Turkey’s Antalya is a city soaked in history, surrounded by the Taurus Mountains overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. With its ancient quarters juxtaposing modern sections, Antalya is best explored on foot.We began our excursion at the historic quarter, Kaleiçi, which is dotted with decaying minarets, old stone and wooden houses reminiscent of the Greek and Ottoman architecture, shops selling souvenirs and sleepy cats. Manoeuvring the winding lanes was easy but ignoring the scent of freshly-brewed coffee from the cafés was not.
Walking past the Broken Minaret of the now ruined Korkut Mosque, we learned about the trials and tribulations it has withstood: first, it was a Roman temple, then a Byzantine church, later converted into a mosque and a minaret constructed to mark its presence, which again became a church, before finally assuming into a mosque. The site is the evidence of the many ruling dynasties that reigned.
We exited Kaleiçi to take the Antalya Harbour Lift, one of the latest additions to the city’s modern side, for spectacular views of the Roman-era harbour. In the past, this was the centre point of all action. It thrived through the Roman, Byzantine, Seljuk Turks and Ottoman empires. Now, it is a tourist spot and marina for yachts.
Then, we arrived at the Atatürk Boulevard in the city centre to marvel at Hadrian’s Gate—a spectacular Roman edifice built to commemorate emperor Hadrian’s visit to Antalya. The architecture is evocative of the Greek, Seljuk and Ottoman eras. Here, we met Genghis who had a cartful of nuts—almonds, chickpea, peanuts, corn—all coated with sesame, sugar and spices. He was persuasive and we ended up buying an assorted packet for 15 Liras. Then, we met Salim who sold strawberries, blueberries, blackberries and cherries—luscious and tempting. But we slid past him and walked down the narrow cobbled streets to find our way to the main street.
As we paused to admire orange trees, we noticed an empty yet inviting alley. We walked down and spotted a quaint-looking bookshop which had a motif of an owl and a board that read—Books Livres Bücher (in English, French and German). It was an Ottoman House of two rooms but almost in a shambles. The door was tattered, green, and wide open, as if to say enter at your own risk. The glass panels were blurry with layers of dust, sill and grime. A little pot of wilting flowers added some colour to the otherwise mucky room.
There was no sign of a doorbell. BWut when we called out for the owner, Kemal Özkurt, he emerged from the backyard and glared at us. We attempted to make conversation but he turned us away. What caught our attention were the books that lay everywhere—on the walls and the shelves, on the table and the floor. They were literally stuffed in corners, some even falling off the racks, but in no discernible order.
We joyfully spotted a green spine of Harlan Coben, a bright pink spine of Peter James, an Evil Games by Angela Marsons, a Henning Mankell, DBC Pierre, and a copy of A Traitor to Memory by Elizabeth George amidst all the gloom. It seemed more like a personal library of sorts rather than a bookshop.We learned that the books were hand-me-downs from visitors across the world. They were either for sale or exchange. Locally known as The Owl Bookshop, the ragged house with its chipped walls and rooms full of books is perhaps the strangest bookshop one can come ever across.