Matter speaks loudly: Datça, Akyaka and Dalyan​

I have wanted to explore more of Turkey for a long time. In the last five years I have spent the bulk of time in Istanbul, where our little base is. I am never very happy in Istanbul, the city does not sing to my soul. So I made a decision to limit Istanbul time and do what we usually do, in the country of my man’s origin and our children’s descent.

I headed to Datça. When I first met my man he spoke of this place with deep desire, but when it became a reality I learned he had not been there for twenty years. So the memory of what was met what is now. I was lucky. I chose exactly the right time to go, which is mid September until mid October. That field of time means schools are back, almost no tourists around, its warm enough to swim and the village atmosphere pervades. I also scored on the place. We stayed in a small house nestled into a garden of pine trees. Most other places had cut down their pines. The tall trees gave shade and a little forest of magic for my children to play in. We were surrounded by houses so there was very little privacy, yet most people were not there so it remained very quiet. And during the time my man was away for work the proximity of others gave me safety.

Days in Datça were spent waking to our sweet little home, opening the doors to the little garden and waiting for the three kittens who lived nearby to come for their milk. The children spent most of our at home time outside in the mud and pine needles. We went for ‘dorpie’ walks, which were little walks perfect for small legs and meandering. We sometimes stole a piece of fruit from a tree, examined flowers and now and then ended up at a shop, bakery or playground. When I could I swam in the morning at my wild spot. It was a close walk to a usually deserted pebble beach. The water was a bit cold for the children so they built rock formations. It was perfect water for me. The swimming in Datça is some of the best you can get in the world. Clear water, not too much salt but enough to taste, and you can swim for miles. The air is special, it never gets humid and it’s like a little island, only reached by a long, windy road. All of this makes the place something worth getting to, and more and more people are willing to do that.

On Wednesday and Saturday we went to the farmers market in town. The market itself outshone Istanbul markets. I learned which stands were local, often laden with the persons olives and produce from their garden, home made yoghurt and cheese. The children ate figs as we wandered through, tasted pomegranates, chose small carrots and helped me pay. Datça has plenty of playgrounds so many afternoons were spent chasing the little ones through the equipment. On one day Ruya made a friend, a real first friend and we got to play with Indigo two days in a row. Her mother and I connected as much as the children did. It was a rare moment of relationship, between nomadic families. It felt so magical and bitter sweet. I was sad to lose them, so grateful for the touch in. They headed back to their camper van in South America.

Once or twice a week we ate dinner out: grilled fish, calamari and octopus. We found the perfect almond biscuit and I slowly learned where to buy the produce Datça is famous for: almonds, olive oil and honey.

I felt deeply content in this place, but I was forced out early by pipe clogging problems in the house and surrounding area. I would have stayed longer. It was one of those very low moments in our nomadic existence. And it brought to bare one of my primary aches. That of not having a home I love, a place I want to return to.

Nomadism is punctuated by extreme states of living. We hit one of those, a very low state. Forced out of a comfy spot we rushed to the next place. Sometimes we get lucky when rushed, this time not so. We drove to Akyaka. Its a small town tucked into the mountains, mostly frequented by kite boarders. We landed in one Airbnb that had promise but I wasn’t willing to be the first renters and suffer the immediately apparent issues. Two small kids, my mother with us, exhausted and irritated we shifted to another Airbnb on the list. The owner was kind enough to offer his space at the last minute, but it was dirty and hardly prepared. The space was on a busy street, dark and cold inside. We were not willing to move again so we stayed put for three days, got the place cleaned and my man hunted for a villa. We really wanted to make Akyaka work. The weekly farmers market was amazing, the forest reaching into the ocean beautiful, and it seemed to be promising. But matter suggested otherwise. The process just kept saying no. The place and spaces didn’t open up so we let go and listened to what was happening.

I had my eye on another spot so we headed to Dalyan. The British have taken over this little village along the river. They did so for a reason. Its incredibly beautiful and quaint. The weather is warm right into November, the riverside creates a gentle backdrop with boats chugging along. We spent three days there, in a decent Airbnb, that looked onto a rock face of ancient tombs. But the real gem is the untouched beach best reached by boat. My man hired a boat just for us, and we got picked up at the jetty at the bottom of our garden. The children rolled around on the boat as we passed through pathways of reeds. Half an hour later we arrived at the coast line, protected and mostly untouched. This is due to the magnificent turtle population that breeds there, and some concerted effort of a few individuals to make their breeding ground sacred. I had my last swim of the journey there. The children played in the sand and I swam, with full heart until I was exhausted.

We decided to end the journey there, a week early. Travel should never be too rigid otherwise there is no possibility of following the process well. We ended back at our base, the home we have, whether we like it or not. And I sit here now waiting until the next journey to Madrid. I sit trying to listen more deeply to what matter is saying to me. I no longer feel homeless. I know we have a place. I am more curious now to explore why, and how it is that the place we have is not the place we truly want.