On the way back to Izmir, we stopped at the village of Sirince, about five miles away in hills carpeted with olive groves, vineyards, and fruit trees. Its inhabitants live in charming 19th-century houses and make wine and olive oil.

We stopped for an early dinner at dusk. From our table on the restaurant’s terrace we watched the swallows hand over to the night shift of bats while the call to evening prayer wafted mournfully over the quiet town.