PRETTY lady, you Turkish?" The stallholder was wrong on both counts, but he succeeded in prompting a response.
"No, we're from Scotland."
"Me too. I'm fae Fife. Kirkcaldy. Raith Rovers."
We both laughed and, wrong-footed by the banter, I'd halted long enough to take in the fakes laid out on his market stall in Fethiye, on Turkey's south-eastern coast.
There was Prada, Chanel, G-Star, Ted Baker, and if he had shut up about football for a minute I might have got my money out.
Turkey's expertise in the copying of designer goods makes a trip to one of its markets a treat if you care about labels, and since I have teenagers to buy for, I do. With thriving textiles and leather industries dovetailing nicely with one of the country's other main sources of income, tourism, even if you're not getting the real thing, you can still buy quality. To demonstrate, the stallholder flicked a lighter against the mock croc, mock Prada purse I was admiring, all the while babbling on about Hibs and Dundee United.
It seems the Turks have an encyclopaedic knowledge of British football, which could mean either they're football crazy, or over-exposed to the typical attire of the British holidaymaking male – a football top and boxer shorts. When a top is being worn at all, of course. Mostly it's just boxers and a peeling beer belly.
British flesh was out in abundance on Turkey's Turquoise Coast this summer, thanks to it being outside the eurozone and therefore good value for money, and also because of the plethora of all-inclusive resorts where the cost of the holiday covers flights, accommodation, food and drink. Imagine a holiday where your kids don't pester you for ice-cream, fizzy drinks or chips, and if you fancy an ice-cold beer it's on the house, because it's all already paid for. Unless you leave the resort, that is.
For the first few days at Thomson's First Choice Holiday Village at Sarigerme, we were happy to splash around in the 17 pools and join in the activities organised by the reps. With a football academy, kids' clubs, crèches, evening entertainment, discos, climbing and watersports on the beach, not to mention sneaking away to collapse on a sunbed in the shade, I could see why this is a paradise for busy families with children in tow. Endlessly patient and good-humoured, the camp reps were great. They found my youngsters when I lost two of them 20 minutes into the holiday (a description was announced over the tannoy and several staff combed the resort. They returned clutching free ice-creams after 15 minutes), produced a birthday cake on my son's birthday and were always on hand to sort out any problems that arose.
Gazing at my shrieking children jumping over the waves as they broke on the sands of one of the Turquoise Coast's nicest beaches, I couldn't work out where everyone was. If there were 1,000 in the resort behind us, how come I could only count around 20 people in either direction enjoying the fine, golden sand, sea you can walk into without your nipples contracting faster than Stephen Fry's love handles and a gently shelving beach that's safe for swimming? However, as the holiday drew on, I realised people didn't want to leave the resort. Even to the extent of walking down to the on-site beach.
Admittedly, with temperatures nudging 40°C, the sand was so hot that if you didn't take flip-flops you had to perform a crazy jig that Strictly's Bruno Tonioli would describe as "not so much skippy dahlink, more bush kangaroo" as fast as you could all the way down to the water, we loved it. Although I can see the appeal of chucking your children in a multi-flumed pool and flinging yourself on the nearest sunlounger as resident DJs pump out chart sounds (not the sweary ones, this is a family resort) and organise games. Throw in free food and drink and what more could you want?
Well, to experience the real Turkey perhaps? Which is where the day trips come in. I signed us up for as many as I could, and each one was well worth it for the mini-lecture alone as we sped along past olive groves, telegraph poles where storks rested on nests the size of cartwheels, and the ubiquitous statues of the still-widely revered Kamel Atatürk, the founder of modern Turkey who introduced, among other things, universal education.
Wallowing in the warm mudbaths at Dalyan or leaping off a boat that took us around the coast, and rising early to catch the sea turtles performing long, slow somersaults under our boat, were all a hit with the children.
As was sampling Turkish Delight that bears no relation to our nuclear-hued version; tramping around Marmaris's jumbo Lego-block castle; and visiting markets where we haggled for a drum, which prompted so many impromptu demonstrations from passers-by that it must be on the national curriculum.
But it was a visit to a typical rural family home on a trip into the hills behind the resort that will stay with me the longest. Magenta, topaz and cerulean, extravagant and lush, the carpets in the house would have set me back a year's salary, but that's where the luxury ended. My X-Box children met counterparts with one Barbie among them, who slept on a bedroll lifted down from a shelf at night. Outside, a cow and a goat provided milk, and outdoors was also the venue for the family's cooking and ablutions. We didn't speak Turkish and they didn't speak English, but the international language of the water pistol took over and a connection was made.
There were more carpets at a local factory where the women's fingers seemed to dance multicoloured silks and wool over frames, while the men, all charm, talked about it. We heard how the weavers are taught by their mothers and work either in the factory or at home while caring for their families, each rug taking up to four months to complete.
Invited to walk on the carpets barefoot, we were told to choose our favourite and ask questions about it. So, where do the designs come from, which are the best-sellers, and what's the best way to clean a carpet should you drop a bottle of red wine on it? Before I knew what was happening, I was being pressured to choose between a jewel-toned woollen runner and a silk kilim wall-hanging, so beware showing too much interest. Or any interest at all.
Which is why I always try to travel with a child on the verge of vomiting. You never know when one will come in handy. And the best way to get stains out of a Turkish rug? Baby shampoo, whether you find yourself in Fife or Fethiye.
Fact file: FethiyeA seven-night holiday in Turkey, with all-inclusive accommodation at the 4 Sun Holiday Village, costs from £940 per adult, £399 for the first child and £439 for a second child through First Choice (0871 200 4455, www.firstchoice.co.uk). The price is based on two adults and two children sharing, with return flights from Glasgow airport on 27 May 2010.
• This article was first published in Scotland on Sunday on 08/11/09