He travelled to Altinkum, south west Turkey, with son Andrew, daughter-in-law Alison and grandchildren Joe (14) and Claire (10)

Auntie Mary's parcel from Grimsby set the pace. It included a travel pillow, ear plugs, flight socks and eye shades for the virgin traveller. Everything but the parachute.

She was as concerned about my flying debut as anyone in the family, only she knew the situation first hand; a month before my departure she had conquered space in her first trip abroad to Cyprus in her 80th year.

My late wife and I had been badgered over the years to fly but we were both home birds, happy enough sustaining family connections between Grimsby and Glasgow whatever the weather.

The vote for my first overseas posting was Spain, ideally early June before temperatures sizzle. No deal. So it was Altinkum, a small tourist town 90 minutes by road from Bodrum airport in south west Turkey; and ultra-hot in late July.

A sun spot too hot (average over 95F daily) at 75 for a Scot with a complexion still sporting freckles? Daughter Mary was relentless in the preparations, loading up with enough sun creams, lotions, pills and plasters to give me shares in Boots the Chemist.

In the event we arrived behind schedule at unimpressive Manchester Airport, where I was more preoccupied about getting through the various checkpoints than the challenge of flight.

Here I was probably helped by the Manchester way of boarding, going straight on to the plane from an enclosed point at ground level as if stepping on to a train. No crossing the tarmac experience, no chance of affecting a goodbye wave in the style of so many comic politicians.

Nervous? I surprised myself by concentrating on the nitty-gritty of finding seats, settling in with Joe partnering me by the window while outside it rained as it only can in Manchester at the height of summer. Take-off was 40 minutes late.

There was disappointment in that I couldn't make out any of the announcements by the Turkish staff; also, no guide or commentary on our flight positions, although the Greek islands were easily spotted in the afternoon sun ahead of landing.

Even with a few sudden shudders I thought the trip a breeze compared with most of the roads back in Sheffield and the landing was such it earned a spontaneous round of applause for the pilot, which I gathered is the custom.

Turkey, Asia Minor, the Land of Fakes, the starting point of European civilisation, rather than Rome or Athens, left-hooked me as they opened the doors and let the sun in for the hottest moment of my life.

Over the next fortnight I never saw a cloud, the temperature hovered between 95F and 105F (there was even an earthquake I slept through, one of the few advantages of being 75) and I was constantly astonished at the Turkish goodwill, flair for business and selling techniques, be it shops, bars or market place, making the UK seem a commercial Stone Age land by comparison.

In two weeks I made more friends in Altinkum buying anything from beads to braids (for Claire, not me) than in 40 years shopping in Sheffield.

There's a vibrancy about the place which constantly catches you off-guard, as do the abundant good manners, the sensation of recapturing an environment where the customer is always right.

Yes, they are after your money, but in the nicest kind of way. Will this warmth survive Turkey's current drive for full European Union membership? I wonder.

Hidden away from the tourist spots there are frightening levels of poverty. Yes, billions would have to be invested in public health, transport, water, sewage, etc. Everybody I spoke to agreed it was the politicians who wanted the EU go-ahead, while the ordinary punters preferred the status quo as dedicated to the lira as any Brit to the pound.

Would EU membership change working practices? In Altinkum, currently enjoying a building boom, with growing numbers of Brits taking advantage of the cheaper rates, there are no work restrictions; shops, bars and restaurants stay open until the last customer in the town that never sleeps.

What would our Health & Safety goons make, for example, of a nation devoid of any No Smoking signs (as was my experience)? In fact I got the impression that smoking was compulsory if you wanted to man a stall at Akbuk market, a 90-minute sail from Altinkum.

At Didim (great name) market, next door to Altinkum, I was cornered by some tobacco runners offering top brands at bargain prices. Don't smoke, I countered. "Yes, but you can start – and it's cheaper than shoplifting."

The sheer scale of Didim market in terms of noise (music follows you everywhere in Turkey), choice, availability, bodies and competition leaves you breathless – and that's just in the water melon section.

When it comes to clothes, Aladdin's Cave has nothing on the gigantic spread. Joe was immediately nailed by the football strip offers. In no time he had snaffled three Greek shirts for £25, assuring me the same would have cost around £100 in Meadowhall. I searched in vain for any sign of the Blades or Wednesday in the almost endless lines of British and European team tops (which, inexplicably, contained those prize underachievers, Newcastle United).

No sign, either, of Sheffield FC, founder club of the game. Wakey-wakey commercial managers!

Football surfaced again to enhance a search for a postbox in Altinkum; no public red pillar boxes here and the official centre demanded a testing walk along the front.

We passed a group of locals playing football and the ball suddenly spurted in my direction. Never one to pass up such an opportunity, I decided to try my John Sheridan shuffle of trap and pass, although slightly hampered by age, beach sandals and sun glasses.

It was very much plonker territory but somehow I made a clean contact, only to be bowled over by an instant chorus from the Turks of Bravo! Bravo! Zola! Zola!

Now I've always seen myself more of the Kenny Dalglish school of inside forwards but, hey, I'll settle for the little Italian maestro any time.

That personal moment was only topped by a supsersonic one during our visit to the excellent Didim Aqua Park, where I tackled several slides, including the challenging Twister.

Descending on your back, I lost control near the point of pool entry when I had visions of crashing out of the park, bouncing off the coastal road and finishing up in the nearby Aegean. Joe and Claire are still laughing. Perhaps Twister should be out of bounds to the over-75s.

A small world? We constantly ran into Sheffield and Glasgow connections but nothing prepared us for Aaron working the crowd at the very centre of Altinkum nightlife outside the family restaurant, Sahill's, instinctively knowing the tourist from the local. Within seconds of meeting he was joking to me about haggis kebab.

When he twigged the Sheffield connection he laughed. "We're almost neighbours. I live in East Herringthorpe and work in Rotherham." He winters in South Yorkshire operating for a double-glazing firm, returning to Turkey for the summer and the family business, which also covers property (and anything else you care to mention, I fancy).

A few nights later we met Omar at Nick's Place, classy food, and he, too, enjoys a similar double life because his partner hails from Scarborough. So he works the same home-and-away routine and can be found in a Scarborough gift shop in the winter. The dramatic change of weather zones doesn't appear to bother them.

Some of the Turkish ways with the English language intrigue. For example one special café offer was "Day of Soup", while another warned "If you don't try you never no". Our favourite was the special meal advert "Steak and A/E Pie" which sounds like something you might get at the Northern General Hospital. Linguistically, of course, they shame us with their overall command.

At our hotel the students working their summer break all commanded several languages, including English, French, German and Spanish.

They also displayed several business and entertainment gifts which marked them out for the future, which will include National Service of 15 months. Nobody was looking forward to it, such is the reputation of the Turkish Army.

We befriended Dennis, Hakam, Yuri and Turan and they adopted Joe and Claire and, although we departed in the dead of the night, hours after their shifts had finished, they all waited on to take our cases out to the Bodrum Airport coach. I'm not too old to admit to a few tears.

The return flight was, if anything, even easier, given I slept for a couple of hours. Thanks, Onurair. There was no mistaking that 'back home' sensation, although to be fair the sun was actually out over Manchester.

First the array of name cards at the exit gate, including a big one for Peggy of Normanton. Never get that at Bodrum. Then the No Smoking signs and warnings that follow you into the toilet. Outside I spot a youngster sporting a Brazil shirt with the name Kaka on the back. Some would say the best player in the world but really not a patch on Zola!

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