Farewell to the Lycian Coast 16

Today is set aside for sailing, swimming, and relaxing, and that is exactly what we do. After breakfast, I stroll around the gulet. Our captain is trying to get enough wind to hoist our sails, but we are not very lucky this morning. We stop for a swim in a private cove that makes me feel we are the first visitors ever, while on the other hand, it emanates that kind of old wisdom that so many have been here before us.

After lunch, we set out again in Fethiye Bay, and this time, the weather gods are with us. All the sails are out, the motor is silenced, and the comforting sounds of wind and water take over. I have nestled myself in a solitary spot at the bow, savoring my front row seating and panoramic view. The deep ink ink-blue sea is dotted with paper-like sailboats. On the port side, the mainland of Fethiye is shrouded in a haze, and I wonder if this is dust or pollution? It is an unforgettable sensation to be at the mercy of the winds, billowing the sails and pushing us towards our next and final destination, Göçek.

All too soon, the spell is broken. This is where it all ends. Our gulet is moored among hundreds of other boats. The town’s noises of music, people talking and laughing, and merchants selling their knick-knacks mingle with the smell of food. Our trip has come to an end. We all find it hard to return to reality, and we are glad that our poet has found the right words to summarize the impressions we all share. He wrote them down in the ship’s log, but he personally read them to us after our last dinner on board:

L Y C I A N    D A Y S

Warm thanks to the crew of Almira
And Peter, our eloquent guide,
And the skills of our undaunted drivers
On many a hair-raising drive.

We’ve trekked over pine-scented hillsides,
And swum in a wine-dark lagoon,
And relished fine dishes of mezes
Under a pale crescent moon.

We’ve visited hill towns and harbours,
Where the ancient Lycians arose,
Who buried their dead in stone boxes,
And sat in stone theatres for shows.

The oracle temple at Sura,
Where fishy predictions were granted,
And the Ottoman castle at Kale,
By the glow of the sunset enchanted.

The grand council hall at Patara,
New revealed by the deep-delving spade,
Sidyma, Tlos and Pinara –
Of these names are rich memories made.

John Onley October 2007

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Unexpected visit to Tlos - Lycian Coast 15

Because of the storm earlier on our trip (see: Sheltering for a storm like in antiquity), our entire program has been pulled one day forward. As a result, we wind up with an extra day at the end of our tour, and Peter is giving us a choice: either take a two-hour walk behind Fethiye or visit the archaeological site of Tlos. We all agree on Tlos, which makes me personally very happy indeed!

First, we go to Fethiye, which is after a quick dip in the sea for my companions. Our bus pulls up around 10.30 a.m. to take us there, as our boat will join us later on. We will have about 1 ½ hours in town for shopping, and I set off straight to the Archaeological Museum (where else?). It is a small museum, a little old-fashioned, but it shows a couple of items that make it worthwhile for me. For instance, this is where I can find the mosaic from the Temple of Apollo in Letoon (4th century BC) and the stele with the law inscription of Pixodarus, satrap of Caria, in Greek, Lycian, and Aramaic, dating back to the time of Artaxerxes – both originals that I have seen in Letoon earlier this Spring. A smaller stele from Tlos, unique in its way, mentions how its citizens paid for the city's repairs after being hit by an earthquake. There are, of course, the usual and more common items like glassware, pottery, coins from different times and in different metals, golden jewelry, and parts of statues, mostly Roman. As always, I’m happy to see these items with my own eyes. After this most pleasant visit, I have time left for a Turkish coffee, and I find a kind of Konditorei that serves it with pistachio baklava on the side, right on the main street. Great! Just what I needed!

Fethiye stands on the site of the ancient Lycian city of Telmessus, whose remains include spectacular rock tombs and sarcophagi dating from the 5th-4th century BC. Other landmarks include the remains of a Byzantine fortress on top of a nearby hill, but somehow I missed noticing it. Much of the town is new, however, having been rebuilt after the terrible earthquake of 1958. There seems to be a Lycian sarcophagus well worth visiting, the so-called Tomb of Amyntas, dating from the 4th century BC, built in Doric style. So I’ll have to come back to Fethiye also.

Our meeting point is in front of the Roman Theater at the far end of the main road – easy to find, and I am there early enough to make my inspection tour. Fethiye’s theater was excavated from 1992 to 1995, but it still looks very confusing and overgrown. Built in the 2nd century AD, it was modified in Roman times and even converted into an arena with high walls around the orchestra to protect the audience from wild animals’ attacks. Part of the skene and proscenium has also survived, but it all looks very neglected. It provides, however, a sweeping view over the harbor, separated from the sea by a tranquil park where an oversized bronze pilot stares up at the sky. This is Fethi Bey, Turkey’s first aviation martyr, who crashed near Damascus in 1914 in an attempt to fly non-stop from Istanbul to Cairo. In honor of his heroic exploit, the city changed its original name from Meğri to Fethiye.

The Bay of Fethiye is very wide and large, and it seems to be a favorite spot for tourists and fishing boats alike. I spot the Almira with her green trimmings in the middle of the harbor, and moments later, I see our zodiac approaching with Peter on board. He carries our lunch for today, and it is about 1 p.m. when we set out for Tlos. This is a pleasant drive land inwards and I am all excited to enter the Xanthos Valley again, for this is Alexander territory.

Tlos, known as Tlava or Tlave in the Lycian language, goes back four thousand years, and it seems that even the Hittites referred to Tlos as Dalawa in the land of Luqqa. Tlos was one of the six cities that had three votes in the Lycian League, remember? The devastating earthquake of 141 AD hit the city severely, and once again, we have to thank our friend Opramoas of Rhodiapolis as well as Licinius Langus of Oenoanda, another rich Lycian, for the denarii they donated for the reconstruction. After being a diocese in Byzantine times, nothing major happened here until Ali Aga ruled over this region in the 19th century and built his stronghold right on top of the old Acropolis, where it still stands.

We park on a narrow local road and Peter and Ivşak carry our lunches into ancient Tlos, where we find the most exquisite picnic place: a series of blocks from the bathhouse that have been aligned in its shade with an eagle eye’s view over the historic valley below. We spread out the food on a table and helped ourselves. This is really something special, sitting here among those ruins, savoring the food in a place where Romans, Greeks, Lycians, and earlier civilizations lived centuries ago. The ancients must have spotted this place also and maybe savored their own snack while watching the scenery. It always makes me feel very privileged to sit in a place where people from times bygone have done so before. What were they seeing? What were they thinking? Whom did they talk to? This is beyond imagination, of course.

After clearing our tables, we take a closer look at this Roman Bath complex. We pass the Byzantine Basilica, which might be standing on top of an older temple; only time will tell.

Nearby is the theater. The original construction is definitely Greek and adapted to Roman needs in later times, as they did in Fethiye and in Patara. It will be interesting to return here in a couple of years to see the results of these excavations and restorations.

There is a group of Germans in the theater, and the guide is reciting the history of Lycia for the world to hear. We find this very disturbing and huddle together at one end of the seating rows, hoping that he’ll cut his oration short. He doesn’t and goes on and on about Chimaera and the Hittites and the Persians; where or when Tlos or this theater is fitting in his story remains an open question. Peter whispers a few facts and figures about this theater, and we are all very much relieved when the German group finally moves out. The poet in our group has decided it is time for a proper performance and treats us to some lines of Brutus from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Wow! That is something else! We all watch and listen in awe. A lonely tourist taking detailed pictures stops in his tracks and watches him with respect. When, at the end, we all applaud, he shares our enthusiasm and claps with a broad smile on his face. Wonderful!

On the other side of the modern road, the Stadium has been unearthed, showing several rows of seats over the entire length, leaning against the Bouleuterion wall. 

The rocky hillside behind the Stadium was obviously a favorite spot for the Lycians to build their tombs. I'm very excited to discover one tomb that still has its sliding door in place! 

We climb higher up to the Acropolis, past a few typical, very weathered Lycian sarcophagi. The Acropolis itself has little to offer except the breathtaking view over the Xanthos Valley! We can easily locate the old cities we visited on earlier trips: Sidyma, Pınara, and Patara further south, with at the far horizon the glittering Mediterranean Sea. 

Well, so much for Tlos. We return to Fethiye, and at the foot of the Roman Theater, we say our goodbyes to Ivşak. Our poet has composed a short but warm thank-you poem, and Ivşak is rather moved by the entire event. I guess he did not expect such honor! Well, if you have a poem written especially for you and read to you in public, you would be moved too, wouldn’t you?

We return aboard the Almira and leave Fethiye harbor for a more remote and quieter anchor place, just a little further north. By the time we get there, darkness has already set in.

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In the heart of Butterfly Valley - Lycian Coast 14

Today’s walk will take us to the other side of Butterfly Valley, i.e. to the north. This will be our longest walk since the one to Phellos was canceled. It is a beautiful morning, ideal weather for walking, very pleasant indeed.

The climb starts right away, steadily widening our view over the Blue Lagoon. Early paragliders are hovering above us and in their descent I notice that one of them is close to hit the mast of our Almira – or is my perspective playing tricks on me? But at our next stop I see that the Almira has moved to the side of the bay, safely out of the way of these big toys. Thank God!

The weather is as clear as yesterday’s and we are so lucky to climb this side of the mountain entirely in the shade. It is even so cool that, after finishing our early lunch in a shady spot, we are glad to be moving into the sunshine. Peter and Ivşak carried a wonderful picnic from the boat: stuffed bellpeppers, şigara börek and beans in tomato sauce. Delicious pomegranates, apples and pears for desert, juicy and sweet. All I have to carry is water and believe me that is more than enough for me!

We proceed to the high tree line of the Baba Dağı, the Father Mountain. The whitish rock looks very friable, reminding me of the Sierra Nevada (California) or dead travertine deposits from Pamukkale. The paragliders with their colored canopies keep fascinating us. We hear them yell when they jump off in ecstasy somewhere behind the top or when they perform one of their twists and twirls, free as a bird, soaring through the clear air above us.

The trail now runs among huge boulders that have come down in earlier times, flash flooded river beds filled with debris and where tall pine trees have safely anchored their roots. Occasionally we see rows of beehives, neatly aligned on a ridge and we try to walk around them at a safe distance. In one of the clearings a beekeeper is sharing his picnic with his family and we get a plate filled with pure fresh honey. Basically I don’t fancy honey, but being here in the middle of nature with a treat of this nectar as fresh as can be, I feel I must at least try it. We spot a kind of table rock and with a few smaller stones we build a little shrine to receive the amber-colored plate holding our treat. We gather around and savor the honey dipping our bread in the nectar. What a relish!

And onwards we go! We pass another few rows of beehives where the beekeeper is dressed in his protective suit to gather the honey. He stops when he sees us coming nearer and we march by in a single file in as wide a circle as possible. Unfortunately the bees have been disturbed and buzz around us. All of the sudden we are in the middle of a mass attack! Everybody scrambles, jumps, waves and dances around in a futile effort to chase the bees away. Our guide, Ivşak is the first victim, and then it is my turn. I can’t get rid of the zooming bee, I think it is in my ear but I don’t feel it – just hear the zooming close by. I’m desperate and try to knock it off, running, turning, waving, smacking my hat in the air, but the bee is still buzzing like mad. I cry out for help when I realize that the nasty thing is entangled in my hair but I have no idea how or where. At last I run my fingers through my hair above my ear and eyeglasses and then the frightening sound is gone. My face is afire now. Is the sting still in there? I have no idea. It hurts like hell! When I look around again, our orderly marching line is in complete disarray. Everybody is gesticulating and talking erratically. One of my fellow travelers has been stung in her hair and another one has several stings in his arms.

Luckily Peter is prepared for any situation and he calmly takes the sting out using the small scissors from his emergency kit as tweezers. O good, that is that. The bees are still flocking around us and we all take a run to a safer distance in the shade of the trees to assert the damage. Some antiseptic gel should soothe my pain and after a while it does just that. Ivşak however develops a serious allergic reaction, his face is swelling and his throat feels dry. He is very worried. Out of nowhere, a bus comes riding up, like a being from another planet for we happen to be on the sole stretch of asphalt road for miles around. Strange how things work out at times. The bus stops at the head of our shattered group. We must have been quite a sight for any bystander! The driver and Ivşak exchange a few words and the latter accepts the ride. Peter makes sure we are all capable to continue our walk before the bus pursues his route to town. Later that afternoon we hear that Ivşak has made it to the hospital and got a serum shot. He is OK.

All is under control now and we can continue on our Lycian Way. Are we still on it? Yes, of course we are! Although the walk is longer than yesterday’s it does not feel like it. Maybe the weather is just perfect, maybe I am getting used to the pace, or maybe the terrain simply becomes more familiar – who knows? We now reach the downhill part and realize that Ivşak took off with our food. So we “borrow” a pomegranate here and a bunch of sweet grapes there, doing very well overall. Rather suddenly we have reached the end of our trail, where our bus is waiting for us. Great! It takes us for a short drive to what is called George Restaurant, a plain clean place serving tea and beer overlooking Butterfly Valley, with floors made of broken slabs of marble. Two simple wooden cabins provide lodging for an occasional traveler at the incredible rate of 25 YTL/day, including breakfast and dinner.

We stroll to the very edge of Butterfly Valley, a steep abyss that resonates with the sound of water, somewhere in a hidden downfall. It may be the quietness of the place, or the golden light of the late afternoon sun, but it comes to me like a corner of paradise, a pristine world hidden away from 21st century’s intruders. We are very privileged to witness this!

The drive to the boat takes us over the same road as yesterday, just a little earlier in the evening and we miss the sunset altogether as the magic orange glow disappears behind one of the smaller islands. Time for a good hot shower and another delicious Turkish meal that Fatuşa has put together. Yes, I am hungry!

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Exploring the Butterfly Valley - Lycian Coast 13

The engines are started shortly after 7 a.m. to take advantage of the favorable winds, heading for Kabak, way up north along Lycia’s coastline. The sea is still very choppy and exceptionally breakfast is served inside. We move closely together around the long wooden table across from Fatuşa’s kitchen. It takes some juggling with plates and trays but it is fun for a change.

DOLPHINS! We all jump up to have a look overboard. This time, the graceful flippers swim quite a while alongside the gulet, diving and jumping like I have seen in movies, but this is real. There are two of them, larger than I expected and ash gray rather than silvery. We all enjoy their fast swimming as they try to stay ahead of the boat, keeping us company, and playing hide and seek. My camera is downstairs and I hesitate to run for it. I may miss the show, you see? But as the dolphins play their act over and over, I decide to make a dash for my camera. I managed to take two quick shots, not the best ones, however. Well, I clearly saw the dolphins this time and I have the proof in the pictures! So there!

It is about 10.30 a.m. when we anchor next to the Blue Lagoon in the Ölüdeniz area and Peter unfolds the plans for today. In fact we are back on schedule, just one day ahead of the initial program. We’ll have an early lunch and leave around 1 p.m. for our 4 ½ hour walk to Butterfly Valley, a steep canyon of about 350 – 400 meters deep with a small triangular valley floor. It is located at the base of the Baba Dağı (1970 m), a zone that is protected by the World Heritage Foundation because of its abundance of unique butterfly species.

We get ready with our walking stick, camera, sunscreen, hat, water and more water and the zodiac brings us in two trips to what seems our private gravel beach under the empty eyes of a lonely wooden shack. It is not easy to jump on dry land without wetting our feet in the long thin waves but we calculate our coup well and we all manage.

We start straight uphill over a rather rocky path winding among the pine trees. The air is filled with the familiar smell of warm pines and cool sea breeze. We stop at regular intervals to catch our breath and enjoy the view back to the waterfront where our Almira is faithfully waiting for us. As we climb higher the view gets wider. Near the top of the ridge, we stop at a wonderful oasis, the Olive Garden. We enjoy a glass of pure fruit juice in the shade of wooden roofing which the owner has built here between two square terraces arranged in Ottoman style overlooking the valley and the sea below. He made a work of art of his flower and vegetable gardens too and even built three wooden houses for any traveler crossing his road and wishing to spend the night here. To judge by the toilets, the place is kept extremely clean. Peter explains that in Turkey, no permit is required for building any wooden structure and this is why these guesthouses and terrace sittings are made of wood rather than brick or stone. After this lovely refreshing stop, we move on to the very top of the shoulder.

The panorama up here is absolutely superb and the saying “on a clear day you can see forever” is definitely true here. We can see both promontories holding Fethiye in the foreground (Dokubasi and Kurtoglu), the long headland of Bozburun under Marmaris with the small bump of Simi Island right behind it and even the clear outlines of Rhodes. It comes to me like an aerial view or walking on top of the world. Even Peter is all excited about it; he never saw it as clearly as today - that is how fortunate we are!

Our path twists and turns with more viewpoints, where we keep recognizing new contours of the lands in the west under a soft blue sky. Gradually our road is descending towards the gorge of Butterfly Valley and the paragliders we spotted earlier today are swirling over and around us to finally touch ground near the red marker on the beach below. Our bus is waiting at the edge of the gorge and we move on right away to take advantage of the last daylight on this tricky twisting narrow road down to Sun City. Good timing, for as we reach sea level, so has the sun and the last bright red blob sinks behind the horizon. Fascinating! By the time the dinghies have us safely back on board, night has fallen.

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Wonderful Patara! - Lycian Coast 12

The minibus drops us at the foot of the aqueduct further inland. My vision of an aqueduct is the typical Roman concept of arched vaults spanning the entire valley, connecting one side to the other, but this one surprisingly looks more like a dam. Our path runs alongside a sophisticated water channel, cutting like a stone trough in the hillside, and a little further on, we see the petrified silt still sticking to the inner walls. We then reach the level where the aqueduct crosses the valley atop a solid stone wall, which, from a distance, resembles a barrage. At the top of the wall, the square mass-produced stone blocks line up like soldiers in a close row. In the center of these blocks measuring 90 x 90 cm runs a round pipe with, on one end, a male connection and a female on the other, so the blocks simply click together. Every five blocks or so, there is a plug for maintenance access, and at regular intervals, the male connector has a higher ridge, so the entire block can be wiggled out of the row in case of severe clogging. All in all, it is a surprising construction, and I have never seen anything like it! It was built under Emperor Nero around 50 AD, and according to the inscription on this wall, it was repaired under Vespasian, some 12 years later.

As we walk around to the foot of this dam, I can now see two small gateways held in place by enormous lintels above them that served as passages for cattle or people. Proceeding further in the direction of Patara, we keep crossing the winding aqueduct time and again. Part of our path actually runs right through the water channel, which over the years has lost its top slabs as they made good reusable building material. We don’t walk the entire length of 21 kilometers – thank God! – but we can trace the course of this marvelous construction through the landscape. Very interesting, I must say.

After a couple of hours of treading over these old paths and passages, the grand city of Patara lies at our feet. The unmistakable theater fills the middle of the picture. What a view! In the foreground stands a rather narrow arch, 10 meters high and 19 meters long, built in such a way that it aligns with the aqueduct, leading its water further to the fountains and Nymphaeums in town. It was actually constructed around 100 AD to honor the first governor-general of Lycia and Pamphylia, administrator of Patara, C. Trebonius Proculus Mettius Modestus. The niches and pedestals that once held statues are empty now, but clearly give a certain grandeur to this imposing three-arched construction that, surprisingly enough, shows the same design on both sides.

On the higher elevation to the west, beyond the swamps at our feet, recent excavations have revealed a large, round, tower-like building. This is what is left of an almost 2,000-year-old lighthouse. It is believed to be sixty years older than the one found in Spain, which was known as being the oldest in the world and was built around 60 A.D. Originally, the Patara lighthouse must have stood approximately 16-20 meters high.

At the foot of the mountain, we just came down an ancient road that leads out of Patara, flanked by sarcophagi for the Patarans – like the Via Appia in Rome, no less. The sun is setting quickly now, putting Mettius Modestus’ Arch on fire and wrapping the lonely Lycian sarcophagus uphill in a golden shred.

To make the most of the dwindling light, our bus drops us at the southern end of Patara, which was, and in some parts still is, buried under the sand. The theater, for one, has been only recently unearthed, much to Peter’s surprise and disappointment. He always felt it was very rewarding when climbing the sand dunes to suddenly find himself in the middle of the theater. That enchantment is gone now, but instead of sand, we see shiny white stones as if the theater were built just yesterday. It is of Hellenistic origin, with most of the two-floored skene and the five doors opening to the proscenium still in place. Around the orchestra, the seats have been removed to make place for a stone wall, meaning that the theater was converted into an arena where wild animal fights could be held. The VIP seats have obviously been removed and found a new place in the ambulatorium.

It is nearly dark by now, and we can just decipher the inscription on the sidewall beside the parados, reading that the theater was built with the contributions of the people of Patara. Other inscriptions mention that the theater was rebuilt at the beginning of the 1st century AD after needing repair following the earthquake of 141 AD. An extended annotation indicates that the proscenium was constructed by a certain Velio Titionus and that his daughter, Velia Prouila, provided funds for the statues and the decorations "in honor of the gods of Augustus and in honor of the gods of Patara city and in honor of Emperor Antoninus Pius in the year 147 AD". It makes me wonder how emancipated Roman women actually were.

Across from this theater stands a most impressive building, also very recently resuscitated from the sands. This is the Lycian Council – of all places! The access is barred with iron gates, but one can easily recognize the Odeon-shaped seating inside, flanked by two sturdy entrances under high vaulted ceilings. The floor is probably covered with mosaics, but I cannot see them from the outside. I am very much excited to see this important Council, for this is where delegates from all over Lycia come together to vote on important matters. Since the League itself is so much older than the clearly Roman entrance indicates, I wonder if maybe the central part, i.e., the Odeon-shaped construction, dates from Lycian times (2nd century BC). I may have been framed in a Roman concept later on – unless it is standing on old Lycian foundations? I am curious what future excavations will reveal.

Peter mentions that the famous Temple of Apollo has not been located yet. Its oracle, it is said, would rival only that of Delphi, and the Temple itself equaled the reputation of the famous temple of Delos. It was believed that Apollo lived at Delos during the summer but spent his winters at Patara.

Turkish archaeologists are actively digging here right now, so who knows what they’ll come up with? Our visit is only superficial, just enough to put Patara on the map, but I am determined to come back one day and investigate this important site in detail. By now, darkness has set in with a crescent moon looking down on all these centuries past. For us, it is time to drive back to our gulet.

Our poet has once again written a poem about this unique city:

P A T A R A  -  a sonnet

The city gate still stands. The aqueduct,

A seam of rubble stitched across the hill.

Goats browse inside the tumbled bathhouse walls.

No splash of water now. No voices heard

Along the marbled street. The theater plays

A scene of drifting sand. The harbor walls

Confront a silted bay. No sailors’ shouts,

No clank of anchor chains, no travelers’ tales.

Above the buried stones a woman calls

Her cows for milking. Low across the marsh

Two herons fly. A mellow sunset breeze

Rustles the reeds. Listen. Perhaps you hear,

Among the scattered, vaulted, empty tombs,

The dry whisper of Lycian ghosts.

John Onley - May 2005

 

Tonight the crew has the evening off, and we are dining out for a change. Peter made reservations at Restaurant Belgin, in uptown Kalkan. We are seated in elegant Ottoman style outside on the roof among richly decorated cushions and colorful canopies, and flowers. I find it difficult to fit my legs under the low table, and the only way to do so is by taking my shoes off. It is a most lovely spot, but, unfortunately, we are getting colder by the minute, and after the mezes, we move downstairs around a square table under high wooden ceilings. The food is delicious, but we all agree that Fatuşa’s cooking still wins the prize! We are all enjoying ourselves very much, and time flies; it is midnight when we return to our bunks.

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Sheltering for the storm like in antiquity - Lycian Coast 11

I hear the motor being started, it is 6.30 a.m. Our captain must have decided to leave early for a safe crossing to Kalkan. It feels cozy to stay in bed but the door of my cabinet is slamming back and forth, so I have to get up after all. The only way to wash up and to get dressed is by sitting down for the boat jumps around like a kitten. It’s fun for a change and I manage. I sit down at the table in the galley with a few other early birds. The sky is clear and the dark blue sea very choppy as the waves splash against the portholes and we soon come within sight of Kalkan harbor.

The entrance is very narrow and a bit tricky if you ask me, but as I said before, we have full confidence in our captain. It turns out to be quite an affair to moor our boat backward in the crowded and odd shaped harbor and somehow the anchor chain gets entangled with that of another gulet opposite ours. We have to move forward and backward a few times to untwine our anchor chain. Easier said than done. All the vessels around us come alive and watch closely, the occupants shout and gesticulate, all are afraid to be rammed. All hands on deck! Everybody is in a high state of alert. Some official from Kalkan harbor rattles his directions and comments in rolling Turkish. Our crew and even Peter run back and forth, pushing and pulling the other boats to avoid collision. It is the event of the day, all harbor activity is put on hold for a while. Our Mehmet is very tense; the crew utterly silent acting immediately on the captain’s slightest command. We, the guests, try to stay out of the way and look on in respectful silence. Finally, our gulet is properly anchored at the jetty and order is restored. Our friendly captain is most upset and angry with himself: in his entire career this has never happened! He disappears to his quarters below, his pride is hurt - understandably. As a result of this eventful morning, our breakfast is served much later than usual.

The weather forecast for today is ideal, dry and windy, so the plan is to move our entire program one day forward. Today we will be walking along the Patara aqueduct (that should take about 3 hours) with afterward a stop at the antique site of Patara for a global visit. To fit all this in a practical time frame, we will start right after an early lunch.

Till then we are free to stretch our legs in Kalkan and I take a closer look at the beautiful houses in Ottoman style with wooden balconies and upper floors among the purple and white bougainvillea. They make beautiful pictures in the narrow steep streets and against the blue sky! I stop for my Turkish coffee at one of the waterfront places and then return to the gulet to prepare for my walk. I’m curious how my foot will do today!

Patara, the capital of Lycia, lies in the very heart of the Xanthos Valley close to the sea. In antiquity, Patara was a prosperous harbor town, silting up slowly till it died some time between 500 and 1000 AD. Today’s swampy estuary is enhanced with beautiful sand dunes near the seashore. It is here that one can see the famous milestone listing the distances to all the cities in Lycia that probably stood in the very center of Patara.

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An unexpected visit to Antiphellos - Lycian Coast 10

After lunch on board and a short break, Peter takes us to explore old Kaş or Antiphellos, as it was called in antiquity. Antiphellos was the harbor for the town of Phellos, further inland that lived mainly from agriculture. To ship out their produce, they needed Antiphellos (no roads, remember?), but the location was a haven for ships from as early as 2000 BC.

It is clear that Antiphellos was invaded by the Persians in the middle of the 6th century BC, but that did not stop its trading business, and the city even prospered in the 5th and early 4th century BC. Antiphellos was represented with one vote at the Lycian League and was known to mint its own coins. Since the Lycian writing has not been entirely deciphered yet, there are still many gaps in the history of Lycia waiting to be filled.

We head to the left on a road that runs more or less parallel to the seashore and discover the remains of a solid wall. In fact, this is the temenos of a Hellenistic Temple with walls of bulged stones as has become fashionable after Alexander’s time. Nothing much is known about this temple but then no serious excavations have been carried out either.

The walk continues uphill, a little more inland, and another wall appears to my right, i.e., the sidewall of a beautifully preserved theater with 26 rows still in place and used by the locals for their wrestling contests and other happenings. This is definitely a Hellenistic construction and offers a sweeping view over Kaş and the surrounding islands. The center has been filled with earth and gravel to recreate a podium for today’s performances, but all traces of the skene are gone. It may never have been built, or it may have disappeared after the severe earthquakes that hit Lycia, since we know that Antiphellos was one of the cities that received donations from our friend Opramoas of Rhodiapolis. As always, the theater is a beautiful spot to linger for a moment.

As the top row seats meet the level of the land behind it, we walk that way, passing a few hardly recognizable remains of sarcophagi as the materials have been taken elsewhere for reuse. But the big rock tomb we see next has been cut out of the solid bedrock and, luckily for us, could not be taken apart. The triglyphs have fallen down, but the guttae give an indication of where they once belonged. Stepping inside over the ridge of the sliding door, I find the floor and walls rather rough in comparison to the smooth finish outside, but then the space has been used over the centuries – just look at the blackened ceiling! Right, the same problem was encountered in Petra, where they had to force the locals out as recently as the 1990’s! Peter pulls out his flashlight, and surprising details now appear. This was a tomb for six persons, and the edges of two of the benches are delicately decorated with floral motifs, while the wall opposite the entrance shows a band filled with dancing girls moving around in fluffy dresses. This tomb too should be dated to the 5th-4th century BC. Gee, how wonderful! Imagine walking here, in the middle of nowhere, and suddenly coming across such an exceptional burial place!

We stroll back to Kaş, arriving at the Lycian sarcophagus on the main street that I saw this morning. That sums up what is left of Antiphellos. Maybe someday, someone will further investigate this area.

In fact, we were supposed to walk to the lost city of Phellos today, the longest walk on our program, but with the storm hovering above us, it did not sound like a good idea. Nobody wanted to slip on the wet bedrock or to be soaked by a sudden downpour, even if we had to miss the stunning views. It’s a pity, but our safety comes first, of course.

Before supper, we set out for a drink. Peter recommended an old cistern in the basement of a flashy bar nearby. It is amazing to see how the water is still in there and how old columns support the bar floor above, but the place smells musty and closed up, not very inviting, and we opt for the town square instead. Dinner is served on board at 8 p.m. We feel safe at our anchor place in Kaş harbor, and our many neighbors are very quiet. I sleep tight, only to awaken from time to time by the wind whistling and howling in the rigging. Poor fellows who are still out at sea tonight!

[Click here for all the pictures of Antiphelos (Kas)]

Click on the Label Lycian Coast to read the full story.

The flooded remains of Kekova Island and Uluburun - Lycian Coast 9

Breakfast at 8.30 a.m. The captain checks the weather forecast, and we are in for more wind in the afternoon and definitely rain earlier in the day. This means we can forget today’s walk to Kyaenai, one of the most remarkable Lycian towns. Sad and very disappointing. Imagine, now that I can walk again, the walk is canceled! Besides, how will I ever manage to see Kyaenai? Well, there is nothing I can do about it. We should have made a better offering to the weather gods, I suppose?

The captain is very obliging and takes the Almira close under the north side of Kekova Island, where no diving or swimming is allowed and where we can plainly see the Byzantine remains at close range. The city dates back to the 5th century AD when pilgrims stopped here on their way to the Holy Land. The seashore buildings are now partially underwater; some have entirely collapsed, and others are still standing ashore, showing their proud remains. It is interesting to see the square holes in the walls where wooden beams held up the roof, one of the many cisterns, a staircase disappearing under water, or sewage run-off dropping vertically into the sea. Sometimes the contours of a house are outlined on the rock wall. By 655 or so, the city was raided and destroyed by the Arabs crusading in the name of Mohamed. It has been left behind precisely as we find it today, except that the northern side of Kekova is now slowly tilting downwards under sea level.

From here, we venture to open seas, and the waves gain in height and turn shallow. It feels like a rodeo ride by now, and it is wise to grab a hold before walking on deck. Then comes the rain! A true downpour. The full gale hits us as we all scramble to the galley. This is no joke, for many a seafarer has lost his life in these waters. We gather around the table below, watching the water rushing over the windows and feeling the wind pushing and pulling our gulet. The captain keeps her head in the wind as much as possible, but this is hard work.

The story of the oldest shipwreck ever found in these waters near Uluburun comes to my mind. When I was in Bodrum this spring, Peter took us to the museum to admire the relics and treasures of this ship that went down in a storm in 1350 BC.

Sitting cozily together in the galley, Peter (see: Peter Sommer Travels) relates the story again to our eager group. This is an opportunity to jot down the facts and figures I heard a few months ago. The wreck was found at a depth of 30 meters, and it took the expert divers 22,430 dives to bring the entire cargo to the surface as they could only stay down for 20 minutes at the time. The archaeologists figured out that the ship was on her way from Egypt to the Black Sea, loaded with her precious cargo: 234 copper ingots or 10 tons from Cyprus; tin ingots to make bronze (copper + tin) from Persia; a gold scarab of Nefertiti; golden pendants; the oldest book in the world, i.e., two wooden flaps coated with wax and tied together; lapis lazuli from Afghanistan; amphorae and pots for olive oil and wine; weapons, a bronze dagger, a trident; ivory and ebony from Syria; 175 glass ingots mixed with cobalt and turquoise for coloring also from Syria; 11 stone anchors; a silver bracelet; gold and silver jewelry scraps for melting; amber from the Baltic Sea; oil lamps; ostrich eggs from Africa; ropes and twines; a sound box for a lute made of tortoiseshell; weights for scales, etc. In my mind, I am back in the museum and vision the pieces mentally. Imagine the cargo of just one ship! How many more ships were sailing these seas? How many went down? How many anchored in these harbors, loading and unloading their precious cargo, exchanging goods and the latest news? It is challenging to picture how lively these harbors were in antiquity!

At last, we reach Kaş, and the captain knows how to maneuver his gulet between the welcoming arms of the jetties. All ends well. A loud applause for the captain and the crew! Hurray! Now that the gangway is lowered, we can go ashore as we please. It is still raining, and I enjoy a cup of Turkish coffee, waiting for the weather to clear up. Lunch will not be served before 1.30 p.m., so I have plenty of time anyway.

Kaş, once famous for its sponges, is not unpleasant, rising almost straight from the sea to the mountains around it. Around the harbor, the many souvenir shops offer a variety of articles that are the same everywhere, from the simple Turkish lucky-charm eye to Iznik tiles, from kilims and carpets to jewelry and all kinds of so-called antiques. Strolling up the main street, I suddenly come face to face with a full-size Lycian sarcophagus, where the street splits in two. Can you believe it? The old tree next to it seems to have grown over its entrails and somehow shelters the tomb with its awkward arms. This sarcophagus carries beautiful lion heads on the beams and an inscription in Lycian on the sides. It seems to be standing here since the 4th century BC! This means it has been looking down on the town’s daily life for 2,500 years! Just try to imagine what this means! I can’t.

I find the bookstore where they sell a map of Lycia. I wanted it to follow our travel route, including the Lycian Way, for I am having difficulty figuring out where I am. I look at the books about Lycia but see they are published in the UK. So I might get them cheaper, if not for the same price, without carrying them on the plane. I do look for a supermarket though, for if there is one thing I want to buy, it is tea (of course!). When that is done, I walk back to the harbor and come suddenly across another Lycian sarcophagus, less fancy than the one uptown but framed in pink laurel and overlooking the bay.

Click on the Label Lycian Coast to read the full story.

Precious Sura and Andriake Bay - Lycian Coast 8

Today a visit to the ancient city of Sura is planned followed by a two-hour walk back to the boat. I’m having serious doubts whether or not to go along. Shall I take my chances and see how things work out? Or shall I listen to reason and skip another day of hiking? This is a tough nut to crack and I am very much upset with myself. After all, I joined this trip to see all these places that are not accessible by road and here I am, stuck with a twisted foot! I have a hard time convincing myself that I better rest for another day and enjoy the rest of the trip rather than forcing myself now and end up confined to the boat afterwards. Not easy and it is with pain in my heart that I watch the others putting their gear together and setting off to Andriake Bay on the mainland. I stay behind with the friendly crew as the gulet moves to Peter’s meeting point, a few hours from now.

This is a most peaceful bay, hidden away among the coastal islands with a handful of smaller sailboats for company. The stillness is healing. At a distance the fish are having fun, jumping in and out of the water with pleasant splashes. On the Lycian mainland, I hear the goats before I see them. They cleverly bounce from one rock to the next making their grunting sounds as if daring me to watch them. The waves are licking the rocks where our anchor rope has been secured and our Turkish flag unfolds in the sweet breeze. Except for the clashing of the pots and dishes in the galley, all is quiet. How blissful!

Since I am not seeing Sura “live”, this is a good time to do some reading up. Sura was famous for its oracle, not only in Lycia but all over the ancient world. The Temple of Apollo Surios, probably dating from Hellenistic times, was built next to the holy spring and it was here that the soothsaying took place based on the movement of the fish. Even in Christian times the place was considered sacred, for next to the temple the remains of an early church can be found. The origins of Sura are apparently not older than the 4th century BC, based on the findings around the Acropolis and the typical Lycian rock graves and sarcophagi. Well, I hope to visit the place some time in the future, even if I have to travel there on my own.

For now, I think it may be a good idea to get a foot massage and I climb down the ladder alongside the boat to sit on the bottom step. The water is a bit chilly but as I dip my leg in deeper water I notice a warm current underneath. Reflecting so close to the water level, I watch a school of small silvery fish swimming back and forth along the entire length of the gulet, changing course in a flash. In the crystal clear water, their belly almost looks phosphorescent. How fascinating!

Towards noon the wind is picking up, blowing almost straight from the south and our flag claps nervously around the pole. Fatuşa is starting lunch and the smell of pasta, onions and garlic drifts in the air, Turkish music keeping her company. I don’t mind the music for it blurs the harsh German talks from the nearby sailboat and the junk music from another gulet that has anchored opposite to ours and where everybody is screaming, jumping overboard with loud splashes. Around lunch time, hell breaks loose as one boatload of day-tourists after the other sets course to “our” bay to regurgitate its human contents in the welcoming blue seas. The idyllic cove turns into a playground and the serene shiny waters are disgraced by dozens of heads bobbing up and down like grim balloons.

By 1.30 p.m. my companions return, tired but happy about their visit to Sura and the walk back over rugged Lycian countryside. I am as hungry as they are, and luckily the crew is setting the lunch table almost immediately.

The plan was to return to Üçağız under sail but the winds are now too strong to hoist our sails and the captain cranks the motor instead. The conditions become increasingly more serious with choppy waves and heavy wind gusts, even here in the shelter of Kekova Island stretching its entire length in front of Kale. This area is also called “three mouths” as this bay has an opening east and west of Kekova Island and one to the town itself. We drop the anchor just outside Üçağız. As any sailboat, the Almira automatically heads into the wind, much to the comfort of her passengers.

Peter allows us some free time for a walk ashore. The zodiac is taking us there and in spite of this being in a sheltered inlet, our behinds are wet when we set foot on land. Well, the wind will dry us, right?

I am still not interested in shopping but instead, I am very determined to find out how it feels to be walking on my sore foot. From the boat I have spotted the ever fascinating Lycian sarcophagi along the coastline - Üçağız being the ancient Teimiussa - and I didn’t expect to find myself right in the middle of so many remains from the past. At the parking space next to the many restaurants, a high Lycian sarcophagus seems to be parked between the garbage bins on one side and cars and trucks on the other. I find my way to a plain asphalt road that soon leads to a gravel road, and then through the fields where I’m right in the middle of Lycian sarcophagi, Hellenistic walls, and Byzantine arches. I climb over walls, following the goat track as I see no other, to wind up on the Lycian Way covered with scree, rocks, and bits of marble. This is so exciting! Not only do I have these antique relics all to myself, but I manage very well walking and climbing without feeling any pain in my foot! Wow, wee! What a relief! The low sun throws a beautiful soft light over the trees on the opposite slopes and the rocky islands in the sheltered bay below. I feel coming back to life again!

Tombs with Lycian inscriptions seem to place the origins of Teimiussa in the 4th century BC. Apparently the city had ties with Myra and Kyaenai and the oldest ruins are a few rock-cut house-type tombs at the eastern end of Üçagiz's harbor. Well, I don’t walk that far, of course, it may be asking a little too much of my fragile foot and after all, there is still so much to see right here!

The sea squill, for instance, is in full bloom and I take some close-up photos. I watch the local daily life unfold around me with the chickens and roosters parading in the alleys, patchwork cats making a dash in front of my feet while their kittens call them from hidden boxes behind the rubble. Pomegranates shine in the low light like early Christmas decorations in the trees. From up here, the sheltered bay looks unbelievably peaceful!

I retrace my steps while the sun disappears behind the high mountains in the West. I’m thirsty and look around for the Çaibahçe for a cup of tea. From here I pass the mosque, a plain whitewashed building with red tiled roof, but the entrance hall catches my eye with its beautiful blue Iznik tiles carrying an inscription dated 1943, I suppose the date it was built?

At 7 p.m. our zodiac splashes to the jetty. The ride back to the boat is another wet one. No problem, I have dry clothes on board.

We are having a festive dinner tonight, with Kale’s castle in the floodlights in the background like a theater stage. It is funny how it keeps moving – well, our boat is moving, of course, keeping her head in the wind! Overnight the weather is calming down, just a heavy gust from time to time. All is well.

[Click here for all the pictures of Teimiussa]

Click on the Label Lycian Coast to read my full story