When Bev first flicked through a holiday brochure in 1994, she had no idea she was about to change her life forever. Didim looked appealing with sunshine, a pretty beach, and most importantly, the right price.

That holiday introduced her not only to the town but also to her future husband, Metin, when Bev came back the following year.

Back in those “dark ages,” before the internet, keeping in touch across countries meant writing letters and even faxing. Bev laughs at the memory. “We were writing and faxing all the time after I met Metin. Then in June 1996, I moved here permanently. Next year will be 30 years – I feel like one of Didim’s founding fathers!”

Life in the 1990s

Bev remembers just how hard it was in those early days. “The first winter I spent here, I didn’t speak to anyone except Metin for six months. All the English speakers had gone back to the UK. The seafront was completely closed. Not a single light, just stray cats and dogs. When the season started, I was like, finally, I can talk to people again!”

Everyday life was far from easy. “Nobody in the banks or shops spoke English, and there weren’t many other British people. The back roads were just dirt tracks: mud baths in winter, dust bowls in summer. There was one road into town, and that was it. No Marina Road, no top end of Ege Road.”

Shops and services were limited too. “There wasn’t even a supermarket. I remember when Carrefour and Migros opened. The hospital didn’t come until 1999. Before that, the nearest was in Söke. If you gave birth in Didim back then, it had to be on a Tuesday by caesarean, because that was the one day a doctor came from Söke. If you went into labour any other day, you were on your own!”

From village to town

While some of these memories sound hair-raising, Bev admits the small-town charm was special. “I liked it best ten years ago. Back then I knew every street. Now Didim has got so big you could drop me somewhere and I wouldn’t know where I was. It used to feel like a village where everyone knew each other.”

Still, many improvements have made life easier. “Supermarkets and the hospital, all of that has made a huge difference. And I like that along the seafront, the music you hear is Turkish now. It’s become a Turkish town again, and that’s not a bad thing.”

The challenges of growth

With progress has come pressure. “The town is too busy in summer. Driving is a nightmare, parking impossible. I usually give up and leave the car in Migros. They should make the town centre one-way – not pedestrianised, because you need to think of people with mobility issues, but more manageable.”

She wishes accessibility was given more thought. “In Kos they’ve got a little train that runs along the seafront. Something like that here would make such a difference for people like Metin, who can’t walk long distances, and for older residents. I can’t remember the last time we went down to the seafront because it’s too far from where we can park.”

Other changes have been harder to accept. “There are too many hotels being built, like the ones planned around Third Beach and the marina. Bigger isn’t always better. Back in the day, the Turks would walk up and down the seafront with ice creams or sunflower seeds, sitting outside restaurants and listening to music. It felt more community-driven.”

And then there’s the issue of campers. “Since COVID there are lots of caravans and tents, but they’re often in places without toilets or bins, and they leave rubbish or worse behind. It’s not nice when you’re plogging.”

Treasured memories

Despite her frustrations with modern Didim, Bev’s love for the town is deep and lasting. She and Metin bought their home in Parlementerler 20 years ago and still enjoy it.

“Buying the boat was a fond memory,” she says, smiling. “Metin retiring was lovely too. My parents even lived here for a while. They’re both buried here now, two Londoners laid to rest in Turkey. I’m glad they spent their last years here.”

Community life has shifted over the decades. “Twenty years ago we had a wonderful group of expats. Thirty or 40 of us would go out for dinner together every week. Over time, people moved away, went back to the UK or Spain, or sadly passed away. I do miss that.”

Yet Bev has built new routines. “I enjoy plogging and being part of Chatty Chicks. Life changes, but there are still ways to stay connected.”

After three decades in Didim, Bev has seen it all: from empty beaches and dirt tracks to traffic jams and supermarkets. What hasn’t changed is her affection for the town she’s called home since 1996. “It’s different now, yes. But it’s still lovely.”