My favourite memory of Akyaka? The second evening of our most recent visit: the beach floodlit by the last embers of a flaming sunset, the mountains that stand sentry around the town softening into deep purple hues. Before our eyes, all was transformed: sunloungers stacked away, waiters whisking back and forth with tables, menus and small rechargeable lamps. A little further along, in one of the bar areas on the beach, a trio of Turkish women, their hair in shades of pepper and smoke, sat with their toes in the sand, happily knitting. I recalled other beaches in Turkey, where oligarchs and influencers preen and pose, and thought – yes, this is exactly where I want to be.
Akyaka – a small town, huddled on the eastern end of blue-washed Gökova Bay – is an old friend of mine. Thirty years ago, working as a holiday rep, I visited on a weekly basis, popping in to see the handful of clients who were staying at simple pansiyons (small B&Bs) in the town. Back then … well, actually, back then it wasn’t that different from today, which is something that can’t be said about many of the Turkish villages and small resorts I knew in the mid-1990s.
Of course, Akyaka has changed to some degree: more houses and hotels, the beach has been extended, and it’s now a major kitesurfing destination (more on that later), but it’s still got a lovely slow-paced, slightly ramshackle, properly authentic feel.
Part of that, I think, is due to its status as one of Turkey’s “slow towns”; a concept that focuses on preserving local traditions and culture, promoting quality of life and generally swerving all the worst excesses of tourist development. The town’s vibe is also partly the legacy of the Turkish poet and architect Nail Çakirhan, who retired there in 1971 and built a house that blended traditional Ottoman design with local materials. Others followed his lead, revitalising local crafts, most notably carpentry, and by the 1990s, the architectural standards established by Çakirhan were brought in for most new properties. The result is streets lined with elegant houses, their wood-carved balconies spilling over with bougainvillea, and not a modern, glass-walled box in sight.
It wasn’t until 2022 that I went back to Akyaka for a proper visit, with my husband, Mark – and promptly fell in love. The lack of big all-inclusive or sprawling resort hotels means it’s still mostly the preserve of Turkish tourists, who come for the fish restaurants that flank the banks of the sparkling Azmak River, to hike the paths that weave their way through the Akyaka orman (forest) that rises up from the western end of the beach, or simply to sit and knit their way through the day on the beach.
Since then, we have always stayed at the İskelem Otel, on the other side of the pine forest, a few minutes’ drive out of town. It’s one of three little hotels set on a small bay that opens out on to the gulf, and we were unsure at first; disappointed to find sunloungers on a wooden jetty and a lawned area, rather than a beach. But the warm, if surprised (“English? You are … English?”), welcome from Müjgan, İskelem’s charming receptionist, the glorious views from our bedroom, and the swift delivery of ice-cold Efes beer soon allayed any concerns. At night, the İskelem pulls a similar trick to Akyaka’s beach: sunloungers are swapped for linen-clad tables flickering with candlelight for dinner on the jetty surrounded by the sea.
And what dinners we’ve eaten: sea bream, crispy-skinned and tangy with lemon and salt; spiced Adana kebabs, the lamb smooth and dense; silky aubergine; yoghurt thick with garlic; and baklava that sticks to our fingertips and sends us to bed buzzing with sugar and honey and sticky pistachio filling. In the mornings, the gluttony continues, with more than a dozen dishes brought to the table: crispy börek (filo rolls) filled with feta cheese; neat piles of scarlet tomatoes and leafy parsley; honey; jams; omelette still sizzling from the pan. I tell myself a ferocious hour of paddleboarding will work it off, while Mark, who usually has a more taxing morning planned, tucks in with gusto.
For Mark, all of Akyaka’s beauty is trumped by the fact that it’s also one of the Med’s leading watersports destinations. The thermic winds that blow across the gulf from May to November rise in the late morning every day, regular as clockwork, always onshore, usually between 15 to 18 knots (all key factors, apparently). About 10 minutes’ drive out of town, Akçapinar Beach billows with branded kite-surf flags. By early afternoon, the sky is filled with dozens of brightly coloured canvas crescents whisking through the breeze, pulling tiny figures along in their wake. The shallow, sandy beach makes it a great spot for first-timers, whether kiting or wing-foiling.
Beyond the town and its blustery beach, there is much to explore: Göcek, with its gulets (wooden vessels) and sleek, sailing-hub vibe; the still, blue waters of Lake Köyceğiz, flanked by forests of sweetgums, perfect for a gentle, shady walk; and on Thursdays, Muğla market, the best in the region, which involves a breathtaking drive of switchbacks and hairpin bends up into the mountains. It is a world away from the knock-off handbags and “cheaper than M&S” patter that characterises more touristy markets.
Finding these authentic experiences is, for me, a key part of holidaying in Turkey these days. The truth is, the country is changing; what used to be a come-one, come-all summer sun destination has morphed into something far more fractured: part playground for the super-rich, with Maldivian-style luxury resorts that top £1,000 a night; part one-stop shop for health tourists seeking anything from hair transplants to gleaming veneers; part all-inclusive ghetto, with sprawling resorts where most guests never venture beyond the lobby. Hyperinflation and President Erdoğan’s economic policies mean prices are constantly increasing – and these are inevitably passed on to visitors, meaning Turkey is no longer the budget destination it once was.
But the good news is there are still places, like Akyaka, that refuse to be pigeonholed into those categories. And if you find a resort that mainly caters to a domestic clientele, you’ll find more reasonable prices. One of our favourite places to eat is the Azmak Çorba Salonu, where fresh-baked pide (Turkish pizza), sizzling grilled chicken and a parsley salad, tangy with sumac, costs about £30 for two.
If you’re looking for late-night cocktail bars, Michelin-esque restaurants or swanky spa resorts – and there are plenty of all three in Turkey these days – Akyaka won’t be for you. It’s not polished or glitzy, but my goodness, it’s beautiful. It’s Turkish coffee and simit (Turkish bagels) for breakfast, eaten while flicking through the Daily Sabah (an English-language newspaper); it’s backgammon on the jetty in the lazy hours of the afternoon; and it’s iced glasses of Efes as the sun dips and Gökova Bay glows iridescent blue and silver. Akyaka is the kind of place that makes me think – why would I go anywhere else in Turkey? Who knows, I might even take up knitting.
Rooms at the İskelem cost from £105-£260 B&B. In town, the beachfront Yücelen has traditional Ottoman design (doubles from £95 B&B). Rates correct at the time of going to press