Gölyaka is one of those places that has the feel of the end of the world about it. The main road is lined with mud-brick and stone houses with pretty jutting-out cumbas (bay windows) but as we drive along its wide empty space there’s no getting away from the fact...
My taxi driver is not in a good mood. He doesn’t want to take me to Fasıllar, inland from Lake Beyşehir, because, he says, it will be muddy. On the other hand he doesn’t want to refuse outright either and risk losing the fare. We set off, then, in a...
Some years ago in a dusty antique shop in Beyşehir I was shown a black-and-white postcard of a strange, lumpy-looking block of stone standing in a pond. “It’s Eflatunpınar,” I was told which did not, at that time, mean anything to me. I think the word Hittite was also bandied...