The first time I went to Alaçatı, on western Turkey’s Çeşme Peninsula, was 20 years ago. My boyfriend – now husband – and I were learning to windsurf. Back then, it was all you could do there, and a Miss Universe 2002 contestant – a champion Turkish windsurfer called Çağla Kubat – had brought the sport and the town into the national imagination. The bay south of Alaçatı is renowned as one of the best places in the world to learn. It’s shallow, which means newbies can easily jump back on their boards, and blows a steady, not-too-strong wind, always in the same direction. In those days, most people camped on the beach, though a handful ventured to sleepy Alaçatı town 10 minutes up the road. There wasn’t a lot to see. Just a cafe on the main square and lots of run-down or ruined stone houses peppered with For Sale signs – the sad remains of a once-thriving Greek town.
Windsurfing turned out to be a lot harder and less glamorous than Kubat had made it look. Having painfully learnt the fundamentals from a teenage instructor who screamed at me in exasperation from the shore every time I fell off, I headed home to Istanbul with a slightly dented ego. And tempted as I might have been by the dilapidated charms of Alaçatı town, I was reluctant to invest my minuscule funds in a place that had so little to offer. I’ve often kicked myself about that since.
A decade later, I returned. By this stage, Alaçatı had been discovered by the Turks. The windsurfers’ bay was no longer the focal point. Bona fide boutique hotels and excellent restaurants were creeping in. There were far fewer For Sale signs and much higher house prices. We had our toddler son with us, and it was our first proper family holiday. Instead of surfing, we wandered the streets, where every other house seemed to have the builders in. We stayed in a brand-new hotel, Alavya – named because its founder, Rana Erkan Tabanca, is half-English, half-Turkish, and it’s how her son used to pronounce “I love you”. It had 25 rooms, a small restaurant and a spa. I spotted a copy of Condé Nast Traveller in the lobby with an article in it about Alaçatı, and felt a pique at having been scooped.
Tom Parker
A decade later again, I returned to ring the changes, and was thrilled to find Alaçatı a destination in its own right, discovered by foreigners as well as Turks. The town was transformed. Ten years ago, Alavya stood out for offering rare creature comforts. Now, it faces competition from a legion of nature-inspired or antique-filled boutique hotels, a reimagined warehouse and a beach club with the essence of an Ibizan summer. I did have to squint a bit to see the quaint town of 20 years ago, but beneath the palimpsest of little stores and third-wave cafés, it retains its carefully preserved charms. The neighbourhood of Hacımemis still evokes the town of a decade prior. And the Pazaryeri Mosque, built in 1874 as a Greek Orthodox church, is possibly one of the only religious structures in the world to host both Muslim prayers and Christian masses. Alaçatı’s Hellenic beauty is still there.
Even better, it has become the epicentre of a new Turkish food scene. In 2013, celebrated chef Kemal Demirasal opened upmarket Alancha. The idea of fine dining in humble Alaçatı seemed daring and paradoxical at the time, but it proved to be a stroke of genius, as the stellar standard of the local seafood and produce, coupled with Demirasal’s creativity, swiftly turned Alaçatı into an unexpected hot spot. Soon after, the unthinkable happened: whereas in the past, Istanbul culinary institutions would open temporary summer venues on the Aegean to please their seasonal regulars, Alancha did a switcheroo and opened a branch in Istanbul. Alancha is sadly no more, but Demirasal’s success ultimately led him to London, where he opened The Counter restaurant. Inspired by Alancha, other entrepreneurial chefs in Alaçatı have followed suit: dozens of gorgeous old Greek houses now host restaurants serving Aegean fare with flair.
On this latest trip, my days tended to start with breakfast at the lovely Bom Dia, run by İpek and Yasemin Yılmaz, two cool sisters from Istanbul who don’t mind shaking up Bloody Marys and Bellinis with their fabulous all-day breakfasts. I’d drift to lunch at rustic AsmaYaprağı, serving Aegean home cooking in a huge garden, often followed by Da Franco for chocolate ice cream. I’d eat dinner at relaxed and romantic Eflatun, on a side street in town, or meet up with friends to feast on shared platters of mezze at Ortaya. One of them jokes that the salad greens are so fresh in Alaçatı that the crunch of the lettuce bothers guests at the next table.