Bodrum and its castle from above   ---   photo by Algis Kemezys

"Let History begin!”  

Herodotus, first scholar to chronicle Hellenistic history; upon graduating from Halicarnassus U., 463 B.C.

I’ve been tossing this nostalgia left and right, but in fact Turkey has changed so very much since my childhood that my cherished memories persist these days mostly in menus of traditional restaurants and in some remote, determinedly forgotten villages, even if they’re forever alive in the mind-sets of old-timers like me.

Obviously many changes have occurred worldwide in the last fifty years since my family emigrated to Canada when I was a pre-teen. But Turkey even more so. I remember only one erratic telephone in our Moda neighbourhood. It resided in the grocery store and one always had to wait in line to use it. And pity the person who needed long distance. That would take a couple of hours to get a connection that was faint and would never last more than five minutes (it only served fast-talkers with no hearing problems). Now everyone, even those in forgotten villages, walks around with cell-phones that can readily connect to any point on earth, for as long as there’s something to say.

    Walking on the beach, talking on the phone  --  photo by Algis Kemezys 

The Turkey I remember had only broken-down cars discarded from more affluent countries, and precious few parts, dangerously negotiating single-lane so-called highways. During one unforgettable ride on a car my father had rented at great cost we spent countless hours on the side of a pot-holed road trying to repair re-recycled wrong-size tires that kept bursting one after another. Now super-highways accomodate a legion of late-model Benzes and BMW’s travelling at top speeds on brand new Michelins and Goodyears.

      Brand new highway, could be in California  --  photo by Algis Kemezys

The Turkey of my childhood was a lazy place with a tempo to match the sunshine and a rhythm to reflect Anatolian songs chanting of ancient times with sultans, and brave warriors who fought off enemies with a sword, and maidens who longed for freedom. Now, the pace is jet-age quick, the sultans are deposed, the warriors don’t need to be brave since they are armed to the teeth, and the maidens are not only free they rule. 

       The Sultan is no longer in the building   --   photo by Algis Kemezys

I take one look at Bodrum, and I wonder where exactly I am. Is it the Riviera, or California/Florida, or in fact the formerly quaint and sleepy Aegean coast of Asia Minor? I expect a serious shock when I get to Istanbul, which has ballooned out to eighteen millions from under a million when I was last there, but for now Bodrum will do. An apron of white on white housing glimmering in the sun as it cascades to the shimmering coastline, palatial hotels with every imaginable pampering and up to the minute communications gadget, shopping malls carved in marble and glass to showcase the same brands that thrill the rich wherever they shop, an expansive marina with a trillion dollars worth of yachts swaying on the emerald waters; this is a fully functional holiday haven .

                    Shopping the old way   ---   photo by Algis Kemezys 

Shopping the new way in the gleaming Oasis Shopping centre   ---   photo                                                                                                                     by Algis Kemezys

Progress is an unweildy, uncompromising thing. Inevitable and cumbersome, it renders everything it touches instantly obsolete, it raises the stakes (and the prices), it disdains the past, it reconfigures lifestyles and institutions beyond recognition, it has no intention of letting well enough alone. It’s infectious and compelling. To be against progress is reactionary and plays right into the hands of the most monstrous elements of our society. But its sins are unforgivable and disastrous. It revels in the fake and the unhealthy. Fabrics that don’t breathe, food that doesn’t nourish but slowly poisons, processes that rape the environment and demolish nature, histories that become obviated because they are seemingly irrelevant to the teachings of TV and the Internet, and children who refuse to be taught where they have come from and who therefore have no idea where they are going.

On the other hand, progress has given us computers (and therefore Open Salon), and some very swank establishments in formerly backwater resorts like Bodrum. If one were to judge a place by its premium entertainment spot, then Halikarnas Klöb would lift this town to outer space. Named after ancient Halicarnassus from whose ruins Bodrum rose, this citadel to drinking/socialising/cruising is an outdoor disco without an equal. Its five-thousand reveller capacity, its otherworldly hilltop location with a priceless view of the twin-bays, the marina, the focal-point castle and the aquamarine waters of the Aegean, its sky-high prices ($30 to get in, up to $50 for a cocktail), its kitchy faux-Greek columns, its instantly recognised name in international night-life circles make it not just a destination when in Bodrum, but for many the very reason to come to Bodrum in the first place.

                      Halikarnas Klöb at rest   ---   photo by Algis Kemezys 

               Halikarnas Klöb in full swing   ---photo courtesy of the Klöb

The club opens at 10 p.m., and doesn’t get hot until 1 a.m. when its percussion-driven music can be heard in the neighbouring Greek island of Kos, rendering it an impossibility for me, since I begin to crave my bed soon after dinner. Luckily Süleyman Bey, its very kind owner, invites me to visit it in mid-afternoon, just as the staff are beginning to roll in for a shift that won’t quit until 6 a.m. the next morning. I enjoy the view, and use my imagination to experience the real thing that I will never see. Maybe if I was thirty years younger.

                    Sweets, savouries, anyone?   ---   photo by Algis Kemezys

        Sitting by the beach, waiting for sunset   ---   photo by Algis Kemezys 

Down the slope from the club is the delightfully busy Kumbahçe Bay, the more charming, slightly less developed of Bodrum’s two parts. It stretches for about a kilometre chock-full of upscale cafes, bars and shops. Of particular interest to me is a one-hundred and fifty year-old bakery, the Yunuslar Karadeniz Firini. As per the advice of Hülya Eksigil, ultimate authority on all matters of Turkish gastronomy, I buy some meltingly fresh buns and pastries here, and retrace my steps to the seaside Penguen Kafe, where with a sea-level view of the same castle I feast my eyes and gullet accompanied by a glass of crimson tea as the sun sets and the sky turns into an orgy of colour and light.

        Fishing for octopus on Gümüslük Bay   ---   photo by Algis Kemezys 

       Home-made savoury pies in Gümüslük   ---   photo by Algis Kemezys

A much less retouched Aegean spot is Gümüslük, a small port/beach town fifteen kilometres straight west from Bodrum at the western tip of the peninsula. Famed for a bohemian atmosphere that has attracted legions of artists over the centuries, this gem is a must-visit if in the area. It retains its original character with municipal by-laws that disallow new buildings and cars down by its picturesque harbour which faces the faint, mostly submerged ruins of ancient Mindos and the misty outlines of neighbouring islands that shelter it and enclose it from the outside world.

The harbour, which doubles as the centre of town, is a pleasant necklace of cafes and restaurants where time has stood still. This is a place to savour unhurried, while octopus fishermen tenderize their freshly-caught cephalopods by pounding them on rocks in front of your table, thirty-forty-fifty times. They are ready when they release a white foam. They get washed off in salt water and crisped on charcoal into nostalgic bites that have unfailingly satisfied gourmet palates since antiquity.