Although Turkey has made global headlines for its political conflicts over the past few months, Natalie Bowen avoids the demonstrations and seeks out some unusual forms of pampering on the country’s southwest coast.

Being covered in thick, greenish mud reeking of eggs was not on my original itinerary for a week in Turkey, but I was assured slathering on the sulphurous slime would do wonders for my health.

I was in Dalyan’s famous mud baths, reputedly visited by the Egyptian queen of opulence, Cleopatra, thousands of years ago.

Rather than such esteemed company, I was among dozens of pale-skinned tourists on a day trip from the resort of Turgutreis, on Turkey’s southwest coast.

After the sulphurous sludge dried in the sun, I was blasted clean with an ice-cold hose and shown to a pool full of naturally heated, albeit translucent brown water.

My lower body disappeared from view and, floating around happily, I realised my tour guide, Orhan, was right: I felt glorious.

But with crowds more people waiting their turn, the relaxation could not last forever.

My group were urged to dry off, accept a fresh cranberry juice and climb aboard a large, canopied motorboat scattered with cushions.

We cruised down the Dalyan river towards the Mediterranean Sea, our guide pointing out impressive Lycian tombs carved high into a limestone mountain – originally built around 400BC to house royal sarcophagi, but now empty reminders of Turkey’s grandiose past.

We passed strange sticks planted into the riverbed, which Orhan explained was an old-fashioned method of fishing from which the town took its name.

These ‘dalyans’ have nets strung between each post and prevent fish such as bream and mullet from swimming out to sea.

Our destination was Iztuzu Beach, a pristine, 4.5km strip of bleached sand covered with hundreds of sun loungers. The area can only be reached by river or a winding rural road, as it is a protected breeding ground for loggerhead turtles.

The country’s reptiles became famous during an international campaign to prevent hotel and tourism development encroaching on to the coastline, earning Iztuzu the nickname Turtle Beach.

Instead, visitors flock to admire the natural beauty by bagging one of the rows of sun-loungers, paddle in the unspoiled water and generally work on their tans.

Despite constant reminders of the turtles’ nocturnal nature, we saw a couple hustling for blue crab near a fisherman’s dinghy.

He and his family catch the crabs to lure reptiles and tourists, and both regularly turn up.

Keen to learn what the turtles thought was worth this blatant exploitation, I ordered a cooked crab to eat on the return journey and was not disappointed with the sweet, tasty white meat.

The coach trip to Turgutreis lasted four hours, yet the rugged, green mountains, lace-like coast and fields of pomegranates, olive, citrus fruits and cotton provided plenty to admire.

Despite the distance I could not resist the exotic opportunity to pamper my skin.

No visit would be complete without a hamam, or Turkish bath, where you lay on a hot marble slab before being pummelled – or ‘massaged’ – by a heavy-set local

Not that pampering was hard to find back at base. My home for the week was Xanadu Island on the Bodrum peninsula, a five-star complex on its own spit of land. It excels at the little touches: a complimentary champagne and cherry juice cocktail on arrival, a bouquet of fresh flowers in the room, sun loungers with individual shades.

I stayed in one of the 150 Sunset Suites and due to the hotel’s enviable location, no room is spoiled by a poor view.

From my window was the distant outline of Kos and day trips to the Greek island run by ferry from Turgutreis or by catamaran from Bodrum.

Overt spoiling is on offer at the hotel’s Shang-Du spa, where I passed an enjoyable afternoon having my muscles rubbed and stretched by a masseuse and luxuriating in the solarium.

Other treatments include acupuncture, body wraps and – for those in pursuit of extreme decadence – 24-carat gold leaf facials.

There is a small nightclub, but with only around 50 guests during my stay, it lacked atmosphere. Instead, I sampled the nightlife in Turgutreis, a 15-minute taxi drive away that cost around 40 lira.

Although it was too early in the season for all the bars to be open, their staff – exclusively talkative young men with impeccable English – were dedicated to having a good time.

In Uncle’s restaurant I was pulled from my chair to join waiters belly dancing around tables, even furnished with a veil to tie around my midriff.

Down the street in Brother’s bar – apparently no relation – blaring dance music lured passersby in to create a party mood.

Barman Alex assured me that in high season the main strip of pubs and cafes bursts with people, as although Islam forbids alcohol, Turkey’s secular government is quite lenient.

Keen explorers can join organised trips such as the Dalyan excursion, or even strike out alone.

If you feel like testing your Turkish, it is easy to catch the dolmus, a network of extremely cheap, privately-run minibuses. For example a trip to Bodrum, 45 minutes in the opposite direction, costs just five lira each way.

Bodrum itself is a pleasant, tourist-orientated town, with white buildings spreading around a curving bay that has two marinas bursting with private and professional yachts.

Impressive Lycian tombs are carved high into a limestone mountain – originally built around 400BC to house royal sarcophagi, but now empty reminders of Turkey’s grandiose past

From the main bus station I walked past dozens of souvenir shops hawking Turkish delight and cheap metalwork towards the Museum of Underwater Archaeology, just off the main marina.

Housed in a medieval castle that has fine views of the peninsula – and was previously used as a military garrison and a prison – the museum has an impressive collection of rescued artefacts from the sea bed, a fascinating exhibition on coloured glass and displays on the various cultures that have occupied or laid siege to Bodrum.

It took a good three hours in blazing heat to explore all the ramparts, and there was no lack of bars dotted along the harbour front offering refreshment.

Enjoying a glass of Turkish Efes beer was the perfect way to cool down before boarding the dolmus back to the hotel.

But no visit would be complete without a hamam, or Turkish bath, where you lay on a hot marble slab before being pummelled – or ‘massaged’ – by a heavy-set local.

I booked an appointment with the Hanedan Hamam in Turgutreis and was picked up by taxi from the hotel.

After arriving I was led downstairs to a Scandinavian-style sauna, where I lay baking in my swimsuit until my lungs were parched. Next it was into the steam room and the slab, where the humidity instantly left me drenched. I was relieved when my masseuse – a stocky man wearing just swimming trunks and a towel – came in and threw cold water over my head.

He told me to lie on my stomach and filled a bolt of cloth with soap, covering me with bubbles.

It was like being enveloped in a marshmallow, but the comfort ended there.

The ensuing 15-minute massage was brisk, efficient and borderline painful. But as my shoulder blades cracked and I was sloshed with yet another bucket of melted ice, I realised it was invigorating rather than relaxing.

Unlike the smelly novelty of the mud bath, or the self-indulgent spoiling of Shang-Du spa, the hamam was purposeful and practical: the most direct way to feel completely cleansed.

It would be hard to choose a favourite: I was thrilled to have tried all three.