Datça

No, there's no mistake. I haven't skipped a day or had amnesia. I have decided to combine the two days in Datça in one post because those two days were the most enjoyable of my Turkish trip and it would be hard to write two superlative postings. But I'm getting ahead of myself.


In the morning, I imagined that it was quiet because it was Sunday, but some tractors came along and broke that illusion. It is a Muslim country after all. The bus arrived at the otogar at 0930 but didn't get under way until about 1000. Maybe they put the arrival times on the schedules to look good. It had a horn that sounded like how a squeezed guinea pig might squeal. There were USAn teenagers on the bus. A father and daughter pair I think. And a couple of Turks. On the way we picked up a driver of a van that had run out of petrol. He was so flustered that he left behind his wallet but the passengers noticed and stopped the bus.

We arrived at Mamaris, where, as with Bodrum, I had decided not to overnight because they were touristy. Pity about missing the scenery, but I did get good views of the harbour as we went downhill. The next connecting bus to Datça wasn't until 1430. I had probably missed a connection. No matter, I had a lunch of a white bean salad, which wasn't half bad, in the otogar cafe.


On a map the Datça peninsula sticks out like an east-west finger from the mainland and is highly indented with coves resulting in spectacular scenery. Its harbour is favoured by yachties. The road that runs along the spine is narrow and tortuous and near the isthmus you can almost see the water on both sides. I thought that if I were to have an accident in Turkey this would be the place. Headline: Tourist bus rolls off road, foreigners among dead. But the driver seemed experienced.


At a rest stop I saw spring water spilling out of a roadside pipe. Datça looked relatively inaccessible to vehicles. I hoped that it would stay that way.

It was a very hot day in Datça and I had no map to locate the pensions with. I was the object of curiosity, maybe they didn't get many tourists that early in the season. I couldn't find the ones from the guide and settled for one called Aşkin, and napped until the heat abated, then went for a walk around the wharf.

A spruiker at a posh restaurant, taking me for a rich yachtie, tried to interest me in a meal. I replied para yok (I have no money, literally, money not exist). She was taken aback to be answered in Turkish. I then added for emphasis, hergün para yok (everyday ...). The look of surprise and chagrin on her face was priceless. I still chuckle over it to myself to this day.

I had a fantastic thin crust tavuklu (chicken) pide at the Mandalina Restaurant. I bought a bottle of coke and sat on a bench near the water's edge watching dusk fall. The temperature was a perfect 24C with a constant onshore breeze blowing. It was heavenly. I sat there for ages, then walked around the corner to the marina. Turkish dance music was spilling out of the night clubs. I sat there for ages again, then walked to the little bay to watch the harbour lights before returning to the pension.


In the morning I was woken by doves cooing. Here doves occupied the niche normally filled by pigeons. I had slept well because of the strong winds, I even felt a bit cold. From my balcony I could see and hear children lining up in a nearby schoolyard and chanting to the PA system.

The water was very clear but the beach was gravel and brown sand. And littered. They really ought to take better care of them, I thought. Soon the shade was gone so I finished off my postcards and mailed them off.

There was a restaurant near the wharf offering wild boar meat. I wondered what that was like. But I played safe and had an absolutely delicious baby okra stew at Valentinos, a family run restaurant. An old issue of the Spiegel there, maybe left behind by German tourists, compared Diana to Elisabeth, calling them sisters in misfortune. Datça still felt like a village, not yet overwhelmed by tourism.

Again I waited until the cooler evening before taking a stroll. I walked to the eastern end of the paved promenade and back. Dinner at the Kemal restaurant, just next door to Valentinos, was excellent meatballs, potatoes and rice. I splurged on a good beer. The meal came with complimentary cherries and apricots. A French woman at a neighbouring table thought the cooking was fabulous too.


I bought ½ kg of big cherries and a bottle of coke and took it to the water's edge to enjoy the breezes again. Contentment needs no explanation.