We would like to keep going further east, but Syria is not that stable right now and we are running out of time. Antalya is the furthest we will get this season. It is a city like many others in this area that has been around since the first century and has a pedigree that includes the Romans, Byzantines, Ottomans, Italians and finally the Turks. There is a fairly new harbor that handles all the commercial shipping, ferries and most of the visiting yachts. But it is at the far end of town, miles from the city center. We really want to stay in the tiny old fortified Roman port. It is a long shot but we roll the dice and head to the old port. And in typical can-do Turkish attitude, they find a place for us, help us with the mooring lines and make sure we have everything we need. So we find ourselves surrounded by small brightly painted fishing boats, traditional Turkish gullets and a stoned wall fortification rising a couple hundred feet around us. The call to prayer echoes every couple of hours as young kids cool off by swimming in the harbor water.
It’s father’s day so Steve and I treat ourselves by visiting the local Haman that is over 600 years old. We get a rough body scrub, followed by a soap down a drenching from the marble carved basins and finishing up with an oil massage that is more like a oil beating. The guy giving the massage takes his fist and pounds the stress away. Is all I can think about besides the pain is what color my legs are going to be when this is over. It is a bit tense, but I do feel incredibly better. Afterwards we relax at a little restaurant for a soft drink and home made apple tart made by the hostess’s mother. It is Turkey at its finest.
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