This morning the ship docked at Antalya, the first port of call in Turkey. I haven’t been in Turkey since 1997, and when I visited, I never made it to Antalya. I’d been hoping to visit some of the historic sites, but the excursion desk staff talked me out of even attempting any of them. Visiting the sites would have entailed a lot of walking, stairs, and steep slopes—all things my back does not appreciate.
When I pulled the curtain open, the view from my balcony was striking, ragged cliffs, aquamarine water, and a busy commercial port. After breakfast I snagged a map of the of the old, fortified city, grabbed water, hat, and sunglasses and boarded the shuttle bus from the pier to the old city.
Antalya surprised me. Though the area has been populated for millennia and Antalya was founded around 200BC, it now appears to be a well-designed, modern city. It’s got a population of about one-and-a-half million people, so it’s relatively large. The contrast to Athens could not have been more extreme. I saw no graffiti. Streets were litter free. Everything seemed well cared for. Traffic moved smoothly on streets in good condition.
The old city has the same narrow alleys as Athens, but these were pristine. It’s clear the citizens take pride in their city. Map in hand I headed down narrow lanes towards the marina. It being Turkey I was stopped by a carpet salesman (for a great story about my first encounter with a Turkish carpet salesman, read about it in my book “Wanderlust). With no other prospective buyers in sight, he and I bantered for a while. I was happy to stand in front of an industrial strength fan while we chatted. When a potential buyer entered, I bid farewell and went back into the blazing heat.
Narrow, steep lanes lead to the marina. Fortunately, the lanes were mostly shady, which helped me to avoid the worst of the heat. A couple of times a car or truck was trying to get through, and I needed to plaster myself against the wall to avoid being hit. I was happily looking at architectural details and crafts on display in the shops. There were surprisingly few other people around. Rounding a corner, I came upon a gorgeous view of the marina with towering, spiky cliffs in the distance. However, one glance at the stairs leading down to the marina made it clear I wouldn’t be seeing the view up close. The stairs were steep with no handrails. Instead of making myself crazy about being unable to get to the waters’ edge, I sat at a conveniently placed chair and soaked up the ambiance. Tourists who came by offered to take a photo of me, which I gratefully accepted.
It was at that point I got lost. I thought I was following the map, but somewhere I made a wrong turn. No matter, the lanes were delightful. When I arrived at a minaret, I couldn’t figure out which one it was. Several people tried to help me, but as I speak no Turkish and they spoke no English, even the map didn’t help. Charades, at which I usually excel, didn’t work either. Finally, a proprietor called over a friend who spoke excellent English, turned me around and sent me off.
When I entered a lane filled with restaurants it was time for a rest. My coke zero cost me the equivalent of twenty cents; the best twenty cents I’ve ever spent. The café was shaded and there was a gentle breeze. My body temperature dropped and my legs and back said thank you to the comfortable chair.
After about twenty minutes of cooling off and people watching, I once again felt human. A couple more times of getting lost and rescued and I arrived back at the shuttle to the ship. The AC in the bus was greatly appreciated as people straggled on looking as though they’d just come out from a shower fully dressed.
I arrived on board in time to have lunch. As with other afternoons, I found a cool, quiet place to cocoon and read.