[Learning to live in Antalya] Exciting and extreme weather

This year the weather in Antalya is unseasonably warm, but even on colder winter days, a Sunday morning in the park is one of my favorite pastimes. In fresher weather, the distant Taurus Mountains loom splendidly in the breathtakingly clear air, and the blue-green tones of the sea sparkle magically. On days like this I may need to don more clothes, but the sun is still hot on my face. Today I’m comfortable in a T-shirt and we can linger over our second cup of “çay,” puzzling over the long-winded, grammatically complicated sentences in the articles we are trying in vain to understand.

The cold

The first winter I spent in Antalya, four years ago, was by far the coldest I had ever experienced in my life. I come from the north of England, a part of the country not renowned for its balmy temperatures and had been looking forward to leaving the penetrating cold behind and living in the heat of the Mediterranean. We first moved temporarily into a top floor apartment with no form of heating and single glazed, ill-fitting wooden windows. This was fine from September until December, but then, suddenly, the temperatures plummeted. By day, when the sun was out and I was at work in a crèche, all was well. But the minute the sun dipped behind the mountains, usually coinciding with my return from work, any residual body heat evaporated in the big empty spaces of our flat. The evenings were spent huddled around the portable gas fire, which we wheeled from kitchen to living room to bedroom as the evening progressed. I hadn’t realized how dependent on central heating I had become in the UK. Friends and family did not believe that I could possibly be cold -- their perception of Turkey was sun, sea and sand -- but not sitting at home wrapped in blankets, warming our hands on bowls of nourishing soup.

Winter evenings improved considerably when we moved into our new house with its double glazed windows, insulated walls and most importantly a “soba” (a free standing, rather crude and ugly, but amazingly efficient stove). Lighting the stove, as darkness arrives, and feeling the heat reach the far corners of our downstairs living room is pure pleasure.

The main joy of cold weekend winter days, however, is the ability to set off before the sun comes up to remote parts of the nearby snow-carpeted mountains, equipped with crampons and ice axes and, of course, our thermal underwear. In the company of some Turkish friends, we have laboriously plodded our way up the steep gullies of Mount Tunç, Alabelen and Tahtalı. It may be cold up in these mountains, but when we reach the “zirve” (the summit) and find a cranny to shelter out of reach of the wind we can bask in not only the warm glow of having made it to the top but also the heat of the midday sun.

Raining cats and dogs

“Hi, guess what? Schools closed again tomorrow.” This message has happened three times so far this winter. The first time I assumed it was some kind of early April fools joke, but no -- the weather forecast hinted at rain and wind for the next day and so all schools in Antalya must be closed! To defy this proclamation could incur a fine -- so despite the grumblings of some parents we followed suit and shut-up shop. The next day I opened the window to inspect the anticipated devastation. Yes, it was windy. Yes, it had rained in the night. But I’ve experienced worse weather on an August Bank Holiday in England.

In the UK, the average annual rainfall is just over 800mm and in Antalya it is over 1,000. The difference being that in England it rains consistently and persistently, enough to make sure you must always be prepared with coats, umbrellas and contingency plans for those summertime excursions. In Antalya, however, when it rains, it really rains, in a cats and dogs kind of way. The whole of this rapidly developed city has become a seething mass of concrete -- roads and apartment blocks -- and the water simply has nowhere to go, so the roads turn into rivers, making driving hazardous and walking on the pavements becomes an art in dodging the tidal waves caused by passing traffic. When it rains it is relentless, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase “a wet weekend.” The shops, cafes and bars, devoid of the usual crowds, become eerily quiet.

When the winds are strong, often over 40 kph, to leave the house becomes hazardous as branches, oranges or loose roof tiles turn into flying missiles. The first sign that the wind speed is on the increase is the disappearance of the TV signal. This is closely followed by a brief flickering of the lights, sending us scurrying to find a torch and candles before a full-blown power cut begins. This may last five minutes but can extend to days. The normally calm sea is churned up and the waves hit the top of the cliffs dramatically.

The heat is on

“Çok sıcak” becomes a common phrase during the months from June to September. I rarely complain -- after all, this is Antalya, a place I have chosen to call my home and an increasingly popular tourist hotspot for Brits, Germans and, more recently, Russians. They come in their thousands in expectation of being able to fry themselves on the beach and during these months they are guaranteed never to be disappointed. I try to avoid Antalya beaches during this period, but instead, cycle down at 6 o’clock in the early morning to a place known only to locals where it is possible to clamber down some steps cut into the rock cliff and swim around the bay for an hour or so. This sets me up for the rest of the day and allows me to cope with the searing temperatures. Occasionally, if the temperatures top the 40s, the local belediye (council) recommends closing public offices and staying at home, unimaginable in my native UK.

In the UK, (particularly the north), there is little to break the monotony of grey, damp, cold days. When Brits meet a friend or acquaintance, a standard greeting is: “Hi. How are you?” And before any reply can be made, the topic swiftly changes to the current state of the climate. “Terrible weather we are having.” This opens the floodgates for an in depth exchange of weather related anecdotes. In Turkey, however, “Nasılsınız?” (How are you?) is followed by “Teşekkürler. Siz?” The conversation may linger on health or move on but it is not common to swap weather stories.