Beneath my feet lies an ancient wine press, carved deep into the mountain’s limestone bedrock countless centuries ago. Around me, gnarled bush vines twist out of the rocky soil, some 80 or more years old. From this high plateau, more than 5,000 feet above sea level, the air feels fresher. The sky stretches endlessly overhead, a burning blue. Not far to the south, the bright turquoise of the Mediterranean echoes the sky.
While I could be in the vineyards of Priorat, Cinque Terre, or Provence, I’m not. I’m in a much older, much less well-known region: Turkey’s Mediterranean.
A Region Sought After for Centuries
Long before the Greeks and Romans built the cities to which tourists still flock today, people sought shelter in the caves around Turkey’s Mediterranean coast. Over millennia, the land filled with various voices. The Milyae in the mountains, the seafaring Termilae from Crete along the coast, Assyrians, and later, the fierce Lukka of Hittite records.
Greek settlers arrived after the Trojan War, building cities that flourished into Lycia, Pamphylia, and Pisidia. Alexander the Great conquered much of the area. The city of Antalya was founded during the kingdom of Pergamon. Later absorbed into the Roman Empire, it grew into a bustling Byzantine port.
Crusaders once sailed from its harbors. Seljuk Turks and Byzantines fought for its shores, and the Ottomans finally claimed it in the 15th century. It was folded into the new Republic of Turkey in the early 1920s.
Still Popular Today
Turkey’s Mediterranean is no less sought after today. During the height of tourist season, travelers come for sun-soaked beaches, the crystal waters of the Turquoise Riviera, adventure water sports, and famous Blue Cruises.
Resorts fill from May through September as Turks and foreigners alike flood coastal cities like Alanya, Kaş, Antalya, and Fethiye. Adventurous spirits hike all or part of the 470-mile-long Lycian Way, enjoying the beaches and ruins along the way.
Even amidst the summer chaos, one can find quiet places to visit. The Lycian ruins of Patara, Perge, and Olympus attract visitors in droves. Ruins like Kibrya and the Pisidian ruins of Sagalassos and Antioch whisper their timeless stories to those who venture to their more remote locations.
Turkey’s Mediterranean Wine Country
Those who throng to the Mediterranean solely for its crystal clear water, beaches, and archaeological sites miss one of the region’s greatest gems: its vineyards. At first glance, the hot climate might seem incongruous with growing quality grapes. However, the proximity of the sea and the mountains have this region emerging as a viticultural gem.
The Mediterranean traces Turkey’s southern eastward all the way to Hatay on the Syrian border. The rugged Taurus and Ammonos mountain ranges dominate the landscape as they descend into sun-warmed plains before surrendering to the sea.
Sea breezes and extreme elevation mitigate the heat. Marine-fossil-studded limestone lends the often-rare indigenous grapes a distinct sense of place.
Elmalı
Starting on a plateau in the western Taurus Mountains, the vineyards of Elmalı enjoy a far more inland climate with cold winters and hot summers. Elevations of over 3,600 feet allow them to benefit from sharp diurnal temperature changes.
Elmalı is a historic wine region that still bears traces of ancient Lycia, the lost civilization whose name the winery proudly carries. Likya Şarapları’s story took root in the late 1990s when Burak Özkan found a new life in wine. After attending Plumpton College, he returned to Turkey. He then joined forces with his brother, Doruk, a horticulture graduate from Akdeniz University. Together, they founded Likya in 2007.
What stands out at Likya is the rarity of several of the varieties it cultivates. It joins several other wineries in the noble attempt to bring back Turkish grapes from the edge of extinction. Likya has resurrected: Acıkara, Fersun, earthy and floral with juicy acidity and light body; Likya Işığı, a racy and mineral-driven white; Merzifon Karası, full of pomegranate and pepper; Tilki Kuyruğu, a “black” grape with such low anthocyanins that it only works for rosé; and more.
Their passion for giving forgotten varieties a voice again extends far beyond economics. It reflects their passion for their history and culture. Their belief that the grapes of old must still exist somewhere resulted in their very first “rescue,” Acıkara.
Research and rumor led them to a local shepherd whose animals grazed wild in the mountains. Through him, they discovered an old, possibly 200-year-old, Acıkara vine growing wild, high in the mountains, “married” to equally ancient trees. After planting cuttings closer to home and patiently nurturing them for years, the brothers were rewarded with a wine that added a whole new profile to Turkish flavors. Deeply black and intensely structured with intermingling flavors of black fruits and earth, this wine is what spurred the Özkans to continue their pursuit of lost grapes.
Mersin
Turkey’s largest port town, known for its beaches and resorts, has a subtropical Mediterranean climate, but its vineyards sit high in the Taurus Mountains between 2,950 and 4,600 feet.
Old bush vines, 80 years old or more, enjoy a unique microclimate that benefits from breezes blowing off the nearby Mediterranean and those coming down from the Taurus Mountains. While new plantings of international grapes grow here, the main focus is on a handful of lesser-known varieties specific to this area, including Ak Üzüm, Gök, and Patkara.
In 2005, Ali and Fatma Ay were lured by friends to the Çömelek village above Mersin. Enchanted by the quality of the local grapes and by the lingering evidence of millennia of wine cultivation, in the form of grape-processing areas carved into the rocks and grape-and-goblet motif reliefs on nearby ancient tombs, they took up the challenge to stay and make wine here.
In 2010, they officially established Tasheli Şarap. Despite being a small production winery, they have done much to bring Turkey’s attention to the local Gök and Patkara grapes and have learned a lot through their early trial-and-error winemaking efforts.
© Andrea Lemieux
Gök in particular has seen a revival thanks to Ali and Fatma. Not content to merely make a varietal wine with this aromatic white grape, the Ays experimented with blending it with the less assertive Ak grape and in making skin contact wine with it.
Tasheli’s first Orange Gök, produced in 2019, showed their hesitation over the new style: pale in every way. But each subsequent vintage showed its increased bravery with longer amounts of skin contact, culminating in a gently tannic wine of burning orange color and flavors of orange peel, tobacco flower, and dried peach. “Making wine is easy,” says Ali, “after the first 100 years.”
If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes two to make a winery. Opened in 2008 by Alaaddin and Sakine Ozasır, assisted by daughter Ebru, Selefkia Wine involves not only the Ozasır’s own vineyards, but those of the villagers based in Yenisu and Karacoğlan.
Orphaned as a child, Ozasır’s education was supported by revenue from his late father’s vineyards in Yenisu, which were worked by villagers on his behalf. Feeling he owed a debt to the people and the grapes, Ozasır began to reanimate the old vineyards in 1998.
Selefkia’s work has helped put regional grapes, in particular Patkara, on the map. This grape, which means “suddenly black” in Turkish, ripens quickly and creates lush wines with soft tannins and flavors of black and red fruits, spice, and earth.
Antakya
For most people, Antakya evokes images of beach resorts, not of vineyards. And yet, grapes thrive in Antakya’s hot Mediterranean climate and abundant sunshine, receiving 3,000 hours of sun every year.
Many people love wine, but few let that love reshape their lives. Uğur Aslan did. In 2017, this former banker bought a plot of Boğazkere in the Aegean Denizli district, built his winery Sagavin Bağcılık ve Şarapçılık, just outside the popular tourist city of Antalya, and never looked back.
Aslan took his inspiration for the winery’s name from history, fusing ‘saga’ and ‘vin’, the latter the Hittite word for wine, from which many modern cultures and languages derive their own word for wine. For if any culture can claim a saga about wine, it would be the Hittites, who produced wine in Turkey as far back as 1700 BC. Through Sagavin, that ancient tale continues, told once more through the glass.
Fueled by his connection to the land and its history, Aslan pulls grapes from around the country, using different varieties to write a new chapter in the Saga of Hittite wine.
In the east of Antakya, in Hatay, is Antioche Bağları. The winery, founded in 2007 by Abud Abdo, stands as his monument to not only his own love of wine but also to the region’s strong wine culture. He says, “Wine has to be in you. It is in our blood to produce homemade wine.”
This is true for Abud, who grew up helping his grandparents make wine at home. As an adult, he also made it at home for friends and family. But the pull of wine was greater than just a hobby, prompting him to establish Antioche.
His vineyards are a mix of international and local varieties, but his triumph is Barburi. This local grape was almost lost before Antioche’s team located a few remaining wild vines and took cuttings for the vineyard. It was with Barburi that his grandparents made wine, and that memory sent him hunting for cuttings. Only here in Hatay, known as one of Turkey’s greatest food cities, could such a grape exist. The richness of the local cuisine reflects in – and pairs well with – the mouth-filling, silky flavors of black fruits, pepper, and flowers that Barburi wines offer.
The Hospitality of Turkish Wine Country
Here in wine country, more than anywhere else, the region’s relaxed rhythm, traditions, and cuisine truly shine. Turks are naturally hospitable, but the warmth of the Mediterranean seems to heighten this generosity. Every encounter feels like an invitation to slow down, share a meal, and savor life’s simple pleasures.
Standing among ancient vines and limestone presses carved by unknown hands, it’s impossible not to feel the weight and wonder of time here. Turkey’s Mediterranean has always drawn in people: conquerors, traders, pilgrims, travelers. Today, it continues to welcome those searching not for empire or conquest, but for connection.
In these mountains and along the sunlit coasts, wine is more than a drink. It’s a thread that ties the past to the present—a reflection of a region that moves to its own timeless rhythm. Here, life, like the wine, unfolds slowly, generously, and with warmth that lingers long after the last glass is empty.
If You Go
Turkey’s Mediterranean is an all-season destination. But be prepared for some smaller hotels or restaurants to be closed during the winter. Roads are generally in excellent condition, but it does snow in the mountains, so pay attention to the weather and road conditions.
The best way to approach Turkey’s Mediterranean is by flying into the Antalya airport and renting a car. Tours can be found to many of the sites within the city. But to get to the more out-of-the-way ruins, museums, and all the wineries, you’ll want your own transportation. Cars can be easily rented online for pickup at the airport when you arrive.
Google Maps is going to be your friend, as there’s a lot of driving. Sagavin and Likya are closest to the Antalya airport. The others require several hours drive to the west for Tasheli and Selefkia and to the east for Antioche.
Even though famed Turkish hospitality is on extra display in this part of the country, make sure to make appointments with the wineries ahead of time. These are largely small-scale producers that, while welcoming visitors, don’t have dedicated staff to greet unannounced visitors.
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