We delved into savings to have a week-long family holiday in an all-inclusive resort. The hotel in question was near Antalya on the south coast of Turkey, although as you will read, the fact that it was in Turkey is of virtually no consequence. I have not named the resort, preferring to describe the experience rather than “advertise” the hotel.
Service and surroundings
Service was impeccable. The oft-cited adage that Turkish staff would even wipe your bottom for you may be a slight exaggeration but never, even in 35C (shade reading, higher in the sun where many poor souls had to toil) did any employee betray the slightest impatience.
The only irritation was the porter who took our bags to our room and then stood smiling, arms folded, waiting for a tip. I had no change on me at the time. We stood staring at each other for about 20 seconds. He then tinkered around with the air conditioning and reverted to the same position, arms folded. I still had no change. He opened the mini-bar and proudly showed us the contents. Still no joy. He eventually left, looking broken-hearted.
The whole resort, I have to say, was pristine – meticulously, even clinically, clean. You felt if you accidentally dropped a cigarette that it would mysteriously be ushered away – as ’twere – by angels. In reality, a squad of cleaners probably lurked behind every hedge, waiting to pounce if the ground was in any way sullied.
Unfortunately, staff spoke little English, this particular resort not being marketed towards the Brits. Everyone seemed to assume that I spoke German. When we booked an evening meal at an a la carte fish restaurant within the complex, for example, a message was slipped through our door, scribbled in German, explaining that our reservation had to be moved.
All the beaches in our area were cordoned off to the general public. The sand was a little too dark and volcanic for my liking. The sea was very warm and the pool over-heated to such an extent that it was hotter than the sea; it felt as though you were climbing into a bath. A security guard patrolled the beach, perhaps looking for Al Qaeda operatives determined to extract revenge on spoiled Western holidaymakers. Or, given the current political climate, watching out for Mossad spies, perhaps?
A nice children’s pool included water slides. The trampoline and games area required payment. Other entertainment included children’s painting, pool games, mini-golf and post-dinner shows, including some very talented circus performers and dancers. The animation team seemed mostly Russian.
All rooms were air conditioned but had slightly hard beds. The hotel we stayed in was wonderfully airy and spacious with high, imposing ceilings and full internet access in the vast lobby area. People in nearby souvenir shops were also very polite.
Food and drink
A hungry “prisoner” is an angry one but in our resort there was more chance of dying through over-consumption than anything else. It was a veritable gourmet’s – or glutton’s – paradise. All main meals offered a hot and cold buffet laden with every conceivable delicacy. A poolside bar service between meals offered jacket potatoes, hamburgers and chips, as well as ice-dipped cucumber and water melon – perfect for a hot day. Even dinner proper was not the end of the story, followed as it was by a “late dinner” at around midnight.
I witnessed some grotesque displays of greed – and I admit to being somewhat food-obsessed myself – as fatties piled their plates to the ceiling. I was minded to poke one of them in the belly button. Or wear my “lose weight now, you fat cow” T-shirt, targetting appropriately obese parties. I wisely desisted.
In addition to the buffet there were also a la carte restaurants where you pay 10 euro a person on the first booking, excluding your child, to sample exclusively Italian or Turkish fare, or fish. The salmon and seafood at the fish restaurant were exquisite.
Although not everyone was voraciously greedy, any all-inclusive holiday is definitely geared to over-eating. It’s like one of those cruises whereby no sooner have you recovered from a massive lunch than you are steered towards afternoon tea. Not that I have ever been on such a cruise, I hasten to add.
I did worry what happened to the massive amounts of food that remained uneaten on hotel tables after diners had departed. Was it in some possible way recycled (a forlorn expectation I fear), consumed by staff, or at least devoured by animals? If it were thrown away, it would be a crime.
All soft and alcoholic drinks were included in the all-inclusive package, barring expensive imported spirits. Wine was served by the glass at the table. Attentive waiters at the buffet quickly deduced that one glass was insufficient for me and refreshed my glass immediately. Not as much drunkenness as you’d expect, the only explanation being the absence of Brits. Bottles of – one assumes – superior wine could be ordered at the a la carte restaurants, but at a price.
Authenticity
None whatsoever. These are artificial resorts in the middle of nowhere, some owned by Russian billionaires, vast structures built to resemble buildings in Red Square, and even a miniature Venice. A taxi would take you to Antalya (in Turkey!!) for 60 euro return, otherwise you were stranded in what we came to call “the luxurious lock-up”. One Bulgarian holidaymaker said to me: “Who needs to go out? It’s so nice in the hotel”. Depends on what you want from a holiday, of course.
If you want to over-eat, gaze at immaculately tendered lawns, lush bougainvillea, banana trees and jacaranda (ah – the undeniably beautiful colours of the south!) and generally enjoy a sybaritic, supine existence for a week, then it’s great. If it’s Turkey you want to see – I mean the actual country of Turkey – go elsewhere. The only things reminding you of Turkey were the flag on the beach, the fact that so many waiters were called Kamel and, of course, the food, although in reality much of it is not that different from Bulgarian food. Then again, many people when they are really tired and only have a week’s holiday, don’t really care where they are going.
The pristine nature of the resort reminded me of complexes like Quinta do Lago in the Algarve, although this was on a much grander scale.
My time in Portugal, by the way, brought some marvellous conversations illustrating the appalling ignorance of some (invariably British) holidaymakers.
“Is Portugal in Spain?” was perhaps my all-time favourite.
Or another gem, asked at least twice of me in Southern Portugal – “can we make a tour of the island”?
Anyway, at these all-inclusive “jobs” you are definitely encouraged to stay within the grounds of the hotel. Leave the complex and an altogether different aroma greeted you, muddied waters and donkey dung and a sudden onslaught of mosquitoes, that were strangely absent from hotel grounds. Was it that the vegetation was carefully cultivated to deter them or that they had been mysteriously erased from the air? The latter, I suspect.
Weather
The best time to visit Antalya would probably be around September, even October or late spring. Average July/August highs of about 35 degrees and overnight lows of 23 settle down to 28/18 respectively by early autumn. The sea remains warm until November.
Nights tend to be somewhat soupily sticky in the summer, although you feel it less by the water. Southern Portugal, by contrast, where I lived for a number of years, is more comfortable at night – although on an identical latitude – because of the Atlantic.
One of the PR ladies in the hotel in Antalya told me that in winter some people venture to the beach, and that “on some days it can get up to 30 degrees”, which was glib propaganda, I suspect – but I’d guess anything above 15 degrees has Russians or Scandinavians stripping off. In the winter, I’m told, Antalya is also home to many visiting football teams.
The nice things about Antalya is that it is so near Sofia* – only one hour and 20 minutes away by air – but a world away from Bulgaria’s nasty winters.
Nationality
Mostly Dutch, Germans and Russians, the latter substituting for the absent Brits as the bearers of the whitest bodies on the beach. Everywhere you looked there were long-legged Dutch women, all quite beautiful. The Dutch, nice folk that they are, even kept their spirits up when they were beaten in the World Cup final during our stay. Had that been Brits on holiday (not that England would ever have reached the final of ANY major football tournament) then doubtless there would have been tables upturned, vomiting and the odd fracas. I spent the best part of a week marvelling at the incredible height of some Dutch people. I’m 6 foot 2 but found myself “looking up” to one Amazonian-looking lady.
The prize for the grumpiest holidaymakers was easily won by the Russians; everyone seemed to be having a good time except stern-looking Muscovites who wandered around like KGB interrogators, chastising their children.
Turkish holidaymakers seemed refined and gentle, the women, particularly the elders, often sensibly sheltered under hijabs. No Israelis were at the resort as far as I could see.
By the way, it’s best not to carry an Israeli Star of David bedecked beach towel at the moment if you are so inclined, given the sharp deterioration in relations. Use common sense and remember that sensibilities are a bit strained right now.
We left after one week, feeling suitably refreshed and as pampered as a Park Lane pet poodle. It was a great holiday. Next year we plan to visit Turkey. For the first time.
*EU citizens need passports to travel to Turkey. An ID card is insufficient. British visitors also need a visa. I did not realise this and had to pay 15 euro at the airport.
Sourse:Gabriel Hershman
