Pam has just got back from a trip to Mexico. We've caught the bus over from Antalya and cycled the final15 km along the wide open valley towards Sarigerme. Pam has told us to ring when we get there and she'll come and meet us. We think, therefore, that a) her house is hard to find and b) she lives up a hill. As we approach the village we can see a steep hillside dotted with houses. The village is a single road dotted with small hotels, cafes and shops. There's a medium-sized mosque and a primary school. We stop outside the estate agent's. This is run by Muhammed, Pam's friend, but the office is closed. When we call Pam she turns out to be yards away at one of the few shops that is actually open.
After loading the panniers into her car she drives off to lead us to her home. A left turn at the mosque and a gentle sloping road. But Pam has already pointed out her house to us, so the near vertical 25% road that begins at the first twist in the road comes as no surprise. It is a very slow ride uphill in our granniest of granny gears. In fact at one point it feels like I am simply levitating by turning the pedals - I don't think I'm actually moving forwards. And we think Hebden Bridge is difficult on a bike. Inevitably we get off and push. Clearly we're just not fit enough yet, after our rain-interrupted journey along the coast.
We are very happy to arrive and to see Pam, who we last saw in Baku almost five years ago where she was living and working with her husband Joe. Sadly, last March Joe died while being treated for leukemia. They had bought the house soon after we stayed with them with the intention of living here if work allowed. As it was, they used the house for holidays when Joe got time off from teaching at a university in Kayseri. It is in a great location up above the village with views out to sea and along the big wide bay near to Dalaman airport.
The house is built as three self-contained appartments - one on each floor. There's a roof terrace, a patio out back and a garden. Pam describes all the work they did to get the house up to scratch - including new roofing, guttering, windows and doors. It's been a lot of work but well worth it when we compare it to the houses on either side.
Sarigerme is a low-key place in the winter. The valley is full of farmland and the village itself has only a few hundred inhabitants. Out by the beach are a series of all-inclusive hotels. Most of them have been built discreetly into the landscape of small rocky limestone outcrops covered in pine trees that run along the coast. One hideous orange monstrosity stands out as a beacon of bad building control. But it is the exception.
In the boggy valley, they used to grow cotton. Now irrigation channels help to both drain and supply the flat land all around for the main crops of oranges, lemons and pomegranates. The pomegranates are long gone, the small trees now bare in the fields, but the citrus trees are in full green leaf and laden with fruits. Over the weeks we see them gradually diminishing as they are harvested by the lorry load.
We plan to spend Christmas and New Year together. When Joe died he was buried in the little cemetery here the next day, as Islamic custom dicates. Pam organised a memorial for everyone who knew him over the summer which we missed. Now we are finally here and together we see in the New Year and toast absent friends and family.
After loading the panniers into her car she drives off to lead us to her home. A left turn at the mosque and a gentle sloping road. But Pam has already pointed out her house to us, so the near vertical 25% road that begins at the first twist in the road comes as no surprise. It is a very slow ride uphill in our granniest of granny gears. In fact at one point it feels like I am simply levitating by turning the pedals - I don't think I'm actually moving forwards. And we think Hebden Bridge is difficult on a bike. Inevitably we get off and push. Clearly we're just not fit enough yet, after our rain-interrupted journey along the coast.
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| first sunset at from Pam's terrace |
Sarigerme is a low-key place in the winter. The valley is full of farmland and the village itself has only a few hundred inhabitants. Out by the beach are a series of all-inclusive hotels. Most of them have been built discreetly into the landscape of small rocky limestone outcrops covered in pine trees that run along the coast. One hideous orange monstrosity stands out as a beacon of bad building control. But it is the exception.
In the boggy valley, they used to grow cotton. Now irrigation channels help to both drain and supply the flat land all around for the main crops of oranges, lemons and pomegranates. The pomegranates are long gone, the small trees now bare in the fields, but the citrus trees are in full green leaf and laden with fruits. Over the weeks we see them gradually diminishing as they are harvested by the lorry load.
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| sharing another great meal with Pam |
We plan to spend Christmas and New Year together. When Joe died he was buried in the little cemetery here the next day, as Islamic custom dicates. Pam organised a memorial for everyone who knew him over the summer which we missed. Now we are finally here and together we see in the New Year and toast absent friends and family.
