Sunday 28 April 2013

Reminiscing Part III - The Ghosts of Kalekoy




=July 1, 2011=

The best kind of travel is to get to know an area, rather than packing in as much as possible and finding yourself on the whirlwind tour.  Take time getting from A to B and let a little bit of the place sink into your spirit, listen to what it has to say, see what speaks to you and what doesn't.  Kalekoy is a great place to just take in.


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The abandoned village is part of a Lycian Necropolis and is partially sunken under water.  It also boasts the ruins of a castle built in the middle ages to fight off pirates, a small theatre and several churches. 


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Greece and Turkey have a long, convoluted history and the shells of these building serve as a reminder of how much they love each other.  They get along so well that after the Greco-Turkish War, the flailing Ottoman government shipped all the Greek Orthodox Christians over to Greece in exchange for the Muslim minority living in Greece.  It was a compulsory population swap, and people who'd been born, bred, and owned property in one country lost everything.  Kalekoy was one of the villages that was completely deserted when the citizens were forced from the country, about 90 years ago.  It was simply left to wither away, but there are still many buildings that hint at it's former beauty.


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These days the lizards and goats are the only inhabitants to greet the steady trickle of tourists who come here to check out what remains of the city's former glory days.  Despite the unbridled growth and exploitation of the Turkish Riviera going on just a hop and a skip away, this place is (so far) untouched and unchanged from the day it was left.  No graffiti mars the walls and not a shred of trash did I see anywhere.  It's air of tranquil calmness inspires reflection, respect, and for some reason I caught myself using my library voice. 


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I wonder if any of the Greek descendants of the people who left this city have ever been here and sought out the house where a grandparent was born, or if anyone in Greece grew up hearing stories about the village.  Does anyone still identify with the fading paintings that decorate the walls of the churches or the graves of those who are buried here?  If these walls could talk, what would they say?


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Even if walls could talk, they'd probably keep silent because the number of tourists that don't look where they're walking and stumble over the grossly uneven paving stones to fall flat on their faces is hilarious. 


The goats think so, too.




















Saturday 27 April 2013

Reminiscing Sun Junkie - Part II "Dragonflies & Flutter-by's"


= June 29th, 2011 =

At the pool in Faralya there's a small sun-baked child who's playful, lithpy baby-talk catches my attention.  He can't be more than two years and is saying something about going down to "Flutter-by Valley."  What he means is the Mediterranean beach-and-hippy-camp that lies below the steep cliffs on which our hotel rests.  It's called Butterfly Valley, but his name for the place is far better.

We've been resting here in Southwestern Turkey for a few days now, and could not have landed in a more splendid location.  In order to really get an idea of how cool this place is, I'll have to describe the Turkish Riviera for those who've never been there.  From Marmaris down to Orludeniz is a playground for sun-starved Brits to come git their hedonism on.  The developers moved in sometime in the '70's and most of this area is now bars, clubs and resorts.  However, for those who've gotten that out of their system and prefer to hang & swim in more peaceful, natural beauty, the white knuckle bus-ride on the cliffs stretching 20 miles South of Orludeniz presents other options: Faralya & Kabak.  There are camps and home-resorts there as well, but not the bars & discos blaring obnoxious music 24/7.

Getting down to Butterfly Valley from Faralya ain't for the timid.  It is a steep, careful scramble down maybe 500 feet of sometimes sheer-rock face to get to the beach, but it is sooooooo worth the effort, and you feel like you've earned the swim more than all the folks who take boat-rides from Northern harbours to get there.  The place we're staying is back on top of the cliffs ~ it's called George House, and you have to book in advance during summer high season, 'cause word is spreading.  It's a family-run hotel, and most of the family doesn't even speak English, but their heart-felt kindness puts me in the mood to communicate with gestures & broken Turkish.  Their house is large, and spaces open to guests include a library, about 6 rooms with showers & A/C, in addition to the campsites and a dozen outdoor cabins.  Their large terrace is nothing short of Paradise, in fact, it's where I want to go when I die.  They also have a huge vegetable garden (from which they take veg for our evening meal) and swimming pool with a sundeck.  And did I mention, the family is just so nice?  If you need a reason to go to Faralya, there it is!  Aside from swimming, the region is bursting with lush greenery and cedar forests with dozens of miles of hiking trails.

Where the late-comers sleep


My heaven

Fresh veg!

Persephone

The roof of George House peekin' at us

Sunset from the cliffs over Flutter-by Valley

Cool Sunset shots

Grainy Close-up of Flutter-by Valley camp taken from the cliffs

Flutter-by Valley cliffs at sunset






















































The Same Flutter-by Valley Cliffs at Noonish
Our Secret Cove
Roof of an ancient tomb

This is what happened when the workers decided to go to the beach for beers instead of finish the tomb





















A little further South of Faralya is Kabak, which beach I actually prefer to Butterfly Valley.  It's more removed and there are hidden coves to be discovered where we swim in crystal blue water, so clear that I can see the rocks 30 feet below.  Also, the number of Turks far outnumber the Europeans.  Not that there's anything bad about hanging out with 'whitey,' but if the natives flock there on vay-cay, you know the place is worth a visit.

Myback at Kabak


Kabak Beach







"Mama Mia!  Here I go again.."




 Back at the pool in Faralya, one of the guests has just learned that I grew up in Texas, and wants me to use the accent and tawk like a cowboy.  As I lean back on the sunbed and begin to pull the hat over my eyes to enhance the production, I notice two of the biggest, most colorful dragonflies I have ever seen.  They proceed to mate on the pool water and I wonder if they've come here from Orludeniz.


I just got lucky!

Friday 26 April 2013

Reminiscing Sun Junkie

So I just came across some pretty disturbing information over the past couple of days, and I'll blog about that later, but today I'm focusing on happy pretty things.  Let's talk Turkey.

Two months after I moved back to Portland, Oregon, in the mid-zeros, I payed a visit to some friends in the playground of LA, and - even though I'd lived in LA before - the bright sunshine actually hurt my eyes.  The fact that I hadn't expected the sunlight to sting made it even more poignant. 
The first morning in Turkey was like that.  Rather than start off in the vibrant chaos of Istanbul, we flew into Dalman, which is down Southwest, to play on the beach for a couple of days before heading back up North.  Apparently, we'd gone to the right place for sun, because that first morning was unforgettable.  The sun streaming in through the closed curtains was so bright that it woke me up at 6:30 and I got up to hang out on our huge hotel veranda and watch the world come to below me.  From behind my heavy-weight Jackie O's.
 
In all my years of traveling one of the things that bugs me the most is touts.  People who trail behind you wherever you go (because you stick out like a lamb in a bullring) and try to get you into their "Uncle's" shop, hotel, restaurant, tour, or whatever.  In Egypt, these people almost got me killed trying to cross a main road when a couple of them stood in front of me and blocked me from seeing whether there was on-coming traffic, or I could cross the road.  The best way to get rid of them is to pretend they're invisible and when they see you're not interested they'll wander over to the next potential victim.

But the previous night, my rule had been broken twice, both times with spectacular results.  When we arrived in the harbour town of Fetayihe, we'd been traveling most of the day, and were a little spent.  Now, of course, there's a guy deep in conversation with his buddy and the minute we walk into the neighborhood all conversation stops short as he rushes over to offer us a deal at his hotel.  Very much against my wishes, PJ (my husband) takes him up on this offer, and we find ourselves in a small, but clean room in his "hotel", that doubles as this family's house.  There are about 5 or 6 guest rooms, and we got one of two that opens onto the West-facing terrace, which looks out over the harbour, complete with palm trees and sailboats.  not to mention that there are clean tables on the terrace and plants everywhere.  The hotel was friggin gorgeous.  And I made sure to let this man know how much I loved the place and that yes, we'd return the next time were in Turkey.  By the way, it's called the Tan Pension, and if you're ever in the area, they do a super deal for bed & brekkie.





The second time my rule had been broken was 2 hours later at dinner.  One thing Fetayihe is famous for is their fish market.  It's tucked away in a square off the main drag, and is decked out with restaurants & outdoor seating, so that people can go choose fresh fish from the vendors, then take it 10 steps to the restaurants that cook it up for you with rice & salad and bring it out to your table.  When we entered the fish market, it was already early dinner time & there were people around, but we were still a couple of sore thumbs, and got the attention of the nearest restaurant owner who was immediately at our side telling us how to do things.  We waved him off, but then looked around at the other restaurants in the square and sho' nuff, his was the best.  So he led us to the fishmonger, and we went through the process.  As by now you might expect, the meal was amazing, and I even got PJ to luxuriate there for a little while chatting, drinking and watching the crowd watching the kitten that got itself stuck on the wire holding up the Christmas lights.




The kitten was rescued, of course.