Every town, whether it be in the mountains, on the plain or by a river, has a story of its own. Someone at some time starts it off, and if it is interesting enough others take it up and it spreads. A story related beneath a plane or an olive tree is soon on everyontin lips. By the time the story gets back to the person who first made it up, it has been embroidered and elaborated almost beyond recognition.

This is the source of all myths and legends. People love to gossip, exaggerate and invent. A straightforward narrative can never survive for long without being pulled into new shapes, trimmed here, and bits added there. It would not attract listeners unless it opened the door into the world of dreams, and it would soon wither and die without elements of fear and power, palaces and love. The hold of storytellers over their audiences surpasses that of wizards thanks to their skill at weaving stories that capture the imagination and forge a bond with the natural world.

Nature is ever a source of joy and hope for storytellers and listeners alike, a place to escape and dream.

On the Dilek Peninsular just west of Söke in Turkey's Aegean region is Mount Samsun, the ancient Mykale, and on the slopes of this mountain is the village of Eski Doganbey. Of course this village has a story! How could it not? Many escapees from the city like us came here years ago in pursuit of a story, following a route that took us past Söke, Güllübahçe and Priene. Fleeing the urban conflagration, we also managed to escape the tourism conflagration in Kusadasi on the way!

There are not just one but many stories relating to Eski Doganbey, alias Ntomatia, Domatia or Domaçya, just as there are thousands of myths and legends relating to the earth, trees and clouds of Anatolia. There is no need to set one against the other in competition, or we would find ourselves unable to decide between Pan's flute and Apollo's lyre.

If it is oleanders you are looking for, they are everywhere, the only plant that the cattle avoid. White, pink and purple bougainvillea is also as abundant as the multitudes of the earth. Then there are the yellow flowers that spring out of the stone walls and which no one cares sufficiently about to give them a name. Instead they are constantly pulled up as undesirable weeds. They have never done me any harm, and I think they must have a Latin name and be useful for something, but no one listens to me. This nameless flower grows to the same height as the reeds by the side of the roads whose golden yellow tassels bend to greet the sunset. Do I need to mention the tangerine, orange, bitter orange and pepper trees?

In the past the local people made a living from olive cultivation, viticulture and bee keeping, and apart from viticulture they still do. The honey of nearby Karine is famous. Their neighbours on the island of Samos used to visit.

On behalf of the village I am happy to be the first to announce that the large building at the entrance to the village that was once a clinic and before that a school is now under conservation. Indeed the entire village is under conservation, along with the Menderes Delta. This building is being turned into a cultural centre by the Department of National Parks, and is now under restoration by the architect Fikri Aktan, who has restored many other buildings around Turkey. He approaches his task meticulously, carefully matching every stone and every timber, and never taking any shortcuts just because it is 'only a village'. Perhaps this cultural centre will throw light on the mystery of Mount Mykale and the countryside and culture of the Menderes Delta. Eski Doganbey is not a dream, but perhaps the shadow of a dream.

* Gürol Sözen is an author and painter.