Kusadasi: who’s looking sheepish now? On arrival at our destination after a four-hour flight and a three-hour transfer from the airport by rickety minibus, I was unfortunate enough to be sitting next to a rather large perspiring Yorkshireman. On seeing the first drop-off point – at some rather shabby-looking apartments – he happened to declare that the place looked more like Beirut without the war than the idealistic holiday destination that we had booked, known as Kusadasi in Turkey. Admittedly, the place looked at best “unfinished”, and after driving round for a while in the minibus dropping off unsuspecting Brits at their places of residence for the forthcoming week or two, we arrived at our hotel. After an uneventful check-in, we proceeded to our room, which as well as being about as big as a store cupboard, was unbearably hot. It must have been about 120C in there. Quickly exiting the oven-like conditions and heading into the resort, we were accosted by a couple of eager locals looking to sell us leather jackets. To even have tried one on in that baking heat would have been something like going onto the beach wrapped