Irish Independent, May 19th, 2012
‘Wish you were here’ panoramas and the blissfully warm milky spas added up to the real Turkish delight for Thomas Breathnach
Istanbul main terminus, Friday night, rush-hour, and I’ve reached a language blockade with the ticket clerk of Turkish Railways. Eventually, after my friend Amber and I simulate “The Locomotion” and a series of yawning charades, the penny drops. It’s the night train to Anatolia please: let the Eurasia-railing begin!
Our meagre €19 fare bags quite the jouney: a cosy couchette cabin with freebie slippers, shower service, and a personal wake-up call from a dapper concierge. This was my kind of Orient Express. As we reclined in the dining carriage (mine’s a juicy flank steak with wild rice pilaf and roast peppers; €7), Istanbul’s mega-sprawl slowly peters out to plains of olive and fig groves. Then, darkness descends, and we chug our way deep into the Turkish night.
The next morning, via a circuitous lap around central Turkey, and a station change in Izmir, we’ve run out of rail. And so, we board Turkey’s quirky mini-bus taxi, the dolmuş. Our vehicle, is complete with furry-dice, eclectic locals, and thumping sitar-fused pop music: eastern promise ricochets off every dusty pothole.
24 hours after leaving the banks for the Bosphorus we finally truck into the UNESCO Heritage town of Pamukkale. In old-school backpacker style, we arriving on-spec, and peruse the village’s inns, before settling on Hotel Artemis Yörük. A budget pool-side complex run by a flirty Australian, who upped sticks from her life Down Under to live the Turkish Dream.
That evening we dine up a tree-house in one of the village’s café. On thick ruby carpets, we dabble in backgammon and sip Turkish tea, while the ubiquitous Turkish cat woos us for leftovers. Perhaps not everyone’s cup of çay, but perched in a sycamore above the town, all our Turkish worlds were coming together.
Pamukkale is best known for its cotton castles: terraced basins moulded by the region’s calcium-rich hot springs which all create an ivory mountain of folding infinity pools. To pip the tourist-rush, we rise at dawn and pass our morning bathing blissfully in the spa’s warm milky potion, soaking in the distant vista of a snow-capped Mount Honaz.
Above Pamukkale lies Hierapolis- a Greco-Roman city of magnificent temples and theatres, resplendently splashed with bursts of scarlet poppies. Two days later we found ourselves in the even more spectacular Ephesus, with its gloriously gilded ancient ruins. The sight of an Anatolian shepherd dog basking on a millennia-old laneway lends a true B.C. bearing to the world wonder.
From Selçuk, we grab another dolmuş and make our final leg to the Turkish coast, as the stork flies. Rising above a mountain ridge, the Aegean glistened before us: in the distance, the Greek island of Samos, to the south: a coastal route peppered with property developments, leads us to Kuşadasi.
Amid the touristic-tack (and there’s plenty of it) Kuşadasi is not without its charm. There’s a pretty old town, an open-air bazaar, and its castle-topped harbour island is your stock “wish you were here” panorama.
Wandering the super touristy waterfront, it’s not long before we’re accosted by a hawking waiter. Our hunger pangs offer little resistance however, and we’re soon sitting down the most over-priced meal of our trip. Kuşadasi harbour, does do quite the sunset nonetheless.
Despite Kuşadasi’s kitch, the mercurial allure of Asia-Minor will certainly spur another adventure. Just maybe next time, I’ll go beyond the brochures and make a left at Selçuk.
Getting there:
Turkish Airlines (01 8447920; turkishairlines.com) flies from Dublin to Istanbul from €349 return.
Staying there:
Artemis Yörük is just a two minute walk from Pamukkale’s UNESCO SITE (+90 258 272 2674; artemisyorukhotel.com; €12pps), while Mr. Happy’s, on Kuşadasi harbour is home to a legendary host, bursting with travel tips (+90 256 614 77 70; limanhotel.com; €18pps)
