Ante Up in Antalya

Weeks ago Denise and I began planning our trip to Antalya, Turkey. Unfortunately, our arrival was after those massive earthquakes, so we were powerless to prevent them.

Luckily for us, the earthquakes were hundreds of miles from Antalya. Luckier still, when we asked whether we could go there to help we were turned away. Apparently the last thing they need is a couple of old Americans who don’t speak the local language and would occupy one of the few available shelters.

If you look at a map, or if you remember your geography way better than I do, you know that Antalya resides on the Mediterranean Sea, between two large land bodies. Essentially, if Turkey was kneeling at the Mediterranean, Antalya would be in its crotch.

Of course, being “in Turkey’s crotch” may sound unappealing, but it isn’t. Antalya is a resort town surrounded on three sides by snow-capped mountains, with the Med forming the fourth side. It is as lovely a crotch as you can imagine, unless you are very creepy.

We arrived here by way of Luton, which is a working class town outside London. We spent one day there because it provided a cheap connection to Antalya. While at Luton, we noticed dozens of women wearing hijabs, those headscarves Muslim women wear. I mention this because in Antalya we have thus far seen maybe three women wearing hijabs.

Turkey is officially a secular country. However, it is predominately Muslim, and every morning at 6 a.m. we hear the Adhan, which is Islam’s first call to prayer. Nonetheless, Turkey’s constitution guarantees women full political rights, and actually bans the wearing of headscarves by women working in the public sector. Of course it may, on first blush, seem contradictory to say both that women have full political rights and also that they may not wear a headscarf. It also may seem contradictory on second blush.

You may have heard that Muslims dislike dogs. This reputation may generate ill will in the hearts of most Americans. We will thoroughly enjoy watching Samuel L. Jackson quote the Bible while shooting a young man in the head (Pulp Fiction), but we will avoid any film depicting the death of a dog. I personally know several people who have watched the Titanic sink dozens of times, killing almost everyone on board, including the hero, who could have been saved if only his girlfriend had let him climb onto her giant floating door; but I do not know anyone who has seen Old Yeller more than once. I saw Old Yeller when I was about eight or nine, and I would leave the city if I knew it was playing in the local cinema.

I digress. My point is that the Muslim people of Anatalya have a love for dogs that make most Americans seem like Cruella De Vil. Well-fed dogs roam the city, never begging for food because food is left for them in dishes along the sidewalk. Dog houses are provided in city parks and even in some of the wider street medians. Because they always have been treated well, except of course for the castrations, they are universally friendly. And because they have lived their lives in the city they know how to cross streets safely. Most impressive, Antalya apparently takes great pains to clean up after the animals. I have seen a LOT LESS poop here than in the U.S. or in Spain, where dogs are kept on a leash and people are supposed to pick up their pets’ dirty deeds.

Lucky for both dogs and man, Antalya has a Mediterranean climate. Which is to say, the weather here is comparable to that in Los Angeles or Alicante. Possibly a smidge cooler, given breezes coming from those snow-capped mountains, but not much. Thus far, our February visit has seen only sunny days, with highs around 55 degrees Fahrenheit (and nighttime lows around 37 degrees).

I like Turkish food, so I was happy to find there is a lot of it here. Two people can get a platter with a plentiful mix of chicken, lamb, and beef, and also some soft colorful food that is delicious, even though I have no idea what is in it, for about ten dollars. Those same two people can go to a fancy restaurant with a killer view overlooking the sea, and eat like royalty for fifty dollars, including drinks and tip.

While we could have saved money by staying in one of those little dog houses, Denise insisted we book a hotel. That is why I type this narrative at the Laren Seaside Hotel. The name is a little misleading because it is two or three blocks from the sea, but a clean and comfortable room costs only $50 per night, and that includes a generous breakfast buffet.

Presumably the prices I have quoted for food and lodging are low because this is the low season. The city is, for the most part, sedate. You might say there was a throng of people around the busiest portion of Old Town, and rush hour traffic there was stop-and-go. But for the most part the sidewalks are nearly empty and the streets are easily navigable.

Antalya’s population is about 1.3 million, and covers approximately 547 square miles. However, it does not cost much to span that distance. A thirty minute cab ride cost us $10, including tip. And that ten dollar cab ride included a bit of excitement, at no extra charge.

We were coming from the Old Bazaar where, as I said, traffic was bumper-to-bumper, but only in one direction. Unfortunately, that was the direction we needed to go. Denise and I got into a cab and showed the driver our hotel’s address. He put the data in his own phone and merged into stalled traffic. Not one to suffer in silence, he pulled out of the motionless line and drove on the wrong side of the street. He met a couple of cars coming in the opposite direction, but they wisely got the hell out of our way. He would merge back into the correct lane just before arriving at a traffic light, but once that light turned green he would veer back into the wrong lane and proceed past all the suckers who sheepishly obeyed rudimentary traffic laws.

I found myself laughing joyously at the man’s balls, clearly very large and made of brass. Denise poked me and pointed at her own seat belt. I ignored her and left mine unfastened. If this man was willing to risk his license and his automobile to get us home quickly, the least I could do was show my support by chancing a moderate whiplash.

If I were to tell you more, it might be about Hadrian’s Gate, which now stands as the entrance to Old Town. That structure, the gate, is about 2000 years old but is in remarkably good shape, sort of like Madonna. If you want to learn more about structures that have survived the test of time you can click here, or here. Or, if you just want to see an Englishman imitate an Indian serving drunk Englishmen, click here.