‘Türkçe bilmiyorum,’ I offered apologetically to the lady at the dock. I didn’t even know if I’d got it right as I fumbled the words out. What an irony.
She grimaced then, laughing, said, ‘Ingilizce bilmiyorum!’
Enigmatic and unfamiliar words, but the meaning was clear as day: neither of us spoke the other’s language. This was going to be fun.
Mention Turkey and you could be forgiven for conjuring an image of tourist-jammed beaches packed with red-fleshed Brits abroad. A deluge of beer-swilling Brits in tourist hotspots like Marmaris and Bodrum, where shops like Nexst, Azda and Selfridgez slot in among the burger bars, fish and chip restaurants and inevitable Irish pubs – why would you?
Of course, you wouldn’t.
But hold on a minute. In the real Turkey they speak…Turkish. Your faltering French and stuttering Spanish won’t get you a restaurant table. And forget about booking that boat excursion.
Welcome to Akyaka, a hillside town in western Turkey tucked into the crook of the Bay of Gökova. Its two beaches, set at right angles to each other, are lapped by the glassy turquoise waters where the Aegean and Mediterranean seas meet. Above the water brightly coloured canopies loop and soar from morning to dusk, tugging beneath them the kite surfers who throng to Akyaka’s perfect conditions. There’s kayaking too if you fancy exploring craggy coves where clear water rocks gently beneath aromatic pines.
You can manage all this without having to converse too much. In any case a few well-acted gestures ought to get you back on the straight and narrow if you lose your bearings, right?
Well, true. But you’d be missing the real charm of Akyaka and its environs. Back to my willing but hapless conversation with the boat tour lady. I’d made the effort and she didn’t want to ignore me, eventually conveying that there was no loud music on board, that the trip would be peaceful and quiet. And, somehow, that there would be snorkeling.
Sold.
Sure, that was her job. But the few other non-Turkish-speaking foreigners walked on by, unable to comprehend the nature of the tour and unwilling to try. Later we would pass them as they sailed back to the bay, glum-faced on a crowded vessel with throbbing music banging out across the water.
Speaking of sold, some perspective. The equivalent of £40 got the four of us on a day-long excursion and included lunch. Imagine: reclining on cushions on the shaded deck, revelling in the epitome of relaxation as the boat stopped at various isolated swimming spots. Paradise. We cooled off by leaping from the top of the boat into the clear water, diving to underwater caves, watching bright fish flit around us. Another stab of Turkish and our Captain sat next to us and – what do you know – in near-flawless English advised me to steer clear of Cleopatra’s Beach when we docked at the fabled Sedir Island, and instead make for the benevolently shaded and serene amphitheatre. Let the masses fight for a square of sand on the beach.
By now you probably have this impression that I’ve developed Turkish linguistic skills bordering on the semi-fluent. This would be an illusion. I’m talking about no more than ten or twelve sentences plus the usual scattering of greeting words, pleases and thankyous. So little effort, but such rewards. A quick, ‘Good evening, do you have a table for four?’ immediately procured us a window seat, while at least one other Brit family stood queueing for twenty minutes. Waiters took the time to correct my clumsy pronunciations, and such conversations expanded to include more important phrases. And by important, I mean financially beneficial. Because the best rate of exchange is in Turkey itself, and that’s no mean feat in a little place like Akyaka which isn’t exactly replete with bureau des changes. What you need is the local post office, and I mean local with a capital L. For that, you’re going to need some Turkish. My attempt the previous day had not gone well, but after a quick lesson from my waiter I managed, Iki yüz sterlin bozdurmak istiyorum.
And this time I even got a smile with my lira.
I’m not suggesting you need to learn Turkish and then go to Turkey, but if are planning a trip there don’t expect them to throw English at you with all the enthusiasm of an ex-pat eating a fry-up. They won’t. Not in the parts of Turkey worth visiting anyway. But if you make an effort, they’ll reciprocate it. By and large.
Come to think of it though, isn’t that a mantra that applies to all non-English speaking destinations? Make even a scintilla of effort and the locals will embrace you. Oh, just don’t be afraid of being laughed at. Now, where’s my Italian phrasebook…
