Paddling around Kekova

So what’s the link between these two geographically disparate areas, their coastal locations aside? For me, it’s paddling. Back in my childhood, paddling meant summer Sundays on Scarborough beach, wading knee-deep in the foam-flecked waters and screaming with horrified (I knew I might get a clip round the ear from my mother for wetting my Sunday-best clothes) delight when an unexpectedly large, chilly wave soaked my shorts and shirt. Many, many years on, I was about to try paddling of a rather different kind in a very different location.

I was in the company of my youngest son, Jake (15), step-son James (25), a pleasant young honeymooning couple from Germany and three feisty Turkish 20-something İstanbulites, two of them sporting assorted piercings and tattoos. What had drawn this rather unlikely mix of people together was the desire to try out an increasingly popular outdoor pursuit, sea kayaking. And what better place to try it than the tiny islets, rocky headlands and submerged ancient ruins around Kekova, just a half-hour drive east of the deservedly popular resort of Kaş.

We were standing at the rear of a small restaurant/pension in Üçağız, where the kayaks were stored, listening intently to our instructor for the day, Behzat. He ran through the basics of how to hold the paddle, how to sit in the kayak, what to do if it rolls over (get out fairly quickly, obviously), how to steer and how to avoid getting mown down by a passing tour boat. “Paddling is all about technique, not strength,” explained the loquacious Bezhat, “If you don’t believe me, look.” With that he rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt to show us his upper arm. “See, if it was about strength, I’d have muscles like Rambo!” he exclaimed. He was right, too. His arms were lean and sinewy rather than muscle-bound, and we were reassured that we might, just might, make it from the shore to the island, shimmering in the July heat a kilometer or so away. Mind you, the sleek, several-meter-long kayaks were heavier than they looked, and carrying them from the rack down to the foreshore two at a time required more than a little muscle power.

Kayaking around the tomb at Simena

Before I got into my kayak I asked Behzat where he was from. Smiling, he replied with pride, “From Urfa, Siverek actually.” My heart skipped a beat. I’d expected him to say Kaş, İzmir, Mersin or some other seaport town. You couldn’t get much less nautical than landlocked Siverek, set on an austere plateau of blasted, black basalt midway between Urfa and Diyarbakır, in southeast Anatolia. Now, I know you don’t necessarily have to be from the coast to make a good sailor, but the captain of Titanic was from England’s equivalent of Siverek, the town of Hanley in England’s landlocked, industrial Midlands -- and look what happened to the people he took to sea.

“Don’t worry my friend, no hurry, no worry. A few years ago I kayaked from İstanbul to Kaş,” he added. Now that was impressive. I was reassured. Anyone who dared paddle a kayak through the straits of the Dardanelles, dodging the shoals of gigantic tankers surging through the narrows, must have nerves of steel and seamanship skills in abundance. Behzat immediately proved his worth by demonstrating how to get into the kayak without capsizing it, by placing the paddle strategically across the deck of the kayak and the low quay and holding it down firmly as you slid into the vessel. It was much more seemly than the only other time I’d tried kayaking -- on the less than salubrious waters of a canal in Greater Manchester. Then, much to the amusement of several very naughty boys in my charge, (I was working at that time with kids who had been expelled from high school) the minute I slid into my kayak it unaccountably (not my fault obviously) turned turtle and deposited me head-first into the dirty depths of the canal.

Kayaking

I set a rather finer example this time. Indeed everyone managed to slip into their kayak with some style, and soon we were heading south from Üçağız, bound for the Tershane (ancient shipyard) at the western tip of Kekova Island. “Dad, hold your paddle like this,” shouted Jake. “Look, grip with one hand and keep it locked, then slide the paddle through your other hand until it’s in position.” I think Behzat had explained this earlier, but like the dozy teenager I once was I’d probably been daydreaming. Whatever, it worked a treat, and I soon built up a steady rhythm, and was able to keep pace with the group.

“Race you Jake” shouted the ever competitive, fitness obsessed James, who’d kayaked a few times before. “Yeah, OK,” Jake drawled laconically in reply, and off they went. I think Jake edged it, as later James said to me in an aggrieved tone, “Jake didn’t tell me he’d done six months in a kayaking club.” No one else was much interested in racing, and we all settled happily enough into improving our paddling style, keeping an eye on Behzat (who was keeping an even more watchful eye on us, ready at any moment to paddle to our rescue if we capsized) and taking in our grandiose surroundings.

We beached -- note the nautical language, you soon get the hang of being a salty sea dog -- in the small bay at Tershane, where the atmospheric ruins of a Byzantine church vied for my attention with a squabbling English family in another kayaking party. “If you don’t put this suntan cream on you’re not kayaking,” said a hot and bothered mother as she threatened her 10-year-old son who, to be honest, looked like he’d prefer to be at home with his Xbox rather than on a kayaking trip with his parents. When the mom asked her husband to pass the cream to lubricate her recalcitrant child, he threw it casually across to her. Flustered, she dropped it and the bottle thumped onto the deck of her kayak. It then appeared to explode, with hot, viscous suntan cream liberally splattering the woman’s life-jacket, face, hair, shorts and kayak. Husband and wife now engaged in the inevitable mutual recriminations, but it was time for us to go. Alas, I’d never find out just who was responsible for the serious crime of not putting the top back on the bottle properly.

The next part of our expedition (well, that’s how I like to think of it anyway, although cynics may prefer to call it a day trip) was superb, plying our kayaks eastwards along the north facing shore of Kekova Island. The waters beneath us were an intense blue and, discernible through their translucent depths, the remains of the harbor walls of the ancient Lycian settlement of Dolchiste were visible. Behzat then pointed out steps leading down into the sea from assorted ruined buildings scattered along the steep hillside, including a Roman bath-house, the doorway of a temple and several grand, private houses. Little is known about the settlement, bar that it was destroyed by an earthquake in the second century, prospered into the Byzantine era, but was abandoned following Arab raids in the seventh century.

I was in the company of step-son James and my youngest son, Jake.

Having “done” Kekova, we turned north and cut back across the bay to the impossibly picturesque castle and village of Simena. Built by the Knights of St. John the crenellated ramparts of the castle dominate the tiers of stone, red-roofed houses clustered beneath it. Our destination was a tiny islet to the left of pretty quay, at which are moored some seriously expensive boats -- Simena boasts the summer villa of a member of the fabulously wealthy Koç family. We beached our rather more modest vessels on the islet and, led by the ever affable Behzat, paddled old-style (up to our knees in the tepid, shallow waters) around a splendid, semi-submerged (and much photographed) Lycian tomb for a welcome Turkish coffee break in a delightfully shady waterfront cafe, surrounded by pots of aromatic basil.

We felt like old hands on the final push back to Üçağız, our paddles dipping smoothly into the sea then, as we pushed back, blades biting firmly into the saline waters and propelling us near-effortlessly towards the shore. A hearty, late lunch (we’d been on the water from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., with stops) was part of the deal, and we tucked gratefully into a splendid meze spread right on the waterfront.

Of course you can take kayaking much further, with real expeditions lasting several days along this beautiful, ruin-littered coast, including overnight camps on deserted beaches and the chance of spotting a turtle or two. There’s certainly a lot more to learn about how to handle a kayak (the famous Eskimo-roll anyone?), but the great thing about kayaking is even the first-timer soon gets to grips with the basics, and can enjoy paddling around the gentle (in summer, at least) waters of the Mediterranean. In fact, it’s not that much harder to get the hang of than paddling on Scarborough beach.

Sea kayaking information.

Kaş-based Bougainville Travel (Tel: 0242/836 37 37; www.bougainville-turkey.com) organizes sea kayaking trips around the southwest Mediterranean coast, plus tailor-made tours for special interest groups. One-day tours cost TL 60 per person, including transport to Kekova and a meal.