Final Day in Gocek, Turkey

We took it easy this morning, as we decided to have a leisurely day of beach, brief touring, and just relaxing. Once again, we had a marvelous breakfast, put together effortlessly, by Hasan, of fresh figs, cheeses, toast, simits, olives, jams and socuk, Turkish sausage. And Hasan made his mother’s favorite Sunday morning dish, inch size chunks of day old bread, fried until browned in a fry pan, then pour four or five scrambled eggs over the bread, and cook until done. It tasted wonderful…so simple, so good. After breakfast, I hiked up the hill behind Hasan’s villa, to see the various other orchards, the view, the wonderful wooded countryside of the mountain above. It reminded me of my days in Greece, camping in pine forests, either on hillsides or beaches. I returned after a half hour, took a swim, and then we took off, for a brief tour of the mountain villages that surround his town of Gokceovacik, Little Valley. Peasant homes are mixed with a few homes of foreigners, who have decided either to live her full time or just summers. From Hasan’s terrace, we can see perhaps three or four, so it is still basically an untouched valley. Hasan knows everyone, is treated, I think, like a pasha. He has donated money to create a full time infirmary and nurse for the village; he has helped the mayor’s son get a more safe police job, his daughter get a job teaching in the area, so he has lots of favors to draw on if necessary. The village mayor came over early morning, perhaps our first day, to let Hasan know an adjoining property was now available, so Hasan most likely will buy it, to keep other builders abey as well as perhaps a site for homes for his sons. We drove for perhaps a half hour, just getting a feel for life in the mountains, stopping briefly at the area which Germans and Italians once used to mine minerals, magnesium, I think. We then headed down to the Swissotel beach, relaxed, swam, and had lunch at the café on the water. At Hasan’s recommendation, I had the kofte, spiced, with salad, sauce and salad, and Evie has a wondeful salad of white asparagus, salad, tomatoes, etc. We went back to the beach for a couple of hours, took naps, swam, had watermeloed served to all beach goers, and went back to his house around five. We showed, downloaded pictures and relaxed for an hour before Selim and Maria came over for a good bye drink. She brought fried apples, battered, dropped in a fry pan, browned, and the dusted with sugar and cinnamon. They were really good, as was the Martini Rossi Bianco which we are developing a taste for. Hasan and Selim had campraina, the Brazilian version of a mojito, while Maria had tea, as she is three months pregrant. Selim, as usual, was amusing in a funny, often shocking way, always critical of just about everything. The two of them don’t seem to agree on much, with her correcting him in non stop, Eastern European English, and he responding back, often disagreeing. They are a interesting pair and seem to crave conversation, as I assume running a hotel in the mountains can be isolating and boring, especially if, as Selim suggests, all his clients are fat people from Great Britain, drinking only juice five times a day to lose weight. He kept telling stories of a good friend who he visits in Oklahoma, an oil baron, who also married a young Ukrainian girl from Kieve; he has very funny stories about their visit to Oklahoma, especially his trip to Dallas, which ended up with a stay at the airport hotel and quick return, without seeing a thing. We said our good buys, went down to Gocek for the last time, bough a dish by a famous Turkish plate painter, walked a bit, bid good evening to our almond cart seller (fresh almonds on ice) and ate our final meal at our favorite spot, the West Café. A great white wine, a seafood pasta for me, Caesar salad for Evie, and a beautiful evening made it a perfect final meal. Hasan, as usual, had lots of stories, of people who knows, of things he fixed, of places he has been, of various connections he has made through school in Turkey, associations with the John Hopkins School, as well as those through his wife and business. He could also go to anywhere in Europe and know people to help. In fact, he is going back early Thursday to visit a good friend who is dying of cancer in London, his only reason for going back, to see his friend. He is a great guy and I can see why everyone seems to like him. Where ever we have gone, people see him coming, immediately run out and begin to talk; he takes time with all, whether a taxi driver, almond seller, waiter, parking attendant, or village chief, part of his success. He treats them all with respect, listens, shows interst, and always has something to say. He tends to remember people as well, brining a bayram gift of school supplies for his villa’s caretaker’s daughter. We drove home though the darkened mountains, had a final view of the city lights, and went to be by 11:00.