps. “Hadi gel,” echoed around, and before long, I was linking fingers and rapidly being instructed in the fancy footwork that accompanies this exotic form of line dancing. Several years on I remain a Turkish dancing novice but still enjoy the experience.

Sundays

In my hometown in the north of England on those extremely rare Sundays when it was not raining and visibility was above 10 meters, I would try to organize a walk in the surrounding Peak district hills with friends. Living in Antalya with the stunning array of mountains in such close proximity and the fantastic weather, I had high hopes of spending most Sundays in the fresh air. However, it soon became clear that unlike the neatly marked and maintained footpaths complete with cleverly designed stiles for any inconveniently positioned walls together with the detailed ordinance survey maps available back home, Turkey was going to be a different matter. Walking in these mountains can be serious business, and it is easy to get lost. I was reluctant to join the local branch of Todosk (a walking group) simply because walking with them would exclude taking my trusty dog along.

By chance, I got talking to a neighbor, Nejat, who turned out to be a seasoned mountain climber and trekker. He had been walking in these mountains for many years and knew them like the back of his hand. He generally went on Sundays with a few friends and invited my husband and me to join them. Brilliant, I thought. Exercise, fresh air and hopefully a chance to make some more friends, this time -- men. “See you at 5:30 tomorrow morning,” our new friend said. “Great,” I replied, trying not to show my horror at the early start. We met up with the four friends when it was still dark, but by the time, we arrived at the starting point for our climb, the sun was creeping up over the top of the mountain. In the summer, an early start is necessary to avoid the heat of midday and in the winter, to ensure a safe return before dark. With a mixture of Turkish and English, the conversation stumbled on as we made our way up the side of a mountain. With friends in the UK, the talk would range from family to politics. These sturdy-looking Turkish men, however, had a very clear agenda consisting of two subjects.

The first was fashion -- not the high street stuff but walking gear from their boots all the way up to their hats. We learned the price, the brand, the pros and cons of each item and, of course, the best places to buy them. The opportunities to see a whole range of outdoor gear were many. Whenever we paused for a short rest on the way up, these men, trained from birth in the dangers of wearing clothes that might be damp from perspiration, would strip off their layers of clothing and replace them with the next outfit. I had wondered about the contents of their rather large rucksacks. Were they really necessary for a day walk? Seeing the vast amount of clean T-shirts and fleeces, I understood why.

The second was food. We had brought a small picnic consisting of rather dull plain cheese sandwiches. Our new friends had different ideas about the lunch stop. Sure enough, the summit reached, the clothes changed yet again, the spectacular views admired and the photograph taken, it was finally time to eat. Tucking hungrily into our sandwiches, I glanced up to see a whole spread of homemade pastries, different types of cheese, salad, olives and fruit being offered around. Everything was, of course, to be shared. We learned the origin of the cheeses, the secret ingredients of the pastries and the best place to buy the olives. The next Sunday, we came prepared with a homemade cake to share and the essential vocabulary to describe the recipe.

And for the rest …