Intrepid traveller... Snow bunny

As I type I lie cocooned under three heavy woollen blankets, in the white tiled bedroom of our hotel in Dalyan. The temperature outside is just a fraction above freezing and rain has been teeming intermittently all afternoon.

Thankfully, the electricity is back on. It enjoyed a brief interlude a short while ago, as it seems that everything here is on a timer, and our visit (and subsequent desire for warmth and running water) just isn’t in the winter schedule. We’re all eagerly awaiting the hot water – set to turn on at 8pm – although I don’t fancy the chances of it staying hot long enough for all eight of us to shower.

Dalyan is a little town that needs to be seen in the summer months. On the banks of a river and overlooked by a cliff face cut with Lycian tombs, it’s just a short boat ride to İztuzu beach: the site of one of the few remaining nesting grounds for sea turtles.

But in February the turtles are nowhere to be seen, and the nearby Sultaniye hot springs are closed. While the place swarms with chavvy-tourists during spring and summer – evidence of their seasonal-occupation seen now in the emptied swimming pools and castaway sun chairs – for us Dalyan is more of a pit stop en route to Olympos.

Today we battled another 7-hour bus journey, even passing through a snowstorm. At first I took a few pictures out of the window, thinking no one back home would believe we’d lucked-out with more snow in Turkey, but when the bus pulled to a stop atop a mountain in the middle of nowhere I realised once again the power of the elements.

Praise Allah, one of his handy followers was onboard and he hopped out to help the driver put on some snow chains. At one point the bus started to slide a bit and our guide, Chloe, jumped up to reapply the handbrake. Crisis averted, it was still enough to shock us all with visions of ourselves being thrown, cocktail shaker-like, headfirst off the cliff.

Amid the excitement I managed to take a few more snaps. Later when Our Saviour took his exit he handed me his card as he mumbled something in Turkish. I turned and looked quizzically at a young guy who I hoped might speak some English; he reassured me that the man was simply asking for me to send him a copy of the photos I’d taken – not propositioning me for wifedom. I flourished a smile and a thumbs-up in agreement. After all, without his help we’d likely still be snowed-in atop a mountain!