The Lycian Shore, Take 2

Welcome to my Lycian coast travelogue.  Unlike most of my ‘blogs’ to date it has over 13,000 words and almost 300 photographs.  So it’s a bit longer than usual …  but with computers you can just skate through it at top speed.  I’ve really enjoyed putting it together and I hope you will like looking at it.  Thank you for taking the time to try out my website …

 And so we embarked on this cruise along the Lycian Coast for a second time, with Andrew as our guide.  Why would we do this trip for a second time?  Well, John needed a rest after a series of mishaps at a hospital (whose doors we will never darken again) and he said that this voyage, taken three years ago, had been the most relaxing and refreshing he had ever had.  I rang the company (ACE), there was one cabin left and we were, once more, on our way.

Surprisingly, I could remember all our group from the first time.  The dependable and practical couple from Edinburgh – Dorothy got through the whole of ‘Wolf Hall’ on board, Jim managed to turn himself upside down over the void at the top of a cliff in Loryma to read from an ancient stone tablet –  while he and Norman also helped John sort out how to use his new snorkel.

Then there was the lady vicar and the flyer of Tiger Moths, the celebrity chef and his thoughtful partner who loved archaeology, the Oxford don, who one day went blue in the face coming down from an acropolis and lay down on a broken pillar, looking as if she was turning into stone.  Then there was Ken, who loathed vegetables, read books in French and pootled around Cleopatra’s baths in a canoe –  and a couple who had retired to Portugal to play golf but had got bored and come back to England.  Quite a disparate group  –   this time it would turn out to be much more cohesive.  But eccentricity – or the ‘bonkers’ factor – featured slightly less.

John and I arrived in good time at Heathrow, T2.  Not as busy as we thought and we were blown away by Heston’s wonderful ‘Perfectionist’s Café’, which had just opened in June.  It’s a bold name – but the restaurant does live up to it. And the waitress was lovely.  We had a Pizza Alici with tomatoes, olives and anchovies, cooked in a wood fired oven on the premises, followed by ‘nitrogen’ vanilla and blackcurrant ice cream, served with a chocolate spoon.  This was all reasonably priced, high quality, totally delicious and a promising start. What a wholly unexpected treat to find at Heathrow, where I usually feel like a piece of exhausted flotsam or jetsam in a sea of mediocrity.  But to be fair, things have improved and I have always found the staff welcoming and helpful. We do take a lot of things for granted.  How many of us could afford to travel by air just sixty years ago?

It was great to meet up with Andrew again.  He is very good company as well as cramming our minds with knowledge about what went on where  through the ages along the Lycian coast.  Turkish Airlines serve good food on board.  Why can’t I make an aubergine dish like this?  I’d forgotten how delicious cherry juice is too. We sat next to a fellow traveller, Mira, from Toronto via former Yugoslavia and the U.S.  Her American friend, Priscilla, would be joining us at Istanbul.

We didn’t have to queue up for a visa this time  –  you can now get them online.  At Istanbul Atatürk airport we followed Andrew like the Pied Piper through endless corridors to Domestic Airlines and were soon bound for Dalaman.   Our minibus was waiting and I sat next to the driver as we plunged into the dusky warmth of the southern night, with the welcoming,  shirring sound of crickets in the trees, fringing the road.   As we approached the lights of Göcek marina, a  sinuous brown cat slunk into the shadows.

We are here, walking up the illuminated wooden jetty, the sound of waves slapping and gurgling against the sides of the creaking boats. Our gulet is waiting.  I can smell the sea air and am  flooded with feelings of freedom and adventure.

The cook had prepared a small meal, even though it was almost midnight and we were introduced to the crew.  The captain, Taifun.  Not the same one as last time but he looked just as imposing.  I never caught the name of the cook but he was very attractive in a Daniel Auteuil sort of way.  Or a Turkish David Niven perhaps  –  apparently he did have a girl in every port!  Ah well, he also turned out to be a great cook.  Ufuk and Ferhat were the cabin crew, boys in their twenties, who were cheerful and efficient and looked after all of us so well.   Our cabin is cosy and invites blessed sleep.

I woke early and took a cool shower.  The sun is out and there’s a breeze.  I begin to feel like a shirt that has been folded in its cellophane cover for months  – now being shaken out and hanging loosely.  Breakfast must be ready as I hear the clinking of tea cups.  I’m slightly anxious about how the rest of the group will be but hunger spurs me up on deck.  Soon we are all chatting around the table while small, sociable wasps make friends with John and his cherry jam.  There’s a dish of hard boiled eggs. I peel one and break it open  –  one of the wasps makes a sharp foray and flies off triumphantly with a piece of yolk. Do wasps like boiled eggs?  Seemingly, the ones here do.

GEMILER ISLAND

The sea air is energising as we leave port and make for Gemiler island with its ruined churches, vast, empty cistern and vaulted processional way.  As we berth, the ice cream man is waiting and soon his little boat is alongside.

We travel to shore in the Zodiac in fours, while Andrew chats to the owner of the small café at the water’s edge.  They know one another well.  It’s a rough, boulder strewn path to the top of the island but we all finally make it. Late afternoon is a perfect time to visit. Afternoons here shed a golden bowl of light, which holds both warmth and harmony. This is a spiritual place, the stones steeped in past ages.  It’s also a place of great natural beauty by the sea with no sign of the spilt blood it has seen over the centuries.

 Ufuk zooms over in the Zodiac when we get back to the shore and we squeeze in.  I notice that dog Toby seems to have a Zodiac all to himself!  What a sweetie!

Supper is on deck as the sun goes down.  I have turned off my mobile phone.  Andrew is slightly worried about the weather as a stormy sea is forecast.

Last time we had calm weather all the way, so it was a shock for me to wake up early and feel a heavy rolling swell.  Oh dear – I’m not going to make it, I thought  –   but I reached the bathroom ‘juste à temps’!  John said I could qualify for being the noisiest ‘retcher’ of all time.  I did feel utterly wretched!  Covered only in dripping sweat, holding grimly on to the towel rail for one and a half hours. It would have been better to get on deck but I’d passed the point of even moving.  At last I managed to have a hot shower with John’s help and feeling as weak as a new born calf, I struggled up on deck (almost fully clothed!) and was given slices of apple sprinkled with salt and hot herbal tea.

KAS

When we arrived at the picturesque village of Kas, I went to the chemist, who gave me strong (and expensive) pills in case of a re-run.  The weather was bright and it was warm but the sea was still running high, with white tops to the waves.   The sea wall is decorated with paintings which I find both extraordinary and memorable from our last visit.

The amphitheatre at Kas is set in a very pretty location with a view of the sea.  The last time we were here I remember Maureen, of Tiger Moth fame,  looking after our rucksacks while we went to see a tomb further on up the hill.  I noticed one  lone, empty wine glass sitting in just the place where we had left her last time and wondered if she was still alive  –  she had been in her eighties. You can see her photo if you look back at the first Lycian tour.

Arrival at the tomb.  The muttering old crone of yore – its guardian – and her large feral dog – are no more.  The walls are still burnt inside and I was driven out by the fusty smell.  Behind the tomb I hear a crackling sound in the underbrush.  Thinking it might be a snake I cautiously peer in.  A large tortoise!  Obviously, the crone  –  reincarnated!

Kas – when I get home I will long to be here again.  There are tourists but it is not overrun.  The houses are pretty with wooden, flowery balconies and the harbour is full of boats, coming and going, decorated by a lacy edge of many cafés and boutiques, selling clothes and sandals, carpets, art and jewellery.  And the living is easy.  I could happily spend a week or two here.  People are friendly and welcoming.  Everywhere we go there are dogs and cats and pomegranate trees.  We sit in a café and drink fresh orange juice and golden beer served by a very entertaining waiter.  His English sparkles. I am feeling much better.

We visited an erstwhile church (now metamorphosed into a mosque) on the way back to the harbour.  The most fascinating bit for me was the path leading up to the entrance.

The Turks live with many dogs and cats so here are a few I met around town.

Then it was time to explore one of the prettiest shopping streets ever with the added bonus of an ancient tomb.

This most elegant tomb is at the top of the main pedestrian shopping street. It is one of my favourites.  There is a Lycian inscription,  yet to be deciphered, so nobody knows who the tomb was for.  However, the locals call it the King’s Sarcophagus.  It feels very good to be back here.

 

We are in port for the night.  I think Andrew went off into town after supper – maybe to meet up with friends he knows there – or to dance the night away.  I am reading a spy story by Charles Cumming but sleep spills over the pages.

Next day the weather is brisk with a sea breeze and sun  –  must put on sun screen to avoid a weatherbeaten look.  I also take one of the pills from the chemist –  just to be sure.  This will prove to be a double edged sword!

As we leave this morning, I can’t resist more of the delights of the sea wall …

 KEKOVA

We cruise by the underwater remains of Kekova  –  the colours are unbelievably lovely  –  white, friable, limestone  cliffs, green thorny scrub beloved by black goats, clear, turquoise seas shading to indigo as the water deepens.

 KALEKOY  

(Ancient Simena)

We cross the sound to Kaleköy, a small village accessible only by boat.  On the top of the hill is an impressive castle as this was the site of the ancient town of Simena.

The jetties are edged with tubs of flowers and a bevy of young girls meet us on the shore, wanting to sell scarves edged with seashells.  But our goal is to climb the steps to the top of the castle.  A wooden staircase makes it easier than the last time we were here and the view from the top is stunning.  How wonderful to be away from the trials of city life.  But wait … what is this?

I hear a buzzing noise above us  –  looking up I see what can only be a ‘drone’ seeming to peer down at our group.  So much for a village that can only be reached by boat!  I sort of want to shoot it down.  I take a photo but manage only to get empty sky  –  sinister … Later on, at home, I find in one of the Sunday papers that you can buy a video camera drone with transmitter for £45.99!  The picture in the paper looked very like the ‘drone’ we saw circling the citadel, which has Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman remains.  Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’ poem fits the bill here … over and over … he must have been pleased with that poem!

Returning to these places, I do feel much more rooted in the past history of them than I did first time round  –  maybe it’s just the familiarity of seeing them again … but I’m aware of a strong connection, like a plug being pushed into a socket.

With the wind in our hair, we make our way down to see all the tombs that are strewn across the hillside, tumbling down towards the sea.  Olive trees grow up through some of them in ‘trouble and strife’ – or maybe just in a permanent embrace…  A very old man is sitting with bags of dried herbs collected from the hills and I buy some oregano.  Andrew has told us about another man who has fresh orange juice for sale on the way down the hill and we find some of the others already sitting in his café.  Ice cream is also on the menu, so John is happy!

 Before going back to the boat we make our way, sometimes seemingly through peoples’ gardens  with ducks, dogs and cats, to get close to the famous ‘floating’ tomb.  There are inviting restaurants by the water’s edge, where you sit on floor cushions to have your meal.  Boys are diving into the harbour as Ufuk arrives with the Zodiac to fetch us.

A small inlet awaits us for the night and we are able to swim in the clear, deep  warm waters.  John is snorkelling and seeing more fish than last time we were here.   Tonight the sea is calm but more wind is forecast for tomorrow.

Another early start at 5.30am.  I take a pill as the continuing sea swell makes me uneasy and so we go up on deck to lie on the cushions under our duvet.  The dawn is spectacular.  If I hadn’t been seasick we would probably still be asleep in our cabin.  But I do have another problem.  The chemist didn’t let me know of any side effects of the pills and all the instructions were in Turkish.  I have only taken two pills but say to John that Aphrodite is definitely trying to change me into a goat!  I am not used to this happening!  It’s as if I am being set in concrete – or maybe I looked at Medusa in my dreams …

Mira arrives, swaying on deck.  She is quite feisty but this morning she also has felt queasy and her ruffled hair makes her look like a rather bedraggled sparrow.  But she soon chirps up and finds Andrew to ask him a question or two.

MYRA

The boat ploughs onwards, spray soaking us from time to time on either side, until we reach the calm estuary that runs into the sea at Myra.  An old man brings out his small boat to the gulet,  so he can take us all in one fell swoop  to the shore.  A minibus is waiting to ferry us to the spectacular tombs.  This is a fantastic site, made even more fascinating as the city was buried by a tsunami and you can easily see the layers where the archaeologists have dug down and where the tsunami reached.

Faces at Myra

There’s a shop, where I find a pair of thin, white cotton trousers.  Later, we sit in the café, drinking sharply delicious pomegranate juice.

DEMRE

(Church of St.Nicholas) 

Then it’s back into the minibus to brave the church of St. Nicholas, which is full of Russians waiting to kiss the sarcophagus.  One man queuing is the image of Putin. But I am sure Putin doesn’t queue …  There are some exquisite frescoes but  we pass on the kissing bit.

John and I then look for an escape route, pushing through the manic ecstasy of the crowd to a patisserie pointed out by Andrew, where we enjoy our own manic sugar shot –  eating baklavas, dripping with honey.

 

I meant to take a photo of the baklavas but was so greedy I ended up with only an empty coffee cup and an ashtray  –  not  even mine! However, Andrew’s choice of patisserie was excellent.

TEIMUSSA

We drove back to the boat via Teimussa which has some rock tombs and where our gulet awaited us. The heat and the crowds at the church had made me weary.  The thought of curling up here on cushions was very inviting.   But it was ever onwards to see the tombs (somewhat overgrown and guarded by feral cats) and then back to the harbour.

It’s sweltering now and I can’t wait to get back to the boat for a swim.  John sees pipefish and an octopus.  I must learn to use a snorkel but the sea is so clear I can see right down to the bottom.  Mary, whose husband was an environmentalist (who sadly died in May), is here with her daughter, Kati.  They are both wonderfully skilful in the canoes and go way out.  I only swim around the boat but I love being in the water.  We have lots of opportunities for swimming from the gulet.

The bathroom light sometimes won’t come on.  I asked Ferhat to come and fix it.  He gave it a thump and that worked.  It continued to work when I thumped it too.  Very satisfactory.  We also had a leak when it rained heavily in the night but  I ran upstairs in my nightdress and was provided with a bucket.  I need to do some washing.  I forgot to take in my rabbit T-shirt when it was stormy, so poor bunny was whisked off the line and now lies at the bottom of the sea. Better that than my new swimming costume, which is quite fetching, though I say so myself.  My old one was like a rag, which fell apart at inappropriate places and needed a small army of safety pins.

Andrew has a new T-shirt for every day.  He has an eye for choosing good ones – though maybe some are presents.  I would like to look in all the other cabins to see the layout of the boat but I don’t suppose I can ask.  The ones in the bow must be different from ours in the stern. And I’m trying to work out where the crew sleep.  The captain sometimes sleeps on the cushions at the back of the boat, where we read during the day  –  he has to keep an eye out all the time.

There are some very handsome gulets  but also some obscenely expensive and monstrously ugly James Bond baddie motor cruisers.  I’m just astounded at how many boats there are when we go into a harbour like Fethiye.

The weather continues uncertain re stormy seas but all the same it’s warm and sunny even with the wind.  We are meant to be at Kalkan tonight but pull back into Kas again.  The crew plan to take the boat on to Kalkan tomorrow, while we visit Letoön and Xanthos by minibus. We’ll catch up with them by road.

LETOON AND XANTHOS

Letoön lies not far off the Kas to Fethiye road.  Leto was a nymph beloved by Zeus who fathered her twins.  She was chased away in a jealous rage by Hera,  Zeus’s wife and found herself here, needing to quench her thirst but was chased away again by angry shepherds.  She took her revenge by changing them into frogs.  There are pools amongst the ruins today, which are home to said frogs, small terrapins and water snakes, all of which John and I saw.  It seemed so peaceful today, shimmering in the heat.  One of Andrew’s favourite tombs lies partly hidden behind the large amphitheatre.  It’s worth a visit.

Then it’s onward and upward to Xanthos – a very special site. It has a violent past, with both wars and earthquakes, but today  it is peaceful and silent, baking in the heat.   It is only ten kilometres from Letöon and is now on the World Heritage Sites listing. The natural site is beautiful – high up, overlooking a river with mountains in the distance. The waves in the stone of the amphitheatre show signs of seismic activity in the past.

The Lycians were a fiercely independent race.  It was at Xanthos that they committed mass suicide not once but twice, rather then be ruled by invaders.  It was the Persians in 545-546 B.C. and then in 42B.C. Roman Brutus razed it to the ground.  Brutus, however, was so shocked by the mass suicide that he offered his soldiers a reward for each Xanthosian still alive.  But only 150 people were found.

Xanthos finally lost importance and the site was forgotten,  only to be rediscovered by Charles Fellows from London in 1838.  Some of his finds are in the British Museum, which led our group into thinking we might stage a reunion there in a year’s time.  Andrew could show us  what Fellows found on his various expeditions to Lycia.  There is still a lot to see here though and the site has a powerful atmosphere.

There’s a plant which I noticed at other sites and which looks like stunted, mini marijuana.  The leaves are the same  shape but much smaller and it has a sprawling habit, close to the ground. I was sitting at the top of the amphitheatre and picked a leaf  –  the smell of hashish was unmistakeable.   Another plant looked like a mini fig tree.   The leaf still has that musky, fig aroma that makes the air heavy around it and is still slightly tacky as I hold it in my hand today. The smell reminds me also of a summer long gone in Greece.

Just as well I didn’t bring the hashish smelling leaf home.  Our bags were on the carousel at Heathrow being checked out by sniffer dogs when we arrived to collect them.  Somebody was obviously bringing in something illegal and the police had been alerted …

PATARA

After a picnic by the small café, we were back in the minibus driving on to Patara.  We jumped out to pay our respects to Vespasian’s impressive stone arch, which lies right by the side of the road, plants growing out of the top of it.  I just think how horrified the people would be to see it now, who lived here in its glory days.

At the main site, they are doing a lot of rebuilding, using the old stone and I think it looks fabulous.  No doubt there are critics but those monumental square shapes  of honey coloured stone, like giant granular sugar lumps, give the building massive authority.  Outside, there’s an ancient tree.  I thought it was covered in tiny white snails but its trunk is bleeding mastic. Mastic is a resin used in making lokhoum (Turkish delight) and other sweetmeats and puddings.  It’s a hard resin when you pick it off the tree but chewing makes it soft – as John finds out!  I suppose chewing gum was a  spin off from that originally.

On the way back we stop at a café, which has a shop.  Waiting for a reviving drink at the table, I am drawn to the allure of what is on offer.  Olive oil herbal soap with gum mastic.  Oh joy!  I read the label – mainly in Turkish but then a sentence in English.  ‘Olive oil feeds, moisturises and softens the skin.  Thanks to the gum mastic in its content, it helps rejuvenation of the skin’.  Couldn’t be better.  I buy all five bars.

I remember my father (a GP), telling me when I was a child that if there was no toothpaste, soap was a good alternative.  The main thing was to clean your teeth.  Some soaps are better than others.  This Turkish soap makes my teeth feel very clean and shiny!  I often use soap instead of toothpaste and it seems to do the job just as well, if not better …

Mike buys a new hat to shade him from the sun. Sort of Harrison Ford/Crocodile Dundee.  It suits him.

The boat hasn’t made it to Kalkan, so we have to drive back to Kas.  Apparently the weather will be better for sailing tomorrow.  It was very hot today but windy out at sea.   When we are back on the boat John suddenly tells me he has lost his rucksack.  It had his passport, binoculars and camera in it.   Aaaargh!  The minibus has gone but will be back tomorrow to take us inland to Pinara.  We can only hope it is in the minibus somewhere and not sitting under the café table at Xanthos or worse …  a sleep of many nightmares follows …

Our minibus driver arrives in the morning.  Relief  –  he found the bag under the seat last night.  It is so wonderful to find good, honest people here  –  we give him something to say thank you for looking after it.  Everything in our cabins is completely safe also – looked after by Ferhat.  Not that I have brought anything of real value  –  but the level of trust is heartening.  And it is so cheering that Ferhat and Ufuk care about us and make sure we are comfortable. I know we score lots of ‘brownie points’ over the Russians they had on board.  We don’t start drinking vodka at breakfast time and we don’t carouse late into the night … and we are not rude and boorish etc. etc.!

PINARA

We set off for Pinara in good spirits this morning.  The road is very rough and bumpy leading up to the site, snaking up the mountainside with steep drops, which I studiously try to ignore.  This place is very green, threaded through with pine and olive trees and fragrant with wild thyme.  The amphitheatre sits comfortably, cut out of the rock into the hillside –  small but perfectly formed.  I have to concentrate on keeping up as we climb higher towards the tombs.  I would like to stay here all day under the trees with an enormous picnic.  But it’s ever onwards, sweating profusely in the heat of the day.  Unfortunately, my camera seems to have sweated profusely too and a small, unwanted grey cloud comes up on some photos from now on. I don’t think cameras are meant to sweat!  Bof!

In Greek legend, one of the most famous plants connected with the dead and the underworld was asphodel.  Pinara is carpeted with it.  The flowers are  starry, pale and delicate  but the stems are strong, thrusting out of the earth –  I first saw them in Cyprus and was struck by their strength, grace and elegance.

In book 24 of The Odyssey, the souls of the dead ‘came to the meadow of Asphodel where abide the souls and phantoms of those whose work is done’. This place was also known as Elysium  –  the Elysian fields.  I wondered whether there was any connection between Elysium and Lycia.  They sound very alike.  Asphodel was planted on graves to signal the gateway to the Underworld.   The name and the way they look awakes some deep, atavistic feeling within me. It’s something to do with my DNA rather than a specific memory. I wish I’d read ‘The Odyssey’ at school.   Caesar’s Gallic Wars with all those earthworks didn’t have quite the same appeal!

There’s a surprise at the end, when everybody thinks we’re about to board the minibus.  We scramble up a dried out river bed and over a path littered with boulders, past a fig tree and round the corner there are the most spectacular large household tombs, carved deep into the rock.  John brings up the rear to make sure nobody has a disaster en route.

Andrew has brought drinks for us all  – so refreshing!   I do appreciate being ‘looked after’!

TLOS

Am quite hungry now and looking forward to the fish restaurant in the tree houses above Tlos.  I hope we get to eat before looking at the ruins.   When we arrive, we find small rustic wooden structures amidst the wealth of indoor and outdoor space under the tree canopy,  where we can sit on cushions in the shade.  We share our spot with Mary and Kati.  Lunch is grilled fish with a buffet of ten types of salads and vegetables  –  we pile them on to our plates and the cheerful waiter brings over cold beer.  Streams flow down from the mountains and fountains and waterfalls splash all around us.  Negative ions are very rejuvenating – so is the beer.  A good place to remember, which is off the beaten track.

On the way out is a small shop, where I buy pine honey in an old jam jar.  I shall have to wrap it up securely in my washing in the case.  The sky, once blue, is now dark with grey, moody clouds clinging to the mountains as we go to look at the ruins  –  which include baths and and an imposing citadel.  Andrew describes what went on in the baths.  I could do with conjuring up a masseur at this very moment!

Last time we met the son of the café owner, who charmed us all – except for those who thought he was somewhat precocious. His English was amazingly fluent and he was only nine years old.  I look for him but he is apparently at school.  So I won’t get to meet the up and coming president of Turkey this time.  I am sad.

But yes, a call goes up.  He has just appeared.  Now twelve and still a handsome lad, he comes to see us in the minibus as we’re leaving.  He is less precocious and more aware of himself but he still gives a good  impression that he will go far! We didn’t get to Bellepheron’s tomb this time (which hangs out dangerously over the void) but seeing the boy was my real highlight.  All my emotions are so heightened during this trip  –  how lucky I am to be here again.

On the road once more – and back to meet up with the boat at Kalkan, which is a small but upmarket tourist resort;  magenta coloured bougainvillea tumbles over pretty restaurant terraces overlooking the quaint harbour and white painted houses scramble up the cliff.  There’s no time to explore the town, as we leave to spend the night in a small bay, where we can swim.  I think we would all have liked time to wander around but as Ufuk and Ferhat tie the boat up to the rocks and we climb down the ladder into the sea, I am in seventh heaven.  Kalkan awaits a visit another time.

FETHIYE 

It’s Saturday already.  A week has gone by as we cruise into harbour at Fethiye.  There are hundreds of boats and the jetties go far out to accommodate us all in a giant water world boat park.  The morning is free and while John relaxes on the cushions with his book, I decide to go into the town.  The sky is grey and this turns out to be our only day of rain.  But it’s not raining yet and holding my postcards in my hand I wander along the seafront, looking out for a postbox.

This is a busy, commercial town and there are lots of tourists whose dress and demeanour show that they wouldn’t make good ambassadors for their country.  As I am thinking these dark thoughts an old man comes up to me and points at my postcards.  We have no way to communicate in words but he then points across the road and indicates that behind a restaurant there is a postbox.  I am grateful as he waves me on my way.  And I find the box  –  it is yellow.  Next stop  –  investigating the market …

I explore the covered market and go to look for the café where I met the four men playing backgammon last time. They invited me to have tea with them.  See my first Lycian blog.  I find the café but this time the table is empty  –  perhaps because it is beginning to rain. I feel somewhat disconsolate.

After lunch we follow Andrew through the town first of all to a small but interesting museum, full of sculptures both inside and in the garden surrounding it.  Next is the famous Tomb of Antyas high up the cliff face.  It’s now raining heavily and taxis arrive to get us there. We all make it up the zig zag path to the top.

As a treat, because of the weather, Andrew buys us all Irish coffee in the small café at the entrance to the tomb.  Very warming and a real pick me up.   He is very thoughtful. We then follow him down the hill in the rain to the fish and fruit markets, which are undercover.  John and I buy nuts and dates and apricots.  The abundance of fruit and fish is overwhelming  –  I could stay here all day feasting my eyes on this natural wealth.  We can’t cook fish ourselves but we find it grilled by the cook for our supper later.  A rainy day, but full of colour, treats and kindness  –  and a great tomb, even if a tiny bit graffitied …

And on that note we leave our frantic shopping and trudge back to the boat in the rain.  Next morning the weather has changed for the better and the sea is calm. We are on the track of the lonely goatherd as we leave the busy port of Fethiye and make off once more into the ancient past …

AGALIMANI

Really, we are off to see the two giant and ruined mausolea at Agalimani, which is an island.  We dock in a small inlet with a beach and the Zodiac ferries us to shore.  The path leads steeply upwards and looks rocky.  It’s about forty five minutes uphill to the ruins.  Margery, who has replaced Kati for the second week, confides that she has a problem with vertigo but she sensibly keeps to the left hand side of the path.  Andrew has warned us that the going could be difficult in places, so Averil and Catherine have opted to stay on the boat and go swimming but the rest of us feel up to whatever lies ahead. Jane is admirably kitted out with Norwegian mountain sticks – Angela too.  She lent me hers at Pinara.  On reflection, I wish I had brought mine. They save your knees from disaster, especially going downhill …

The sun beats down on our heads – everybody is sensible – wearing hats.  I prefer to wear a headscarf because my head gets terribly hot in a hat and beads of sweat drip unpleasantly down my face.  The headscarf mops them up before they can do that.  The mausolea are impressive but the treat ahead is down in the valley where a man and his wife live alone on this island – except for donkeys, goats and hens and their sweet dog.  Their daughter was brought up here but now lives on the mainland. On the way there we come upon an ancient  semi-circular stone dome which turns out to be a cistern  –  although from a distance it could have been seen as an arrival of aliens in a flying saucer …

We are welcomed with sage tea.  Andrew is a familiar face with the couple and they are happy to see him again.  They have bells, honey and an array of homemade wooden spoons and spirtles in all shapes and sizes for sale.   We fall upon them as perfect and wonderful presents to take home.  I can’t resist another jar of honey too.  This is a hard life but in one way I am envious of its simplicity.  At heart I am of the city but I love being out here, exploring this vast, unpopulated, wild landscape, travelling by boat, swimming in the deep sea and learning about another country, its civilisations and its culture.  I am as enchanted as Freya Stark must have been when she wrote ‘The Lycian Shore’.

‘Many sensations of pleasure made up the moment and hummed in the silence ….. like bees in a tree’  (Elizabeth Bowen – ‘The House in Paris’).

We make our way slowly back to the boat in dribs and drabs.  Ufuk makes forays to and fro with the Zodiac.  There are five of us left on the shore. One too many.  Andrew swims to the gulet in his blue and white floral shorts.  I expect he is relieved we are once more all present and correct and in one piece!

I have finished my spy story.  I idly wondered who would be most likely to be a spy on the boat.  Not counting Andrew, who is a continual traveller and so would have the opportunity but, I think, not the inclination.  Averil is very organised and observant, Priscilla writes a lot in her journal, Christopher is definitely of the old school and could have been an ambassador and Douglas is seemingly very outgoing and gregarious.  Angela was actually once a secretary in MI5 or MI6.  I was interviewed for a similar job in the 70s but decided to go into publishing instead.

I have brought ‘The Goldfinch’ by Donna Tartt but decide to read ‘The House in Paris’ by Elizabeth Bowen instead.  Its strength is in her description.

Ah well,  I can hear the generator is on and so I luxuriate in a hot shower before supper.  Now I need a glass of wine!  Ufuk is ready and waiting with a twinkle in his eye to serve us at the bar.  Blissful!

Andrew teaches John how to play backgammon  –  and lets him win!  He’s a great man!  Our fellow ‘Argonauts’ -(Andrew’s name for us all)  – will be very familiar with this phrase  –  we met many ‘great men’ and their boats on this trip!  At the ‘last supper’ on deck, Mike and Margaret read out a poem they had written about our voyage with ‘he’s a great man’ refrain between verses  –  I won’t forget having the pleasure of meeting all these ‘great men’ who helped us en route!  The Turks ride high in my esteem.

KAUNOS

Next morning we set off for ancient Kaunos.  We approach a vast, flat, estuarial plain.  On one side is Istuzu beach, where turtles lay their eggs in the sand.  Nobody is allowed on it from sunset to sunrise.  A smallish boat chugs out to meet our gulet and we all climb down the ladder on to it.  Then we are off upriver, through the reed beds, to see tombs, a high rise castle and a stunning mosaic. The Dalyan river is the border between Caria and Lycia.

The boat discharges us by fish ponds and we make our way towards the castle, which lies a-top a towering crag. There are huge bushes of pink bougainvillea which we push through at the entrance to the site.   I manage to take a photo of a very large lizard which looks like a tiny komodo dragon before it slips between the cracks of the ancient blocks of stone.  We explore what used to be a vast harbour but now lies eight kilometres inland.  What was once busy and noisy and thronging with people and boats plying their trade lies silent except for the twitter of small, crested birds and the movement of goats flitting through the olive trees.

Near the castle is a beautiful mosaic, which we must have missed last time.  Or maybe it has been newly discovered as there is a wooden structure around it which you can reach on a ladder in order to to see the mosaic.  And we do!

The embellished ‘charabanc’ is still there from last time and, later on, rumbles us down a rough track back to our small boat, which lies partly hidden behind large pink oleander trees.  On the way down river we see egrets and a kingfisher.  This whole area is now environmentally protected.  Somewhere near here, there are mud baths.  I am always up for baths and massage but hot, salty thermal baths are my favourite.  Not on the programme today though.

As we reach the mouth of the river Andrew points out lifejackets under the benches.  It’s a fifteen minute journey out to the open sea to track down the gulet and the waves have white tops.  But nobody falls in or has a panic attack!  I lean out to watch the spray as the boat carves its way through the waves.

We leave the turtles in peace to lay their eggs and swim in deep water in a nearby bay.

I always look forward to supper and we are later regaled with stuffed peppers and chicken,  beans and salads.  And most nights huge plates of water melon are served for dessert.  Both John and I eat lots of it but some of the others are not so enthusiastic.  Although water melon is 92% water, it is very rich in lycopene, which may help in preventing heart disease and some cancers.  Water melon is also good for the digestive system, provides 21% of daily vitamin C needs and can reduce inflammation (muscles and nerves); it’s also great for the skin and aids sleep.  I read about this only when I got home so was pleased to have been greedy and hoovered up plates of it every evening.

Ufuk arrives with the promise of Turkish coffee.  It’s ‘sade’ (no sugar), ‘orta’ (one teaspoon of sugar) or ‘sekkerli’  (weighed down with sugar).  Otherwise, apple tea is preferred by Jane, Mira and Priscilla.

Apple tea is surprisingly delicious and later on I buy a bag of it in Bodrum to take home.  But all I want to do now is sleep after a long and fascinating day. I am replete.

LORYMA

Next morning we find ourselves cruising down the Loryma peninsula and sail into the natural harbour, where an impressive Hellenistic fort guards the entrance and spools out along the top of the cliff.  That’s where we will be climbing up in an hour or two.

It must have been hard work keeping a watch here, both out to sea on one side and down to the harbour on the other but it’s a beautiful location.  I wouldn’t have minded being the laundress.  The clothes would have dried wonderfully well in the wind and sun and smelled of real fresh air. No ironing necessary!  On second thoughts, did they do much laundry?!

Last time we heard and saw several donkeys right up on top – they must have been sure footed as it’s a very rough, steep path, with large boulders to contend with.  This time I can only hear them hee-hawing in the distance.  I am one of the first to reach the top  –  only because I was with the first group!  I am not a mountain goat type but fairly steady. We hear a call for help  –  Angela has slipped and her leg is bleeding badly.  Luckily Margaret has a plaster and within minutes Angela is climbing again to the topmost point.  Although Andrew warns us against taking on too much, we are all at heart ‘troupers’ and determined to ‘stay the course’  –  even though there are complaints from time to time!

There’s an interesting plant that when it’s dried out it loses its leaves and looks somewhat like those balls of sagebrush that roll through the American West.  It’s more prickly and geometrical but sort of ‘bouncy ball – ish’ and was apparently used to pack clay amphorae securely in the holds of ships – our equivalent would be bubble wrap!   Theirs was recyclable and left no residues  –  it was just reclaimed by nature when done with.  I sort of questioned this information from Andrew first time round but he was proved right as there it was in the castle at Bodrum, where they show the inside of a ship and how it was packed.  You would need something like rubber gloves to protect your hands from the prickles though.  Goatskin gloves?

We got to the topmost point by walking along the wide, flat wall of the ramparts, even though there was quite a drop -but I felt sure footed enough if I didn’t look down.  I was glad of my sunglasses in the bright light as we scrambled up the last bit to the summit.  If we don’t do these things now, we never will.  Although tempted by lying on cushions drinking wine back in the harbour, it’s much better to have made the effort to get up here and the view across the sea to Rhodes is overwhelmingly ‘azzurro’  –  blue skies and sparkling light on the blue water.  Joseph Mallord William Turner said ‘The sun is God’  –  and along with water and bit of earth, I tend to agree with him. The older I get, the more I admire Turner’s paintings. But today I am actually in the painting!

Andrew had bought a bottle of red wine and generously shared it with us, while the large poster of Atatürk on the wall looked down upon us. The tables were laid for supper and there were enough boats in the harbour to fill them all.  I just felt like staying here for a few days, climbing up to see the view every morning and evening, making myself known to the donkeys and chatting to the owners of the café and the mariners, coming and going.  I can see the attraction of sailing but I wouldn’t be a good crew member  –  I’m fairly impractical and when the going gets rough, my stomach isn’t so tough …!

Next morning we set off for the exquisite double harbour of Knidos.  It was an early start, so we were up on deck under our duvet and,  just soon after dawn, we passed through a narrow isthmus, which  is in Greek waters.  Ferhat had to haul up the Greek flag.  There were a lot of gulets up and about early on the high seas as we forged our way through the bumpy waves.

The captain wants to put in at Datça because we need water.  We have just one hour to explore.

DATCA

Datça is a little gem.  Exotic, scarlet hibiscus flowers by the harbour, an artisan café painted blue, a black labrador asleep on veined pink and white marble, whose smoothness luxuriously covers all of the landing stage.  There’s a small, intriguing bookshop, ‘Le Flaneur’, stuffed to the gills; a patisserie, a pottery shop with distinctive tulip patterned plates (I should note here that the Dutch imported tulip bulbs originally from Turkey) –  and an inviting Turkish rug store whose owner speaks excellent English, having lived in both Oxford and London in his youth.  This is a charming little enclave but it must get very isolated in winter.  Perhaps the owners of the shops decamp to Istanbul to revamp their stock for the coming year.

Mira and Priscilla arrive back at the boat triumphantly bearing souvenirs.  Next stop, Knidos! Time is now beginning to slip away fast and we must seize the best of each day …  carpe diem.

KNIDOS

The sun is blazing down with a white heat as we sail into port.  A lot more has been excavated since John and I were here last. I see what seems like white bones bleached in the desert but they aren’t bones – just pieces of broken pillars and pots, all laid out neatly in lines and by the amphitheatre in blocks, like the geometrical grid of an American city.

There’s much to explore and we set off from the small fish café on the beach, passing two swimmers in the sparkling blue double harbour beneath the lighthouse.  We strike on upwards towards the temples of Apollo and Aphrodite. The statue of Aphrodite, found here, is now in the British Museum.

The Lion of Knidos is in the BM too.   He once royally viewed the ocean from the cliff top but now graces the atrium of the BM, thanks to Charles Fellows (of Xanthos fame).  I am not going to enter into the Macgregor/Clooney dispute.  I rather love George but Neil is one of my heroes.

We finally climb down from the top towards the amphitheatre, which looks out seawards.  There’s a man at the front intoning to an audience in German.  Many of them are standing and swaying and a slight moaning sound fills the air.  I feel miffed that this ‘cult’ should have taken over a public place.

However, as I am prejudiced against cults in general, I leave them to it and potter down to the small shop, where I buy goat parchment Knidos bookmarks to take home as gifts.  Also a minuscule bowl with a ship painted on the inside to remind me of our gulet and crew.  Last time I was here I bought a bracelet with turquoise, indigo and crystal beads to remind me of the colours of the sea and the sky.  I am wearing it today.  The colours belong here.  They reflect that special light, which can’t be replaced in northern climes.

I run along the track by the sea to catch up with John, who is holding a tiny, green, dead turtle in the palm of his hand. Perhaps it has been dropped by a seagull. We put its remains back in the sea.

As we strolled back, the cult seemed to have finished their confabulations and were drifting off.  The café owner said to Andrew that profits had been up this year and so I felt I shouldn’t be grumpy about them.  They were seemingly harmless. I do loathe cults but hey, I don’t have to join them.  So just be ‘cool’ about it.

Instead we join Andrew for a beer at the café.  The captain was coming over with Ufuk and Ferhat for calamari and we were invited to sit down with them.  The calamari is fresh and crunchy and delicious, sprinkled with lemon.  Behind us is a large poster, showing all the different kinds of fish that are caught and brought in by the fishermen to the restaurant.  We don’t have much common language but there’s a sense of fun, warmth and affection between us all.

Later, Ufuk offers to take us back in the Zodiac.  John takes a photo of me, hand in hand with Ufuk, walking down the steps to the jetty.  It’s just a dream to be here in Knidos  – I  probably don’t want to wake up!

Suddenly, one of the boys on the jetty sees an octopus in the shallows and hooks it out.  It wraps its tentacles around his wrist and squeezes his arm, determined to save itself.  Finally, the boy manages to free himself and after a few brutal blows, the octopus lies still on the ground.  I feel sorry.  Will they eat it for supper?  I love octopus but could not have eaten that one.

Now it’s dark, except  for the nightlights pinpointing the location of each boat in the harbour.

The stars are really standing out in 3D.  It’s not just a flat night sky with the moon but this 3D universe stretching back through the Milky Way and beyond.  It reminds me of a book I read in the 70s  –  ‘The Star Thrower’ by Loren Eiseley.

Loren Eiseley was an anthropologist and natural science writer,  a philosopher and a poet.  In the book, the narrator meets a solitary man on a beach, who is picking up a stranded starfish on the sand and throwing it back into the sea.  They chat and the narrator remarks that so many starfish must get stranded, is it worth throwing one or two back?  The man replies that this is the one he has come upon, and his effort to do this for this particular starfish makes a difference – even if it is small.   And small kindnesses spread out across the world and make it a better place. The book has a very  poetical style but deals with the science of the natural world.  Eiseley has been called the modern Thoreau.

In the morning at breakfast we feed a shoal of fish before taking up anchor.  Pipefish are also attracted to the bread we throw  into the water. There’s one on the right of this photo below.

Time for breakfast with delicious jams and olives, fruit and cheese. The cook also provides crispy, cigarette shaped ‘böreks’  –  flaky, thin filo pastry filled with spinach and cheese.  Very moorish – more-ish! First come, first served!

The old man of Knidos waves to us as we leave the harbour for the open sea once more.

We haven’t done the play that Andrew was suggesting. However, Mary, who teaches drama, takes it on as director. John and I will be of the audience.  They need one!  We are going to do it on the gulet.  The casting is well done with Christopher taking the title role and Margaret as the wicked queen.  Catherine, Angela and Priscilla make a pretty trio – the equivalent of The Three Graces!  My knowledge of ancient Greek is somewhat sketchy but we pronounce it all a great success.  It was fun to do and Mary was a great director!

Now we’re on schedule for Bodrum, our final destination.  The crew all come from there and are generally excited about getting home, I think.

Swimtime.  Angela excels herself by canoeing off at great speed towards the horizon, while Margery explores a narrow channel in the rocks with her snorkel.   They are both adventurous.  As usual, I stay close to the boat, doing my fibromyalgia exercises.  They are so much easier to do in the water.  I suppose the warm, salty sea supports your body so you feel light and frolicsome.  And I do!

John comes to tell me he’s seen a large ray making its way along the bottom.  Boats pass by  –  one looks like a pirate ship. Oh dear, where is Angela?!  But all is well  –  she’s very resourceful.

That was our last swim.  Tomorrow we meet up with the 21st century once more.

BODRUM

Bodrum is humming and thrumming as the captain does yet one more miraculous manoeuvre of the gulet into an impossibly narrow space between two other boats.  He has brought his five year old son on board, who already has his ‘sea legs’. The harbour master calls out orders, the captain calls out orders to Ufuk and Ferhat  and finally, we can disembark.  Soon, we will all go our separate ways but we still have the delights of Bodrum to partake of.

The captain takes his son off on the bicycle –  home to see his family.  Andrew hands out tickets to the castle, which is not to be missed.   It is wonderfully set out with many courtyards and beautiful artefacts. We will also make our way to the Mausoleum, or what is left of it, and the amphitheatre, which now lies cheek by jowl with the dual carriageway.  A dangerous approach with speeding traffic awaits but  a panoramic view of the harbour impresses.

This sculpture reminded me of what Michaelangelo said about sculpting figures out of marble.  They were there already and he only had to release them.

On the way back to the harbour we did some exploring of the back streets of Bodrum.

Time for our last lunch on the gulet before making our way along the waterfront to the castle.

 

I manage to find the shop in a basement in the market which I discovered last time to buy lokhoum, olive oil soap, apple and hibiscus tea.  The old man (I seem to like old men!) is still there.  We explore the market stalls and drink ayran at a small table outside, overlooking the water. Ayran is a Turkish national drink made with yoghourt, water, ice cubes and salt. Garlic and/or mint can be added.  It is served cool and is refreshing. From our table we watch fish swimming in the shallows.

BODRUM CASTLE AND MUSEUM 

Next stop is the castle and the museum within it.  This is the one thing you shouldn’t miss in Bodrum, even if the only thing you think you want to do is lie on a beach.

The glass museum is a smallish, very dark but spectacular room containing glass objects from 1400 B.C. to 1100 A.D.

There are more stories to be read  –  some of them shown in my first travelogue on Lycia.

I love the Maritime Museum within the castle – it brings together many stories of trade, shipwrecks, towns and cities along the Lycian and Carian coasts – and tells what archaeological work is going on today underwater.

Just as I was beginning to need a rest we took a walk out onto the castle walls.  The castle is built on a peninsula between two bays which lends magnificent views from the ramparts.

Very soon now we will all be leaving Bodrum too.

Andrew has warned us about the nightlife here going on into ‘the wee hours’.  I hear trance music in the distance but it doesn’t affect my sleep – the muezzin’s call about 4.30 am does!  But not for long …  I think swimming improves my sleep patterns, which have been mostly good on the gulet.  Also the fact of being on the water and being gently rocked, like a baby in a cradle…   Iyi uykular  (Sleep well).

Now it’s the day of reckoning.  We’ve packed the cases which Ufuk and Ferhat take up on deck.  One last look at the cabin and after breakfast we are off, trundling all our stuff along to the minibus which will take us to the airport.  The boys pile everything into the back of the bus.  John and I are the last to leave.  It seems natural to embrace Ferhat and Ufuk but I just shake hands with the captain in a serious sort of way.  Captains of gulets have very high standing in society here.   I don’t really thank the boys properly as I hug and kiss them because my eyes are full of tears. It’s a wrench to say farewell.  They have been so good to us and now it’s time to leave.

Our trip home is uneventful, although we drop Priscilla off at Istanbul as she is going to spend some time there.  When we get to Heathrow we are all herded into a sort of pen as the police are looking for some miscreant and sniffer dogs are in evidence.  We pass the test!  And suddenly everybody has melted away …  it will take me a little while to readjust but John goes to Berlin tomorrow morning so  it’s somewhat back to normal service being resumed as soon as possible!

A few days later we get a nice letter from Andrew to all us Argonauts.  He’s a great man! I feel we were a good group and I hope he enjoyed himself too.  Although John and I did the selfsame cruise three years ago, it was different in many ways this time and I remember much more of the history of the Lycian coast now.  It would be wonderful if we could organise a reunion at the British Museum in a year’s time to see Aphrodite and the Lion of Knidos et al. Best wishes to all fellow Argonauts who sailed with us this time!  Thank you for your good company. And thank you, Andrew.  Elveda!  Or is it ‘güle güle’ …

Note:  At the moment the photos in my first Lycian blog need to be restored owing to a programming error.  Although you can read the blog it might be best to wait until I can restore the visuals!

END