The cities of ancient Anatolia were, literally, as rich as Croesus. From the air, photographer Marilyn Bridges reveals their skeletal majesty, while on the ground Jeffrey Tayler explores their seductive settings

As a violet dusk descends upon the whitewashed lanes of Tenedos, the main town on the Turkish island of Bozcaada, I sit comfortably in the garden of Rengigül Konukevi, the guesthouse where I am staying, sipping a glass of Bozcaada cabernet sauvignon and eating salad by candlelight. Speaking mellifluous Istanbuli Turkish, Özcan Germiyanoglu, the blond owner and my host, tells me about her place, a 130-year-old stone house that once belonged to Greeks (most of whom quit Bozcaada after the Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974), and her own life story, which confounds notions of East and West. Born and educated as a teacher in Hamburg, Özcan immigrated to Turkey, the reverse of the usual route. Now in her middle years, with gilt-rimmed glasses that lend her an air of refinement, she spent the last four years carrying out an intricate restoration, furnishing the place with Ottoman dressers and desks, covering the walls with Turkish kilims and antique mirrors, with portraits of beys long deceased and Persian clocks. At times so baroque that it's overwhelming, the house is a masterful mélange of Occident and Orient.

Beloved by upscale Turkish tourists for the tranquillity of its many secluded coves—among Özcan's boarders are consuls, writers, and artists—tiny Bozcaada rarely figures on the itineraries of Western visitors. Yet it should, and not just because Özcan is such an engaging host. The island sits in the Aegean Sea just a few miles from the coast, where troves of Greek and Roman ruins lie scattered over arcadian realms of vineyards and olive orchards. Magnificent historic sites stand in or near vibrant, modernizing cities and towns whose populations count among Turkey's most sophisticated and progressive. First-rate hotels have proliferated, many of them with individualistic blends of Turkish and Greek decor and some near the Mediterranean's most pristine beaches. Delicately spiced Turkish cuisine is ever more frequently amiably fused with European fare, and winemaking, not traditionally a native pursuit, has recently undergone a revival as Turks adopt the time-tested practices of the Greek vignerons who once lived here.

In ancient times Asia Minor, as western Turkey was known, was mostly Greek, and Byzantine Greeks held sway until the Turks began arriving from Central Asia in the Middle Ages. The Turkish invasion of Anatolia took centuries, but the climactic moment came in 1453, when the last Byzantine emperor, Constantine XI, perished in battle, leaving the sultan Mehmet the Conqueror master of a multinational empire that would one day stretch from Persia to Central Europe. The veins of modern Anatolians course with the blood of many peoples, since the warm seas lapping Turkey's western shores have fostered centuries of exchange (not all of it peaceful, of course) with Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. And the future holds interesting possibilities: The European Union is still considering starting membership talks with the government, in Ankara, and a majority of Turks hope that within a decade or so their thousand-year march from East to West will end with their country formally joining the EU—a possibility not without controversy for many Europeans, given Turkey's Islamic faith, the fact that it is primarily in Asia, its mixed culture, and its developing economy.