Encounters: Fragments of memories

By SUSAN BUCKLAND

Something to remember us by, the curator had said. The Turkish vase he had given me was a replica of an artefact retrieved from an ancient shipwreck. The original was displayed in the Bodrum Castle Museum. I'd brought the vase home, treasured it and now a careless flick of a duster had sent it to the floor where it lay in pieces.

The curator had spoken eloquent English as he handed me the gift. I scrambled for a Turkish word to show my appreciation. Tesekkur ederim. Not the easiest foreign language thank-you. Especially as the words are pronounced differently from the way they look in print. Tehshenkk ewr ehdehreem is the phonetic way to go. But my attempt produced a smile. And I left the debonair curator standing in the shade of a tree in the castle courtyard.

You must climb the ramparts, he'd said. The breeze up there billowed my skirt like a balloon and flapped the brim of my hat. It whipped the surface of the Aegean Sea. The colours were dazzling. Deep blue against the whitewashed houses and brilliant bougainvillea tumbling down the hill. Long ago, the Knights of St John had chosen this alluring spot on the Turkish Coast to rebuild a mediaeval castle into a crusader monument. As I stood there, buffeted by the breeze, I thought of them hard at work and all those years before walking the same ramparts.

But Bodrum Castle is almost modern compared to the amphitheatre, visible above the whitewashed houses. Fourteen hundred years earlier, long before the knights arrived to impose their will on the infidel, the inhabitants had built an outdoor theatre above the town. Today, Selmin and Dr Zafer Basak, owners of a small hotel that takes its name from the theatre, are hoping that the Turkish Government will reroute the busy highway that roars past it. Performances would be able to take place there again. And audiences would be able to enjoy the entrancing views out over the Aegean, just as they did in the 4th century BC. Zafer, a university lecturer, has been lobbying the powers that be to move fast with a new route. Traffic fumes are eating away at the stone. Something must be done to save the theatre.

From the ramparts of the castle I watched the sun glance off the window of my room in Zafer and Selmin's hotel. That window frames the castle and it was the view that had made me impatient to set off and explore it. Then as I descended into the castle courtyard an excited child in fancy dress tugged his parents' hands. I asked if I could take their photo. The mum and dad in Muslim dress and their nine-year-old son in his fez and red cloak obliged. They spoke no English but managed to get across that the boy was being treated to a holiday before being circumcised. It was the tradition. Poor little mite, I thought. But he was preoccupied with castles and the prospect of visiting the Underwater Museum of Archaeology.

I took my vase out of its box to show them. And I promised to send them a copy of the photo. I hope it arrived safely. Now I'm off to an expert at repair. My Turkish vase is one that must be salvaged.