[Living in Antalya-9] Gardening in Antalya

Moving from the UK to live and work in Turkey, I wanted to own a garden. The chief problem of owning a garden in the north of England had been the fact that every available work-free and relatively dry day had to be spent waging war on nettles, convolvulus and other predatory and unwanted weeds. By the time the chores were finished, the sun would have vanished, the rain clouds reappeared and it was back inside again. In other words -- there was no time to enjoy the garden. It sounded like paradise when friends who live in the relatively balmy south of England used to talk of lingering outside in the evenings over drinks and food. I wanted a slice of that sophisticated outdoor living in my garden in Turkey -- not too much to ask surely?

With this in mind, we chose the plot of land on which to build our house because it allowed space for a garden. I didn’t like the idea of being cooped up in an apartment block, with nothing more than a few drooping pot plants fighting for space with the tables and chairs on a cramped balcony. However, my husband made no secret of preferring to be up a mountain than weeding or pruning roses, and I was very much of the “armchair” variety when it came to the green stuff. In other words, one of us had virtually no interest in gardening, the other knew next to nothing about planning, planting or pruning.

Once the house was nearly complete and we were able to move in, we surveyed the state of the garden. This was difficult because the plot of land had been empty for many years and the locals, rather than carry their plastic bags of rubbish the 50 meters to the nearest bins had got into the habit of hurling them over our admittedly rather dilapidated wall. Added to this was the detritus left over from our builders: broken bricks, scaffolding poles, half used bags of cement and so on. The “garden,” approximately seven by 12 meters, was therefore buried under at least two meters of festering rubbish.

Working with a builder

The first problem was how to transfer this dump to the real dump and how to break the neighbors’ bad habits. Our chief builder, a rather crafty and not always trustworthy guy, Mehmet, always knew someone who could help, and dutifully produced a 50-something, but amazingly wiry looking “friend,” Ömer. The very reasonable price of TL 250 was speedily negotiated, and Ömer arrived on the following Monday morning with a tractor and trailer. He worked incessantly throughout the heat of the June day, but by the evening, no noticeable impression had been made. On Tuesday, he arrived with his wife; on Wednesday his wife and two small sons arrived to help. By Friday the area was miraculously clear. Our happiness and relief at this was rapidly shattered when Ömer asked for TL 2,500 as opposed to the TL 250 we had been led to believe was the fee. Given the amount of work involved, we were fully prepared to raise the fee, but not to this exorbitant figure. A couple of hours later, we settled on an amount in the middle.

With the garden floor now exposed, we discovered that we had exactly three trees to our name -- a pomegranate, a mandarin and a grape vine. We knew that we wanted lots of green to give an illusion of coolness in the summer, but we also wanted color. Everywhere in Antalya, you can see purple, pink, red and orange bougainvillea in all their glorious colors, and the pink and white oleanders are ubiquitous. We also wanted some more fruit trees -- clearly oranges grow well here! Armed with this limited list, we drove our truck to a peyzaj (garden center), recommended by a friend. In Britain, a trip to the garden center has become a regular Sunday jaunt, enjoyed not just by pensioners but by families as well. They are primarily stocked with gifts, greeting cards, homemade biscuits, coffee shops and children’s playgrounds and, somewhere round the back, a few plants. Not in Antalya. Turning off the main airport road, we instantly found ourselves in the depths of the countryside, men carrying firewood on their backs, women washing their rugs in the stream, children running barefoot -- a million miles from cosmopolitan Antalya. The “garden center” turned out to be a huge expanse of flowers, shrubs and trees in all shapes and sizes.

Back at the ranch, we set to in a frenzy of impetuous planting. In retrospect, we incredibly foolishly assumed that whatever we planted would grow like wildfire. After two years, none of the four bougainvilleas or six oleanders had produced a single flower. In fact over half had died, despite, or perhaps because of, our maniacal summer watering routine. Of the new fruit trees: oranges, a lemon, a grapefruit, that etiolated mulberry, a fig and a few as yet to be identified specimens, in total, we have harvested four grapefruits, two figs and a handful of oranges and lemons in the last four years. The original trees, however, continue to produce their goods at the appropriate time. Surprisingly, given its etiolated state, the exception to our purchases is the mulberry tree, which does yield huge luscious dark red mulberries. If we are up early in spring, we can pick these for our breakfast. Sadly for us, a pair of bulbuls (nightingales) often beat us to it and happily strip the tree bare of all the ripe fruit.

As for the flowers, geraniums are synonymous with the Mediterranean and should have proved a doddle to grow, but the first two or three years were disappointing. Four years on, we now have a few survivors, which provide some bright splashes of color amongst the green. The aptly named bottlebrush plants that have a vivid red flower are second on the bulbuls’ list of favorite food, so we’re lucky if they last more than a day or two. The tiny lavender plant grew into a monster and now blocks the path to the front door, but when in flower looks and smells fantastic. Equally, the nicotiana grew to nearly two meters.