Remnant tombs and fishermen icons

We continued our Lycian trek and visited the necropolis at Myra to see the rock tombs that had remnants of red, yellow and green paint on them when Charles Fellows did his explorations here in 1840.  Gorgeous now, they must have looked stunning in full and brilliant colour.  

Myra Lycian tombs

Myra used to be a small trading port, catering to sea-going traffic around the Mediterranean, and after St Paul was arrested in Jerusalem and sent to Rome for judgement, the boat carrying him there stopped on Anatolian shores here at Myra, in 61AD.  Not far from his home town of Tarsus, just down the coast.  This was the last time Paul was to see Anatolia, as he was killed in Rome in 67AD.

Myra, today, is called Demre and there are well-preserved Lycian ruins all over town. 

It is also famous as the place where St Nicholas spread Christianity.   

A basilica church, a low-set many-domed Greek Orthodox,  built in his honour by the people of Myra after his death is currently being renovated, for due to his efforts spreading the word, Myra has the reputation for being the first Christian city in history.  

St Nicholas's basilica

Nicholas was evidently a kindly man, and frequently gave gifts to the poor, and that has carried through the ages and merged with other legends that enable a fat old amiable man to come to many believer’s homes at Christmas, bearing gifts.  

In the basilica garden there is even a statue of St Nicholas, carrying a sack, surrounded by children.  

St Nicholas

St Nicholas is a still a big favourite, and is the patron saint of many cities, New York and Moscow included;  and so beloved that Nicholas 1, of Russia, once contributed to an earlier restoration of the basilica’s belfry and middle dome.   

Fishermen around the coast often dressed their boats with images of St Nicholas to keep their rudders strong and safe, and even today there are many icon centres all over town.

Icons of Nicholas kept in the centre

We camped at Myra down on the waterfront where a lot of boat building and repair is happening.  Right on the road way.  Workmen have their tools, including their electric ones, under temporary tarpaulins by their boats, by the water.  These must be there for many months looking at the state of repair of some of the boats out of the water.  

Boat building on the road

Not far from there we found a tarpaulin-covered cafe where two men cooked us up another delicious seafood dinner.  

Our dinner cafe on the beach

We thought we might be the only diners, but were soon joined by a man who said he was the chef from one of the boats docked on the wayside for repairs.  He sat himself down with us for dinner.  And from what we could make out, we think he’d been trained at the Sheraton in Istanbul.  Certainly, he knew his way around a kitchen, for when the salad was served, he wanted it dressed in a very specific way, so tootled off into the little makeshift kitchen — he clearly knew the two men there well — and quickly whisked together a chopped garlic, lemon and pomegranate molasses, in a tea cup, then dressed our salad with it.  

Eccentric.  

Delicious.  

Salad with special dressing

We arrived back at our campsite to find the owners had a fire blazing in a wheelbarrow.  They were waiting for it to turn to charcoal so they might barbecue dinner.  We had to tell them we had eaten.  But that, too, would have been fun.  Also, in the time we were away  they had set up an open sided loggia-style cabana with kilim covered sofas all around, enough for dozens of people.  We must have been the first campers of the season, we think.  

All this effort for the three of us, plus a couple of fellows in pup tents, from Istanbul, who were walking the famed Lycian way.  

So, we enjoyed the comforts offered, and stayed awhile chatting until bed time. 

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A bit of heaven: a bit of hell

The road carved into the limestone mountains south of Kalkan and on to Kaş is stunning: one of the most scenic we have taken in Turkey.

The limestone cliffs occasionally drop down to secluded coves and bays chewed into the coast, where a handful of sun seekers always find a route down, no matter how difficult the beaches are to access.  

Secluded little bay

The herby smell of what the French call garrigue, low shrubs that cover the limestone hills like a thick tufted aromatic carpet, is earthy, and reminds us of the smell of the Pyrennees.

Earthy scent of the shrubs

And Kaş, when we arrive, is stunning: the sea water, amethyst to turquoise, the olive trees lining the shore, sun-bleached to silver.

Kaş marina with the sea beyond

The campsite is the best we have had in Turkey and very highly commendable: the amenities new, functional and spotless, the bar operational, the view to die for.   Dive teams in the water below us are in full gear and training, and a lone swimmer from afar trains back and forth between the buoys for over an hour in the blue water, along with the turtles.   It is just a wee bit cold for us to join him.

Jewel coloured water

We settle in for one night and stay two.  Kaş, while a tourist town, has done a lot of things right.  It has ancient Lycian roots, and today’s village is growing out of those roots, where it once was a tiny seaport.  Great remains of an interesting amphitheatre over two thousand years old sit on a hillside on the edge of town.  It is small with supporting sides built high out of the ground; not curved into the slope as most are.  It is the only amphitheatre in Anatolia with a sea view.

Unusual amphitheatre

There is a Hellenic temple being excavated,  and we’ve seen three Lycian sarcophagi so far, both occupying prime sites overlooking the sea, ready for their spirits to soar: one called the King’s Tomb; one with an inscribed base; the other with dancing girls.  Dancing the way to heaven, no doubt.

Lovely Lycian tomb

Downtown, lanes and alleys are dripping with bougainvillaea, or shady and sweet with honeysuckle: perfect to sit under.  Traditional homes, with their lovely upper story oriel windows, are spruced up and picturesque.

Lycian king's tomb at the end of the alley

We ate our sis under the dappled light of a big old rubber-leafed tree and could have stayed there for hours watching the activity in the long market where carpets are sold,  as are tile panels, telling ancient stories of sabre-bearing Anatolians, the panels these days copied by artisans from Kütahya, further inland.  We might visit.

Bougainvillea and philodendron

Old men suck gently on the mouth piece of the nargile in the square, creating bubbles in the water to cleanse the impurities from their chosen tobacco.  A slow process, this habit: it takes about an hour to smoke one of these plugs.

Hubble bubble

And the dondurma vendor, with his very practised routine, pretends to drop the ice-cream cone each time he attempts to pass it across to Bec.  She is charmed.

Dondurma to go -- eventually 

It is all quite idyllic.  Our favourite spot on the Mediterranean coast so far.  And it must have been for aeons, as a long time ago, when the Romans took over from the Lycian descendants, Marc Antony, realising its worth, gave this glorious stretch of coast to Cleopatra as a honeymoon gift.

A romantic place even then.

Our room with a view

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But it is not all rosy in Paradise.

Down a narrow road overlooking the blue, blue sea, where traditional gulets drop anchor to allow tourists to swim over the ancient ruins on the seabed, are hundreds of foreign owned houses, tumbling right down to the water's edge.

Tour boats moored 

In various stages of completion.

Homes on the Kaş peninsula

Some finished: where the gardens show they have been occupied for some considerable time.  Mature loquat trees grow.  Shallow rooted palms.  Nothing too high, as the entire mountain they are built on is friable limestone, through and through.  

Some unfinished: swimming pools built and once filled with water; or great gaping gaps where windows should be.  Terracotta tiles are partially laid on some of the roofs, the remainder are stacked up on top, as if, one day, they might be completed.

But, they might not. 

Foreign owners on the Kaş peninsula have recently discovered that their homes, here, do not fit the environmental requirements set for the peninsula. 

Their homes are now practically worthless, despite having bought their properties with legal advice, and approvals and certifications in place with all the appropriate legislative bodies at the time of purchase.  Their price plummeted.  

Actual ownership rules have suddenly changed.  No longer are foreigners able to purchase property on this peninsula.  

As such, foreign owned homes here now no longer meet the appropriate guidelines; and can no longer be approved for sale. 

Folk who retired here a decade ago, and who were planning to sell their home to move back to England, or Germany, or wherever they came from, have no chance.   Other foreigners can no longer buy them.  And Turks, who might be approved to own them if the homes can be made to meet the environmental standards, will not pay the price that foreigners are asking.  

So, it is shades of the property purchase scandal in Spain of not so many years past.

And it would not be surprising if a little class action might be needed in the Kaş peninsula debacle, at some time in the very near future.  

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Et tu, Brute

We followed a lady with her cow up a crumbly hill to find the ruins of Xanthos, where the proud and independent Lycians once had their capital.   

Xanthos today

We have been reading the tales of their city kingdoms since Dalyan. Their ancient ruins, rock tombs and sarcophagi dot many of these south-western Mediterranean hill towns.  

Xanthos, itself,  was once the heart of their kingdom and in recognition of that has been inscribed as a UNESCO site: tho, like a few other sites here in the south, it could benefit from better signage.  

Like many coastal kingdoms Xanthos was eventually taken over by the Romans,  but our interest was in the Lycian remnants, before then: of which there are few.  

Lycian and Greek on this mausoleum
records the tale of Kherei, Prince of Xanthos
This monument helped to decipher the Lycian language

Most were carted off by Charles Fellows, commissioned by the British Museum to bring back his discoveries after digs at Xanthos in 1838.  Entire monuments were lifted and taken to Britain, along with some of the finest tomb art.  

Remants of a Lycian tomb on a pedestal

Much of what remains are copies of what has been lost. 

Lycian pillar tombs on the left.
The original frieze of the Harpy
Monument, right, is in the
British Museum

The Lycians were into tombs in a big way.  At Xanthos they needed to be. Their history is tragic.  

Here, in 546 BC they were besieged by the Persians.  Outnumbered and outmanoeuvred, they resisted as long as they could.  When the end was predictable, they gathered their women, children, servants and animals into the acropolis and slayed them; then set their beautiful city afire.  They fought to the death, leaving the Persians with nothing to win.  

Eighty Lycians survived, as they were from home at the time; but on their return they, and their descendants, rebuilt their city.  

This tragedy happened twice in Xanthos: so proud and defiant were the Lycians.  

In 42 BC, after his assassination of Caesar,  Brutus passed through Asia Minor collecting soldiers and taxes for the Roman cause.  The Lycians of Xanthos refused to contribute to Brutus’s demands, whereupon he attacked them.  They, again, razed their city to the ground, and committed mass suicide rather than succumb.  

Though Marcus Antonios did rebuild the city;  and, on the second hill at Xanthos, Roman ruins remain.  

Et tu, Brute. 

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Today the villages around Xanthos have similar, but different, tombs: the dead who are buried have their right hand set facing Mecca.

Today's tombs

At lunch in one of the villages, we heard the Adhan remind three men in knitted caps to hurry to prayer at their little mosque across the road. Many others around us stayed unmoved by the megaphoned exhortation, and continued drinking çay and talking.   

The mosque is just behind the locanta

Today, the valley below Xanthos can hardly be seen for greenhouses.  They cover almost every square inch of arable land.   This is a vast vegetable growing valley: one of the best in the world, apparently.  Maybe it was even back in Lycian times.  

Greenhouses cover all available space

Here, we saw the local vegetable market in action.  

Large empty trucks, heading to markets to deliver produce nationally and internationally, waited on dusty roads in the shade of the pine forests in the hills.  Dozens of them.  

The truck stays until it is full 

Farmers drove up in their trucks and tractors with trailers loaded with produce.  Tomatoes, today.  Rich red tomatoes fully ripened on the vine, which is why they taste so good. 

A man with a blue book surfaced, inspected the produce,  then offered what looked like a book price for the harvest, which was then all loaded onto the trucks to head out of the valley.  Or perhaps, tonight.  

We followed this tractor to the market

This farmer with his harvest might have to wait to unload until bean and pepper trucks arrive tomorrow.      

Just picked

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Froth and foam

Ölüdeniz is famous for its blue lagoon, which, when the sun shines, is amazingly blue. The lagoon was formed by a sandbar developing between the still water and the ocean, leaving the back water still. Or dead, as its name literally means "dead sea".

Tour boats pulling up on the beach

Our campsite was on a reedy part of the lagoon, still and gloomy looking under stormy skies, which harked back to the days of malaria-ridden mosquitos, so we were not drawn to stay too long thereabouts.

Like Göcek, Ölüdeniz is a purpose built town of small apartments, hotels, restaurants, tour operator shops, paragliding kiosks, and market stalls filled with tourist tat.

Beads, bits and bobs for the tourists

While Göcek is developing as a sailing hub, Ölüdeniz, with its high surrounding mountains is the heart of paragliding territory in this part of the world, so draws its fair share of extreme sport enthusiasts, it seems.

They haven't quite solved their power problems in Ölüdeniz as yet, as while we were there the power went out, and noisy generators came on. The power was still not on next morning, and as we walked around town after coffee, we noticed all the hotels and restaurants had their own generators operating out of covered sheds in back yards, and trucks were delivering more diesel to run them.

Most of the restaurants were running on generators

Menu signs advertising "chip butty" and "scampi and chips" were common, too, so clearly this is another hangout for the young and the British.

As are most of the newish towns on this Mediterranean coast of Turkey, we are discovering. Later, we passed Kalkan, chock full of apartments all new, all freshly painted white and appealing under the sun, all tumbling down the mountain to the Mediterranean, and practically all the signage, even the street signs, were in English. No Turkish at all on some of the shop signs.

Kalkan with so many empty second home apartments

Yet so many of these apartments seemed to be closed up at this time. Their inhabitants elsewhere for the moment.

And with something like 30 million foreign tourists visiting Turkey each year it is not surprising that a goodly number of those tourists would be British, hankering after their butties and bacon, rather than gözleme and köftes.

As well, over 30,000 British folk own homes in Turkey, and we're guessing that the majority of those not in Istanbul would be owned along this coast. And, more likely second homes; even more likely, apartments. We've run into several British couples enroute who own apartments here in Turkey. They fly in and fly out three or four times a year they say, for about two weeks at a time. Many hire a car at the airport to get to and from from their apartment and to use during their stay.

As in Spain and France this British invasion of the second home dweller continues here in Turkey. But, as we have seen in other European countries, the demand for such real estate lessens over time. In fact, with interest rates decreasing in many of these countries, living away from home is becoming more expensive, less attractive, and we hear of more and more Brits selling their retirement properties and returning home. Or to Bulgaria, where apparently living is cheaper and return on your investment monies is still higher.

So, it is to be hoped that Turkey is not drawn to spend too much on purpose-built towns for foreigners, as these trends tend to come in waves.

And disappear, just as quickly, leaving only the froth and bubble.

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Stone by stone

Enroute to Fethiye next morning we called into Göcek for coffee and found a millionaire’s yachting paradise.  The older, more traditional, Göcek village is a few kilometres back up in the hills.  Nothing much was happening there, and the villagers needed employment.  Big business and government moved in attempting to encourage tourists to come to the area back in the 1960s and 70s.  They built lower Göcek.  Which is a purpose-built town in a stunning location surrounded by the turquoise waters, island and the many inlets of the Turkish Riviera.  

Inlets everywhere to explore

But, again, it is more English than Turkish.  

There are no little back streets where old men play dice and cards, numbers and backgammon.  It is all terribly glitzy and yacht-oriented.  Marine and chandlery shops abound, as do luxury boutiques, modern apartments and loggia-type restaurants: we even saw one that had pool tables, in shade, by the sea. 

Pool by the sea

A boating heaven for a boater holiday in all likelihood.  

On we drove to Fethiye, one of the largest towns on this southern Mediterranean coast, past scruffier little inland villagers that line the route and continue much as they always have, without the benefit of a piece of water frontage below them.  

Fethiye was once called Telmessos, and like Göcek, tho’ back in the mists of time, the heart of the old town was high on the hill.  We drove up the rickety and winding road to see what was left of the earlier town; just old stones and remnants of walls to walk amongst.  

Looking down on Fethiye

This likely won’t happen to Göcek as already its older village is being dotted with newly built apartments and houses for the international boating fraternity.   Eventually, the old town of Göcek will be rubble beneath the new stuff.  

Today, all the activity of Fetihye is down the hill, particularly along the waterfront.  Here we found a seafood market and decided on a fish lunch.  No ekmek balik today, though.  Instead, we selected from one of the fish vendors, a clutch of prawns, several whole calamari, and a huge shiny black rock sea bass thinking we might have a seafood platter.   He gestured to us that the restaurants around the market would cook this for us for a small fee.  So, we chose one with a view of the market action and the vendor then brought over our fish in a plastic bag for their chef to cook up.  

Fethiye fish market

And what a feast.   

Beautiful black rock sea bass

We were served a huge bowl of lettuce and pickled red cabbage salad and a homely basket of bread first up.  Then out came our first entree: prawns in oil and garlic, the sauce of which we mopped up with the bread, later on; all as fresh as we have ever tasted.  Salt and pepper calamari followed: our second entree.  Also delicious.   Then came the fish.  Split in two, topped with lemon wedges, and grilled to golden perfection.  Such a beautiful meal is to be had in fish markets all over the world.  It is disappointing that we don’t have more functioning like this at home. It is such a treat.

The vegetable market was just behind the fish market

After lunch we hunted down a gullet building works: to see how these boats are made along this coast.  They are used, summer long, carrying tourists around these turquoise waters for days and sometimes weeks on end.  We didn’t find the one we were looking for, but, instead, found a massive complex of boat building and repairs further around the waterfront.  

A new gullet being built

Here, we saw different boats in various stages of repair: some with wood rot through to the hull, being completely stripped and replaced; others being newly built.   An immense one, with lots of men working on it, was being built for owners who had an interest in Thomas Cook, we were told.   Once finished, it will occupy a big section of the Mediterranean as a berth: it is almost obscenely huge.    

A massive boat under construction

Our next planned stop was Kayakoy.  This village we reached over a terribly narrow road, vertiginously high, and crumbling to bits around its switchbacks, up in the mountains behind Fethiye.  We have seen quite a few villages enroute where the Christian Greeks were removed from their homes after the first world war population swap pact, and shipped across to Greece.  In exchange Muslim Turks from Greece were moved to Turkey.  When this happened at Kayakoy, the Muslim Turks refused to stay.  The ground was too hard, too rocky, too barren.  They were used to fertile productive plains back in Greece.  So, they all moved on.  Today, Kayakoy is a ghost village of bare walled homes beginning to crumble,  and a couple of pillaged churches: grey and windowless and  spooky.  It is now something of a museum,  and people like us do come, as that frightening little road was reasonably busy.  

Dead town of Kayakoy

This was our third settlement on a hill today.   But, this one virtually completely dead.  Although a few hopeful entrepreneurs have set up food and market stalls selling relics from the village along the tiny and remote village track, attempting to take advantage of any passing traffic.  Which is astonishing to us, as much of the day there would be little or nothing to do to occupy their time, as hardly anyone can call, for, like us, they can barely find a place to drive, let alone pull over and park. 

Another village on a hill in the slow but inevitable process of turning itself into rock and rubble, and eventually to dust.  

   

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Lycian bees and loggerhead turtles

Today we visited Iztuzu Beach.   Travelling from Dalyan we pulled over for the view and found bee hives all over the mountain.  At one spot beekeepers were removing the honey in full protective gear; hollyhocks were growing between the rocks, and the mountains were so thick with rocks it looked as though another civilisation might once have taken root here: but no, this is still the old Lycian kingdom.

Harvesting bee hives on a remote hill

Iztuzu beach is the home of loggerhead turtles.  In the seventies an English woman, June Haimoff, living in a hut on the beach, began a campaign to protect the turtles at Iztuzu from developers.  At this time of the year the turtles are out in the shallow waters, close by, breeding.  Come May they will come ashore and lay their eggs, sometimes as many as a 100, in a shallow depression in the sand and in 60 days the little ones will hatch, and head straight for the water.  Last year there were 500 nests along this beach.  

Turtle eggs 

In the seventies when 'Kapatan June' felt compelled to become active, developers had begun laying the foundations for a luxury hotel just metres from the loggerheads nesting ground.  She quickly enlisted help from all over the world from her beach shack: David Bellamy included, and in the end, the hotel was forbidden, and the entire area has now been declared protected: a sanctuary for the loggerheads at nesting time.    Thanks to June, who now is over 90 and lives in Dalyan, and a year or so ago was invited to Buckingham Palace and honoured with an MBE.

The only building today, apart from the original beach shack used by 'Kapatan June' which is set up as a foundation information centre, is a Research and Rehabilitation Centre for turtles.  

Here, we found several loggerheads recuperating.  Neshilhan, we fell in love with.  She is between 60 and 65.  Loggerheads only procreate once they reach the age of 30.  Neshilan has been in hospital here for 13 months; she came from the waters around Ismir.  She had a great gashing tear on the right side of her head where she had been badly snagged by a fisherman but her wound is getting better.  She was being washed when we visited, fresh water was being piped into her tank, and she was getting lots of soft glove attention.  Quite literally.   The workers were all gloved up to protect her from any infection.  When she is completely well she will be tested in the dive tanks and once she can dive to 4 metres and surface easily she will be tagged then released back into the sea and her movements tracked by computer for the next 12 months.  

Neshilhan, at 65 still going strong

From here she will likely swim to some part of the north African coast for the winter.  And, hopefully, she will avoid ingesting any plastic bags in the surrounding waters.  Turtles can't distinguish these from jellyfish and plastic bags cause terrible problems for them. Another hassle the foundation is trying to cope with.  At the moment their big focus is a concerted campaign to get boat propellors protected so that they are less exposed, minimising the danger they pose to unsuspecting turtles like Neshilan.   

Iztuzu Beach is a long stretch of a sandbar that has built up since Lycian times between the marshy shallows and the sea.  The sand is soft and golden and it stretches for some 5 kilometres around the bay.  For the last three years Iztuzu has been name the 'best beach destination in Europe', and it is not hard to see why.

Iztuzu regularly wins 'best beach in Europe' title

  

Just love the stance on the man.

Driving back we called in for lunch at one of the little cabanas built on tall wooden stilts jutting out from the side of the very narrow road winding down to the beach.  There are several of these little summer food stalls set up along the road,  open from March to October.

Lunch cabines with pretty kilims and cushions

Ours was decked out in kilims and pretty cushions and  owned and run by a local who used all her own produce to make our lunch, so it took a good hour to prepare and serve.   Everything came from her gardens: one garden at home, further along the road; another smaller one at the restaurant.  

Individually made

Back in Dalyan we wandered the backstreets and found cafe after cafe filled with men and their board games.  Clearly gambling, which is a no-no, I think, in Turkey, but rules we are finding, like speed signs, are simply there to be broken.  

 Boardgames on the boardwalk

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