I hate snobs who refuse to visit anywhere frequented by GB plates and people in M&S swimwear. They are elitist, because when it comes to summer sun most of us are looking for the same thing.
We want a gorgeous little bolthole in the Med, preferably with a direct flight and room-with-a-view, sophisticated enough to chill the wine properly and serve up something better than a greasy kebab, yet rustic enough to still have some ethnic charm. Mountain scenery, unpolluted sea and, if you don't have children, brat-free zones all score high on the wish-list.
Last year in Turkey's Bozburun Peninsula, I scored high on all the above, and had a lot of giggles and some heartwarming moments. We stayed at a new hotel called Dionysus above a just-about-discovered village called Kumlubuk, a couple of bays on from Turunc, discovered but definitely not spoilt. It's more a clifftop village than a hotel with 42 separate 'cottages'. Owners Ahmet and Rim Senol bought the mountain and had it scooped out.
Naming your hotel after the Greek god of wine, ecstasy and fertility is aiming high, but it seems apt, if only for the dizzying view. Dionysus hangs 200 metres above a sheer gorge, like a mini-Wild West canyon, peeking through a gauzy heat haze down to Kumlubuk. Elitists should note that it is about an hour by road, half an hour by boat, from the loutish horrors of Marmaris. The village beach attracts a few visiting grockles at lunchtime, but stick to the mountains and the hotel's stunning infinity-edge pool and you stand more chance of a snowstorm than a pair of Union Jack shorts.
The laughs came early one perfect morning when we hauled ourselves up to go walking with Burak. We were willing guinea pigs on an organised programme of walking breaks with Tapestry Holidays. Burak was unfailingly polite, but tended to rush his words and kept referring to old ladies in 'love stockings'. Every time he said it I had to jump behind a rock in fits of giggles. It was ages before we realised he was saying 'livestock handlings'.
In his idiosyncratic English he was trying to illustrate a dubious theory as to why Turkish village women age faster than men. 'Here the women do all the work - the carpet weaving, livestock handlings and wood collecting. This is why they are aged by the sun. The men do not work so hard. They sit all day drinking in cafés. But their job is important as they protect the women, children and money. This is why our cities are so safe - because the men are always looking out for strangers,' he said gravely.
There wasn't an easy leap across this cultural divide, so we concentrated on picking our way across abandoned wheat terraces to a rest-stop in an emerald grotto formed by a clump of pines. The air smelt cloyingly sweet of herbs and pine resin. We were sitting in a bouquet garni of bay, oregano and thyme. At first, I thought the ringing in my ears was due to the climb, but it was the background drone of what must have been millions of honey bees.
Every few hundred yards in the Bozburun (they should rename it Buzburun) you find clusters of hives painted the same sky blue.
Burak took us high through the pines, then past the tree-line to limestone boulders, sprouting with alpines and more herbs. The view - no roads, no pylons, no people, only a sprinkling of yachts - was a Mediterranean dreamscape of harsh white rocks, softened by green, stubby fingers of coastline curling round small, boat-only coves, with ink-blot-shaped islands fading into a wavy horizon.
We were heating up along with the day and jumped at Burak's suggestion of a cold drink back down in the valley. He took us to an unexpected Hansel & Gretel house in a forest clearing, owned by Murat, a handsome Turk, and Marion, his German wife. They've built an attractive ramshackle bar in their backyard and serve al fresco drinks to about three small walking parties a week. They said they don't put a sign on the nearby minor road because they don't like mass tourism.
They've lived in their hidy hole, which they built themselves, for about six years. The only sounds from their garden are the birds and the bees. Apart from occasional walkers, their only visitors are deer, boar and porcupines. Marion, once a dollmaker and stage designer in Munich, took me into the house which was festooned with drying herbs and bizarre oversized puppets.
'Children in Turkey don't have dolls or puppets,' she told me, 'so they are curious. A lot of the older people don't like them as they think they are bad ghosts.' As we left, she pressed a small, homemade herb pillow into my hands. Its fragrance lingers still and provides me with an instant flashback.
By now, we were mesmerised by Bozburun's buzzing mountains and hired a car to explore further. Once beyond Turunc we were freewheeling. We stopped to buy honey, photograph a chameleon crossing the road or just admire the views. We met other tourists just once, in the inland village of Bayir, where the square is dominated by a huge plane tree, reported to be 2,000 years old. It inevitably attracts gimcrack sellers and happy snappers.
At lunchtime, we found ourselves in a sleepy seaside resort called Selimiye. Taking pot luck on a restaurant, we found we'd gone posh. Toothpaste white yachts owned by wealthy Turks were bobbing next to the jetty. The tables, dressed in immaculate saffron linen and gleaming crystal, were surrounded by giant banana plants - more Tenerife than Turkey. But here the living is easy on British pockets and you can always afford the classiest joint in town. We had mixed meze for starters, followed by sinful chips cooked in olive oil, salad and grilled sea bass. Even with wine, water, ice creams and a generous tip it still came to less than £20 for two.
Next day, we returned to the mountains with a picnic. Even though we were on a road linking two villages we counted two cars an hour as we lost ourselves in the birdsong and the view - and, of course, the buzz.
Factfile
Jill Hartley travelled to the Hotel Dionysus in Kumlubuk and the Bozburun Peninsula with Tapestry Holidays (020 8235 7777). One week's B&B at the Hotel Dionysus, including return flights from Gatwick to Dalaman and a complimentary day sail on the hotel's gulet, costs from £675 per person until 13 July, then from £750 until 26 October.
