Faralya and the trouble with paradise, or, I've made a huge mistake

Up until Faralya, it seemed every place we went was more magical than the last. Sure, our moods and family dynamics would have ups and downs, but on the whole we would finish each day with gladness in our heart and a sense of wonder over what we'd seen and experienced. Then came Faralya, where I simply ran out of superlatives. 

The dolmus ride there was heart-stopping, on a narrow road cut into the side of the mountain, winding ever higher up with a steep dropoff to the ocean. It seemed to be only one lane wide, despite having occasional traffic in both directions, with nary a barrier in sight, save for a laughable chicken wire fence

that wouldn't have stopped a determined chicken, much less a minibus full of screaming tourists and a testosterone-fueled driver. 

Once we arrived and I could open my eyes again, we walked the cobbled path to our pansiyon, where we were welcomed by Hasan, the Turkish owner, and his family.  Chickens pecked in the gardens, the call to prayer rang out from the nearby mosque, homemade bread baked over coals in the outdoor fire pit, and a pool glinted invitingly with the last rays of the sun. Dinner was served in the communal dining room after sunset, which coincided with our arrival, so we sat down at one of the tables outside and watched as the sun sank into the ocean stretching out from Butterfly Valley far below.

The five days we spent in Faralya were nirvana. The food was prepared from what grew in the garden and the local surroundings. Every morning we awoke to the sight of blue sky and tree covered cliffs, and a bountiful Turkish breakfast of yogurt, honey, olives, homemade bread, sweet juicy tomatoes, and eggs no doubt from the chickens that slept in the coop outside our room. Our days were a combination of hikes in and around Faralya

and nearby Kabak beach, itself an idyllic and extremely laid back place where we would swim in the azure ocean and then rest on a hammock or in bean bag chairs, sipping kahve while the kids contentedly ate popsicles. 

We hiked up and down the summits, through forests,

past waterfalls,

that were cold, clear and perfect for a dip - though we may have scared away some Dutch tourists who wandered by and got more of a scenic view than they expected. We drank fresh squeezed orange juice prepared in tiny stalls on clifftops

and jumped from rocks into deep blue water of the Aegean.

We returned at the end of each day with time to spare for reading, writing and math in the outdoor courtyard, 

a jump in the pool, then a viewing of the sunset over a beer 

before being welcomed again to a feast prepared by our Turkish hosts,

 

predominantly vegetarian though a chicken that must have been retired from egg-laying appeared in a stew one evening.

Our final night we pondered over where to head next. We had to decide between following the more travelled path to the grand sites of Ephesus, the Roman capital of Asia Minor (and whose ruins rival those of Rome itself); Pamukkale, a UNESCO-designated natural wonder; and Çanakkale, where the WWI battles of Gallipoli were fought 100 years ago. Our other choice was to turn inland and visit the lakes district of Egirdir, where one was more likely to meet a shepherd on the paths than another hiker, and where Turkish villages were small and relatively untouched by tourism. We ultimately chose the former, reasoning that while we would have many wonderful hikes ahead of us but might never again have the chance to see heritage sites of such renown.

Having made the decision we awoke and prepared to leave in the morning. After a delicious breakfast, 

a last swim in the pool

and meditative time looking out at the sea, we left on the minibus to go to Fethiye, our jumping off point. Upon arrival in Fethiye however I was banging my head and gnashing my teeth over our decision. Though we started the day with a nice hike from the abandoned ghost town of Kayakoy,

once we got down to Oludeniz everywhere we looked were a million other tourists. Tacky bars and hotels packed every square inch of space, and the hotel we had reserved for the night was dirty and cramped, miles from the centre and, horror of horrors, the pool was empty. I had an entirely unwarranted meltdown, envisioning the rest of trip passing in a kitsch filled overpriced blur, the wonders of our first few weeks gone and forgotten. I longed to be back in the peace and beauty of hidden Faralya. After driving everyone else in the family crazy with my moaning (and lack of perspective), I finally bid a mental adieu to the past and accepted the present, able to see all the lovely things that were around us - the mountains hadn't gone anywhere, the sea was still blue, and though their charm was somewhat obscured by the commercialism,

Fethiye and the neighbouring Oludeniz did have their own beauty, with floating paragliders

colourful against the blue sky and green hills, and crashing surf the kids went crazy over. 

Tom before the wave came...

And after...

The twilight walk along the coast to find the least expensive tourist trap was serene

and we ended up enjoying our dinner at the restaurant where the waitress was from Yorkshire and the live entertainment was a couple of Dutch men performing what could only be described as a live karaoke act - they sang and played along to a backing track that was the actual recorded song - mostly 70's easy listening hits.

 

We went back to our dinghy hotel to sleep (if somewhat gingerly on the cover of our beds) and walked towards the otogar the next morning, strolling along the coast and through back streets by canals,

taking our time until we checked our watch, panicked and hopped into a taxi where we just caught our bus to Pamukkale, a three hour drive away. 

Pamukkale is small town whose centre is mostly tourist restos and hotels, but much lower key than hyper Fethiye was, and still with signs of village life - tractors were almost as common a sight on the streets as the tour buses. 

The reason for the UNESCO designation of the town is the white travertine cliffs,

pictured in photos the world around as terraced by aquiline blue pools. The reality is similar, but not quite as glorious as the posters. The pools are very shallow,

which doesn't stop people from splashing in them and posing for selfies in their bikinis (and filling up water bottles with the mineral mud reputed to have therapeutic values - something we weren't sure of would counter the potential fungal infections from the feet of countless visitors). Still fun to walk over the white calcium hills

and in the torrents of warm water. Part of the travertines had access verboten so we were able to appreciate the beauty of pools without people draped all over them. At the top of the hills was an antique bath where admission was charged for a dip in the thermal pools, still filled with ancient columns from its time as a spa. The kids and Paul frolicked in the pool for over an hour 

while I watched from the outdoor lounge and read my book, carving out my own peace in the midst of at least two competing sound systems, the Babylonian chatter of hundreds of milling tourists, and the whistles of the jandarma warning people off protected areas of the travertines. The ruins of Hierapolis just behind the travertines were themselves interesting and much less trafficked.

*****

Paul: Kyra, Tom and I found plutonium in the ruins of Hierapolis. Plutonium (in this case) refers to the toxic gases that are emitted from a hillside spring. The ultimate source of this deadly spring was, naturally, attritubuted to Pluto, god of the underworld; hence Plutonium. Stranger still, eunuch priests would prove Plutonium's efficacy by throwing small animals into the vapours to watch them die. Kyra was interested in finding this spring, and when Tom heard there was poisonous gas of course he wanted to go straight to the source. After deciphering some cryptic references in the guidebook, Kyra first heard the bubbling and hissing gases by the foundations of the ruined Temple of Apollo (safely bricked up to minimize exposure).

I have to add that the present-day village of Pamukkale also has its own creative practices. For example, we observed that the school children of Pamukkale are summoned back to class not by the abrasive and annoying ring of a bell, but rather by the heart-pumping theme from the Game of Thrones.  I think the TDSB should adopt this practice immediately.  

The eunuch priest-killing small animals thing can remain in the distant past.

Wandering the Lycian Way: Cirali, Kas and Patara

When we started dreaming about Turkey, our lofty ambition was to trek the Lycian Way, a 30 day, 509 km trail through the mountains along the western Mediterranean coast. As our departure neared and Tom failed to grow a longer pair of legs or the strength to carry his own fully equipped backpack we realized that we would need to scale back our plans. Fortunately Turkey is well set up for people doing day hikes in this historic area so we have been basing ourselves for a few nights at a time in apartments in incredible settings.

After an uncertain wait for an indeterminate amount of time for a bus, we arrived in Çirali, or rather at the stop at the main highway turnoff. Rather than risk another long hot wait for a dolmus we decided to walk the 7 km down the quiet scenic road to town.

The kids were hot, hungry and tired but happy once they got to our bungalow, with orange trees in the garden that our host entreated us to pick whenever we wanted. So to accompany the day's lunch of bread, cheese and olives, (as well as every meal and snack after that) we had fresh juice from just picked oranges.

Çirali is a tiny village, whose inhabitants are trekkers, farmers, and chickens wandering around citrus groves and greenhouses, all in a breath-taking mountain setting.

Paul and I woke early and walked to the beach to watch the sunrise our first two days. 

The walk to and from our bungalow was lovely, and the white and blue of the nearby mosque set against the blue sky and towering mountains made for a stunning scene

(yes we did take this picture!).

Our first day hike was to the flames of Chimaera,

named after the mythic Greek monster. Gas of a still unknown composition seeps from the earth in scattered crevices, spontaneously combusting upon contact with the air. Though fairly small now, in past times the flames were vigorous enough to guide mariners sailing far down below at night.

Our second day we visited the ruins of Olympus, a few km away from our bungalow.  Our host had lent us bikes which were pretty derelict but good for riding from one end of the road to the other. 

We rode them as far as we could and then abandoned them when we had to cross a stream.

After a hike across the pebbly beach

we arrived at the ruins. 

While wandering around them we met a charming American backpacker named Melissa who inspired us with her stories of solo hiking for three weeks through central-west Turkey, and gave us great advice on our travels to come as she had spent a lot of time in New Zealand and Australia. We were glad to have her over for dinner that evening, 

the peaceful solitude she experienced during her treks a distant memory as the kids talked nonstop in their excitement. I was glad that they were polite (relatively) as at other times we wonder if being away from the moderating influences of their grandparents and teachers has turned them into wild savages with no manners - and language not fit for a family blog, or even for a Judd Apatow movie in Tom's case.

Along with the spectacular views 

we have really enjoyed the amazing scents accompanying us on many of our hikes. Impossible to identify all of them but they include orange and lemon blossoms from the citrus groves, rosemary, lavender, thyme and sage from herbs growing wild along the paths, the salt in the sea air, honey from the myriad boxes of bees scattered everywhere and countless flowers including one that smelled exactly like passion fruit. 

Next stop Kas, a busier coastal town with a thriving tourism industry, where we had yet another sweet apartment with incredible views of the sunset from the balcony. 

Our day hikes were over to pebbly beaches for swimming, up to abandoned ruins, 

via a quiet Turkish town where village life apart from tourism was in evidence, and climbs to soaring summits

with an accompanying steep descent down zigzagging switchbacks. We enjoyed walking down all the stairs connecting the streets

and shopping at the market for provisions,

that night we had chicken, potatoes, olives, tomatoes, cucumber and cheese for dinner.

Waiting for our bus to Patara we sipped our kahves and enjoyed the now common sight of residents passing the time amiably chatting, playing games and generally seeming to enjoy life. We took this picture mainly to capture the men playing backgammon behind us.

We had decided to stop for a night in Patara to break up our journey, and because it was reputed to have a nice beach. After a quick swim at the pool at our pansiyon

we hiked to the beach, which turned out to be a 20 km marvel with zero development, virtually no other people, surrounded by massive dunes. 

Capping it all off was a final walk through an odd combo of desert scrub and wetlands arriving at ancient ruins. The kids' mood and dialogue was a perfect example of how our hikes often are. The kids start out each hike with enthusiasm, as their energy wanes and hunger levels rise the complaints start, mild at first - Jacob "my eyes are itchy from all the pollen", Kyra "when am I going to see my friends again", Tom "where are we going to be for Christmas and why can't Santa give us more presents"

and then escalate to grumbles and woeful wails - Jacob "I hate flowers" Kyra "why oh why can't we get a puppy" and Tom "Hiking is so boring I want to go back to  Toronto right now" (accompanied with a collapse on the ground). Paul and I keep everyone going with games, stories, movie reviews (we discuss the plots of movies we've seen), but when the kids tire of the distractions we plead, castigate, then progress to entirely unhelpful yelling (ok that's mostly me). At that point the mood can only be broken by an impromptu picnic or arrival at some destination that excites the kids. Once they reach the beach, ruins or water their joy is boundless and they race ahead, cares (along with the parents who caused them) forgotten.

As is readily apparent to you dear reader, this blog is written and curated by Sarah with loving care.  However, Sarah has allotted me this space at the end (if you even read this far) to inform you about the departure of our treasured companion, our University of Michigan (mini) Football.  I lobbied hard to have Football join us on this adventure along with our perennial favourite, Frisbee (175g).  We had some great times with Football: he went long in Gulhane Park by Topkapi Place in Istanbul where Ottoman Sultans had ruled for centuries; he spiralled through the surreal landscape of Cappadocia; 

and he even soared down Roman main streets that have stood since Hadrian ruled from Britain to Asia Minor. 

However, the ruins of Patara proved too enticing for Football.  As the site of one of the greatest Lycian cities -- one that had prospered even in the time of Alexander the Great (330 BC) -- Football got himself lost somewhere between the world's oldest lighthouse and the Lycian Assembly (which had served as an inspiration to the framers of the US Constitution).  We know that Football will be happy there and that Frisbee will help fill the void.  But he will be missed.

(Picture of Paul racing across the dunes searching (in vain) for the football)