The Minoans made wine here in the 20th century B.C.,” said Ergin Ince, the guide that one of my hotels, Six Senses Kaplankaya, had secured for me for a tour of the ancient cities of Priene, Melitus, and Didyma. “But they mixed it with honey and water because it was sour.”
I had arrived at the resort after several days of exploring Turkey’s Aegean coast, where I had seen many vase-shaped clay vessels used by the Minoans to carry wine on display at archaeological museums. I can attest that plenty of wine is still made in the area — more than half of the country’s wine, in fact — and it’s far better than it must have been 4,000 years ago.
I had planned to explore the region around the port city of Izmir, then head two hours south to the sites around Bodrum. I had heard that drives around Izmir were long and not always scenic. Luckily, there were wineries along the way that offered elegant respites from car time. For a multiday loop to sites like Hierapolis and Ephesus, I booked stops at tasting rooms, where I could sip the fruit of the vines growing around me, often alongside a terrific meal.
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From left: Courtesy of Nif Winery/Türkiye Tourism; Matthew Figg/Alamy
Day 1
My first stop was Isabey Vineyard. From 1925 until 2004, Tekel, a state-owned company, dominated Turkish wine production. Among the few wineries able to compete was Sevilen, founded in 1942 by Bulgarian immigrant Isa Guner. Isabey, its Sauvignon Blanc estate, is located near the Aegean Sea, where the salty breeze helps the grapes develop a lip-smacking acidity. The vineyard’s restaurant was closed on a Monday, but I was content with sampling a few of the more than 30 wines, including an unoaked red called Nativus. Full of black-cherry flavor and with coffee-like tannins, it’s made from Kalecik Karası grapes. Turkish wine isn’t typically exported to the U.S., so vineyards and wineries like Sevilen offer American travelers like me the unique opportunity to taste indigenous varietals.
An hour inland from Isabey, I stopped for lunch at the hilltop Nif Winery, where outdoor tables have views of the mountains, including Bozdağ, a peak associated with Greek mythology. Enjoying a chocolaty, figgy Shiraz and an entrecôte, I felt like a modern-day Dionysus.
Next, I headed to Kula-Salihli, which is known for its “fairy chimneys” — bulbous towers of hard basalt that rise more than 400 feet high. Not far from them lies the Burnt Country, a desolate landscape formed by a (now dormant) volcano, pockmarked and sharp, where I hiked in the heat for two hours.
Tuckered out from all the walking, I checked in to Villa Estet by Anemon, where my room had a modern four-poster bed and a terrace that overlooked a winery, Yanik Ülke. I ended my day with roast salmon, a refreshing watermelon salad, and a glass of Gewurtztraminer on the winery’s restaurant patio. It might seem surprising that this cold-climate grape would thrive in this region, but the vineyard is nearly 2,800 feet up a volcanic slope, where chilly nights help it slowly develop complex aromatics.
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From left: Courtesy of Nif Winery/Türkiye Tourism; Courtesy of Hera Sarapevi/Türkiye Tourism
Day 2
The following morning, I drove two hours south to Hierapolis, a wellness destination since the second century B.C. The springs that bubble up onto the travertine cliffside still attract Turks in bathing trunks, though the thermal spa where conquering Romans once lounged is now an archaeological site. An hour north of the ancient spa town, I spied a large Roman amphora at Küp Şarapçılık, a winery named for the vessels once used to store and transport wine. Third-generation owner Hasan Altıntaş plans to build a museum of wine making there. He is also a man imbued with community spirit. One of his labels, Beş’i Bir Yerde, or “Five in One,” supports women’s education and efforts against domestic violence. The white blend is lemony, minty, and includes three native grapes — Sultaniye, Narince, and Emir — mixed with Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc.
During my brief stay in the city of Denizli, I grabbed dinner at the restaurant Garson Şükrü (entrées $19–$33). Hummus topped with fried pastrami, a pile of fresh vegetables for swiping up various dips, and sliced veal tongue in a tangy lemon-caper sauce went winningly with a local Thia Sauvignon Blanc.
From left: Celal Bayak/Courtesy of Sevilen/Turkiye Tourism; S. Vincent/Alamy
Day 3
The next morning I made my way back west toward the coast, arriving in Şirince in time for lunch. Turks go to this hillside town, which has cobblestoned streets lined with trinket and bottle shops, for weekend wine tastings. Sitting on the tiny balcony at the wine bar Hera Sarapevi, with a view of minarets and old homes, I savored charcuterie and cheeses with glasses of unique Turkish wines. They included Kastro Tireli Elaia, a rosé with layers of raspberry, salinity, and smoke; Midin Baluto, from Karkuş grapes grown on 150-year-old vines; and Mor Salkım Passito, the rare sweet wine made from sun-dried Cabernet Sauvignon grapes.
Şirince is near Ephesus, an important metropolis in ancient Greece, Rome, and Byzantium and, today, an antiquities-filled tourist mecca. It was worth negotiating mobs of cruise-ship day-trippers to be able to gawk at the multistory remains of the third-largest library in the ancient world. Then I retired to the winery and hotel Yedi Bilgeler for dinner at Maya’dan restaurant, which might serve the most gorgeous roasted eggplant in Turkey.
The wines were equally impressive: Vindemia Defne, made from native Emir grapes; Vindemia Güz, from Bornova Misketi, an ancient variety of Muscat possibly brought to these shores by Phoenicians; and Thales Miletos, a blend of Boğazkere and the pomegranate-like Öküzgözü.
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Day 4
Starting a winery takes money, and some owners have deep pockets. The following morning, I stopped at Lucien Arkas Vineyards, which was established in the early 2000s and named after its founder, a shipping magnate. With 289 acres, it is Turkey’s biggest organic producer. A Mini Cooper was parked inside its sprawling tasting room and ancient Roman statues dotted its terrace. I lunched on excellent Weiner schnitzel, of all things, savoring a crisp, peachy Sauvignon Blanc–Trebbiano blend called Smyrna, followed by the sommelier’s favorite wine, the swarthy, weighty Mon Rêve Marselan, made with grapes from the Arkas family’s region of origin, the south of France.
My favorite winery, which ended up being my last stop, was located back north, in Urla, which is just outside Izmir. Usca produces just 45,000 bottles a year, less than 3 percent of the output of Lucien Arkas. Most are sold in its tasting room. On the patio, groups of friends were having heated conversations over meze and wine while dogs romped on the grass in front of the vines. Lingering over a glass of Usca Sonnet 76, a structured Cabernet-Merlot blend with notes of blackberry and dark chocolate, I felt like I could be in California. But this was Turkey, with its rich layers of history, and there were colosseums and temples to Apollo and Artemis to visit — and more wines to drink — in the week to come.
A version of this story first appeared in the October 2024 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline “Ancient Flavors.”
