A bit of heaven: a bit of hell

The road carved into the limestone mountains south of Kalkan and on to Kaş is stunning: one of the most scenic we have taken in Turkey.

The limestone cliffs occasionally drop down to secluded coves and bays chewed into the coast, where a handful of sun seekers always find a route down, no matter how difficult the beaches are to access.  

Secluded little bay

The herby smell of what the French call garrigue, low shrubs that cover the limestone hills like a thick tufted aromatic carpet, is earthy, and reminds us of the smell of the Pyrennees.

Earthy scent of the shrubs

And Kaş, when we arrive, is stunning: the sea water, amethyst to turquoise, the olive trees lining the shore, sun-bleached to silver.

Kaş marina with the sea beyond

The campsite is the best we have had in Turkey and very highly commendable: the amenities new, functional and spotless, the bar operational, the view to die for.   Dive teams in the water below us are in full gear and training, and a lone swimmer from afar trains back and forth between the buoys for over an hour in the blue water, along with the turtles.   It is just a wee bit cold for us to join him.

Jewel coloured water

We settle in for one night and stay two.  Kaş, while a tourist town, has done a lot of things right.  It has ancient Lycian roots, and today’s village is growing out of those roots, where it once was a tiny seaport.  Great remains of an interesting amphitheatre over two thousand years old sit on a hillside on the edge of town.  It is small with supporting sides built high out of the ground; not curved into the slope as most are.  It is the only amphitheatre in Anatolia with a sea view.

Unusual amphitheatre

There is a Hellenic temple being excavated,  and we’ve seen three Lycian sarcophagi so far, both occupying prime sites overlooking the sea, ready for their spirits to soar: one called the King’s Tomb; one with an inscribed base; the other with dancing girls.  Dancing the way to heaven, no doubt.

Lovely Lycian tomb

Downtown, lanes and alleys are dripping with bougainvillaea, or shady and sweet with honeysuckle: perfect to sit under.  Traditional homes, with their lovely upper story oriel windows, are spruced up and picturesque.

Lycian king's tomb at the end of the alley

We ate our sis under the dappled light of a big old rubber-leafed tree and could have stayed there for hours watching the activity in the long market where carpets are sold,  as are tile panels, telling ancient stories of sabre-bearing Anatolians, the panels these days copied by artisans from Kütahya, further inland.  We might visit.

Bougainvillea and philodendron

Old men suck gently on the mouth piece of the nargile in the square, creating bubbles in the water to cleanse the impurities from their chosen tobacco.  A slow process, this habit: it takes about an hour to smoke one of these plugs.

Hubble bubble

And the dondurma vendor, with his very practised routine, pretends to drop the ice-cream cone each time he attempts to pass it across to Bec.  She is charmed.

Dondurma to go -- eventually 

It is all quite idyllic.  Our favourite spot on the Mediterranean coast so far.  And it must have been for aeons, as a long time ago, when the Romans took over from the Lycian descendants, Marc Antony, realising its worth, gave this glorious stretch of coast to Cleopatra as a honeymoon gift.

A romantic place even then.

Our room with a view

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But it is not all rosy in Paradise.

Down a narrow road overlooking the blue, blue sea, where traditional gulets drop anchor to allow tourists to swim over the ancient ruins on the seabed, are hundreds of foreign owned houses, tumbling right down to the water's edge.

Tour boats moored 

In various stages of completion.

Homes on the Kaş peninsula

Some finished: where the gardens show they have been occupied for some considerable time.  Mature loquat trees grow.  Shallow rooted palms.  Nothing too high, as the entire mountain they are built on is friable limestone, through and through.  

Some unfinished: swimming pools built and once filled with water; or great gaping gaps where windows should be.  Terracotta tiles are partially laid on some of the roofs, the remainder are stacked up on top, as if, one day, they might be completed.

But, they might not. 

Foreign owners on the Kaş peninsula have recently discovered that their homes, here, do not fit the environmental requirements set for the peninsula. 

Their homes are now practically worthless, despite having bought their properties with legal advice, and approvals and certifications in place with all the appropriate legislative bodies at the time of purchase.  Their price plummeted.  

Actual ownership rules have suddenly changed.  No longer are foreigners able to purchase property on this peninsula.  

As such, foreign owned homes here now no longer meet the appropriate guidelines; and can no longer be approved for sale. 

Folk who retired here a decade ago, and who were planning to sell their home to move back to England, or Germany, or wherever they came from, have no chance.   Other foreigners can no longer buy them.  And Turks, who might be approved to own them if the homes can be made to meet the environmental standards, will not pay the price that foreigners are asking.  

So, it is shades of the property purchase scandal in Spain of not so many years past.

And it would not be surprising if a little class action might be needed in the Kaş peninsula debacle, at some time in the very near future.  

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