Lycian Way (Likya Yolu)

Overview

The Lycian Way is a long-distance hiking trail along the southwestern coast of Turkey, between Fethiye and Antalya. It offers constant views of the Mediterranean Sea, ancient ruins, and charming villages. The trail is frequently marked and stays close to civilization, making it a very accessible hike.

We gambled on the weather and got lucky. January is the wet off-season, but we had minimal rain and enjoyed cool temperatures and quiet towns.

Read more at Trekopedia or buy the official guidebook.

Highlights

• Stunning coastal views
• Hiking through ancient ruins from Lycian, Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman civilizations
• Incredibly friendly and hospitable locals
• Delicious food, including wild pomegranates and orange trees along the trail
• Real mountain solitude and scenery in Olympos Beydağları National Park
• Street cats everywhere

Challenges

• Despite frequent markers, the trail can still be tricky to follow. Missing a blaze or cairn cost us a few miles on more than one occasion.
• Weather. We only had two days of rain, but rain at 5°C is still miserable.

Trip Story

Dec 26-30

My trip starts with a hellish Kafkaesque mess of airline delays, lines, and overnight layovers that never relents. It takes me four days to get from New York to Dalaman. It's raining when we arrive, I've forgotten my pocketknife and headlamp, and only have enough tent stakes for one of us (sorry, Emerson). I won't go into further details.

Dec 31

This feels like the first “real day" of the trip, even though we spend most of it getting to the trail. We wake up in a guesthouse in Dalaman to a misty valley outside, with turkeys and hens and cats wandering around the yard. It's drizzling. A muddy dirt road leads us past oranges and lemons groves to the small bus station on the edge of town. A stranger insists on giving us a ride the last few hundred meters, correctly guessing where we're headed. We immediately find the dolmuş to Fethiye and it departs immediately. This couldn't be smoother. After 40 minutes, we hop off and hit our list of stores - groceries, tent stakes (aka nails from the hardware store), cooking fuel (rubbing alcohol from the pharmacy), a headlamp (pen light) and a hat for Emerson. We see some signs on the way out of town and follow them to our first piece of history - big Lycian rock tombs carved high into the hillside. Wow!

We continue out of town, past a couple of dogs lazily patrolling the road intersection, barking at whoever and whatever passes by. They give off more of a "crossing guard" vibe than an aggressive one. We hike over the pass to Kayaköy as the sun comes out, paralleling the highway below. Then through an early 1900s ghost town that was abandoned following the Greco-Turkish war in 1923. The trail climbs through the heart of old ruins, and on the other side we are greeted by views down to the ocean. We find a nice spot before dark and enjoy a dinner of spicy tuna ramen, and dessert of a biscuit with Nutella. We celebrate the New Year five hours early, with a powdered hard cider mix - sans alcohol.

Jan 1

The trail quickly dumps us into the beach resort at Ölüdeniz, which is eerily empty and forlorn in the off season. Bars, hotels, and tour agencies line the street. Furniture is piled up, swimming pools are drained and open air clubs left to the elements. We walk up the long paved road to the top of the hill (maybe the normal route along the ridge from Kayaköy would've been nicer?) and the very outskirts of Ölüdeniz. At an a101 grocery store, Emerson spots “kologne”, which seems to be some sort of 80% alcohol mixture for grooming or cleaning (update: It's actual cologne, it's just way more ubiquitous in stores than cologne is in the US). It will be our cooking fuel for the rest of the trip. Major win.

Just down the road is the official start of the trail, marked with a big Lykia Yolu archway sign. We are passed by, then pass, then get passed again by a family on mopeds, wrestling their way over rocks and water bars. They picnic a little ways in from the start of the trail. We stop to filter water at our first cistern. There will end up being so many springs and public taps that we only filter water a handful of times the whole trip - but we don't know any better yet. We have great views of the rocky coastline all the way down to the water, across the bay, and to small islands off the coast. It's hard to grasp that these views will be the norm for most of the trip. A little while later the trail dips inland and flattens out, passing through a farm. Goats block our path and we have a momentary stand off. A shepherd throws small rocks at them to get them out of the way, we laugh and thank her. The trail drops alongside some huge mountain cliffs and rockslides, and Emerson can't resist filming some drone footage of the dramatic geology. We walk on the road through a big pine forest with heavily eroded drainages on both sides of the road. Everything has been swept away, leaving only rivers of gravel and giant boulders. There is a random but impressive “museum” built into the hillside that advertises Lycian history but displays seemingly disparate artifacts: a typewriter, a bell, a painting. They do look old though. Alas, it's closed.

Faralya is a small village set into the side of a steep ravine that boasts lots of hostel signs and dogs and cats. The dogs are yappy but many of them are puppies, or short-legged and round, or otherwise unintimidating. Miles later, now in the countryside, a woman calls to us from her yard. She is selling fresh squeezed juice from a small farm stand. In the middle of nowhere. I get pomegranate. After fussing until the last light looking for a flat spot, we camp on the side of a hill above Kabak beach. It's a bit muddy and prickly, but it works. Sunset on the mountain walls is a brief but beautiful sight. A nearby dog barks all night.

Jan 2

Morning starts with a steep hike down to sleepy Kabak beach, where we use the bathroom (BYO supplies!). Several cats loiter boldly outside, our first introduction to the masses that we'll encounter for the rest of the trip. We pass two guilty looking German women packing up camp on the beach, surrounded by "No Camping" signs. The route follows a steep hiking trail through a dense forest along the cliffs, in and out of rugged coves with pristine blue water. We stop at Cennet Camp and refill on water and chat with the friendly host. He expresses genuine love of the area - the beautiful cove, secluded sandy beach, and old woods. We pass a group of Russians on a trekking tour. None of them look too happy, but I think it's because we're on the steepest section of the entire trail (1,300 feet in one mile). The top is nothing but extremely rocky fields. It makes the work required to clear a field in New England look tame. White rocks everywhere, piled up in heaps. The land is terraced into small patches of green grass, with huge stone walls of white rock. It looks beautiful and orderly at times, chaotic at others.

Continuing through the village of Yediburunlar, the trail cuts endearingly through a yard, over a fence into an alley behind the muhtar's house, and out of town. We hear a cacophony of bells as goats are herded home at the end of the day along the rocky hillsides. A shepherd gives us each a marshmallowy treat with peanut on top and urges us to stay at his family's pansiyon in Bel, at the top of the hill. We go to the town but make a wrong turn and end up walking one kilometer in the wrong direction toward Sidyma. Emerson keeps the tone light and positive and funny to keep me from getting frustrated. We go back through town and stop at a small market and get water and snacks to remedy the mood. The owner asks if we saw a big group coming this way (the Russians?). I hope they make it in time, as it's already nearly dark. We go another mile or two to a beautiful campsite in the saddle of a small pass, nestled into an old pine forest and overlooking the ocean. We arrive right at sunset. We build a campfire and eat way too many cookies with Nutella, which has already emerged as the most calorific, go-to snack.

Jan 3

We start with a long descent toward the ocean, rocky and steep. The trail is hard to navigate as it joins and braids through livestock paths. we pass a shepherd and his goats, then emerge into a network of trails outside of Pınarcık. A man and woman are shooting guns in the street. I'm glad we got lost and took a side trail on the way in, or else we might be right in the line of fire. Meanwhile a very young girl herds goats and kicks a soccer ball down the road next to them. The scene is surreal. Emerson and I appreciate the absurdity of the moment, but only he has the courage to ask the couple if he can take a video of them firing their guns in public. "We're American, we understand this".

We find water at an ablution station, pass a few inns, then start to ascend again. We have a friendly chat with the owner at Pydnai Village camp; he insists on loading us up with fresh oranges and apples. We climb up a big logging road and down the other side to the edge of Patara. Greenhouses cover the entire valley floor. It's all we can see. In the foreground are the large intact walls of the ancient village of Pydnai. Emerson gets some drone footage and a British fellow catches up to us. We chat and lunch for a while. His name is Jim. He is a teacher in Milan, so Emerson (studying international education in Florence) picks his brain about career stuff for a bit. We leave and begin a long stretch of road walking. The road is on the edge of a tidal swamp, and it also seems to be a popular trash dumping area. Huge piles of tomatoes lie on the side of the road. Tempting... almost. We pass a band of dogs guarding a large hole in the ground and barking intently at us. Interesting. There's not much else until we get to Letoon, except for acres of greenhouses.

Letoon is a group of ruins with a big theater and temples to Leto, Apollo, and Artemis. A man sells us prickly pear from a small roadside stand. Yum. We try to pick our own prickly pear a mile up the road but it is mushy and bitter and the seeds are hard. More road walking to Xanthos, an ancient city dating from 1300-800 BCE. It's a sprawling complex with a huge theater, pillars, tombs in the hillside, mosaics in the walkways, and walls upon walls of old structures. Wow! We spend all the remaining daylight exploring, then follow the trail through a hole in the back fence (!) and into an open park. We set the tents up under olive trees.

Jan 4

We wake up to two dogs sniffing around our camp. I shake my hiking pole at them from the comfort of my sleeping bag, but they aren't intimidated. They are friendly, just overly curious. We pack up early and the dogs sit in the grass and watch us. One gets excited and tries to play with us and kicks over the pot of hot water for coffee. A bigger dog with similar markings joins them. They follow us out toward the main road for ten minutes, then veer off to bark and romp with another pack. The big dog continues to follow us for a kilometer, across the main D400 highway, before getting sidetracked by yet another dog barking from the woods. We walk through a small town of industrial agriculture stores, get pastries and juice, and continue into the foothills.

Suddenly we are on top of a Roman aqueduct, that we will end up following more or less all day. Sometimes it's just a channel in the rock, other times it spans small ravines atop stone archways. We stop at the mountain spring that used to feed it, but has since been diverted toward town via a couple of large plastic hoses. We get lunch at a small market, eat too much bread and cheese, and pick a few pomegranates from a nearby tree.

We cross through Akbel, a small town on the hill between Kalkan and Kinic. As we walk by the public market, young kids ride by on their bikes doing wheelies, and we cheer them on. The last few miles are thick and scratchy, with only occasional views of all the greenhouses in the valley below (now to our north). Finally, we emerge atop a long rock wall, probably a couple hundred meters, with the aqueduct (aha!) running on top of it. This part of the aqueduct has blocks with cylindrical holes in the center and small interlocking rims - stacked side by side they make a protective tube for whatever ancient pipe used to run through them. Emerson explains how aqueducts like this used an "inverted siphon" design to run down and back uphill, allowing them to cross small valleys, or go underneath existing structures and back up, while maintaining water flow. We camp right below the aqueduct, in a relatively clear and grassy patch with ocean views. The lights of Kalkan twinkle in the distance.

Jan 5

We don't have much water left so we forgo oats in favor of nuts and cookies for breakfast. Jim walks into camp as we finish, having caught up to us via a direct route across the marsh yesterday instead of the foothills through Akbel. We chat some more before heading out. He is going to Kalkan, we are looping around the peninsula to see the ancient port city of Patara first, which will take us all day. Today's route is mostly old roads through the forest, and it goes quickly. We find a market in Gelemiş and eat bread and cheese in the park. A dog follows all the way along the road to Patara. As we walk into the historical park, an old woman motions us toward her balcony and tosses apples down for us. The ruins are impressive and widespread - two amphitheaters, a long main street leading right into the old harbor, a lighthouse, and huge tombs on the hillside. Many are partially reconstructed, some entirely so, which makes them look decidedly less ancient. Of note: Patara was the birthplace of Saint Nicholas, who was the inspiration for Santa Claus folklore!

The dog still follows us around the archaeological sites. It's been miles now. We stop at the visitor center and by the time we emerge from the bathroom, it's banded up with another dog and wandered off. Emerson buys a pomegranate ashtray. We start walking toward Kalkan, but it's already 2 p.m. so we shave some time by taking dirt roads up in the mountain instead of following the beach. As a bonus, we get nice views and a good breeze from being higher up. We finish our loop and arrive back at last night's camp spot around 4:30.

The last section to Kalkan is craggy and sharp, with some legitimate scrambling. It's an exciting end to the day, but I'm tired. After a long road walk into town we promptly gain the interest of another dog. We stop for groceries and catch up to another trekker, a solo woman, going the same direction. We feel weird inadvertently "following" her at night during our long walk to the pansiyon, but hopefully our creepiness is tempered by our pitiful attempts at fending off the growing swarm of dogs now circling us, hoping for a taste of Emerson's börek. We find and check into our cute pansiyon room and walk around at night to find the cheapest, biggest pile of döner possible. Emerson gets a two foot long wrap, mine is a sandwich the size of the entire plate. I feel truly full for the first time on the trip! We walk (hobble-totter) back and do laundry in the sink in our room.

Jan 6

I call Leah around 7:45am and sit on the balcony to give Emerson some peace and quiet. I watch the sunrise - or rather, watch the sky fade from dark to cloudy. We go up to the rooftop terrace for breakfast as promised on the list of amenities taped inside the door. Our host says it's something we need to reserve in advance. Boo. We return to the room and pack up. My backpack rips along the seam between the rolltop collar and the main body. Uh-oh. I sew it up with a needle and some of Emerson's dental floss. It looks pretty good if I do say so myself, and it survives the first day with no issues.

Another dog escort waiting for us at the pansiyon doorstep. She hands us off to another pair as we climb the San Francisco-steep streets out of town. The dogs accompany us along the highway until we feign throwing rocks at them at the edge of town, miles later.

We pass a trio of somber looking tourists at the bus stop on the way, but do not engage. We climb, climb, climb. Past new villa developments, fields, embankments, paved roads. We stop for bread and cheese since we didn't bother to get breakfast yet, and sit and eat on the stoop of the convenience store. I hold the car door for a taxi driver who has his hands full with groceries and the strong wind.

We drop into the valley and the cute town of Bezirgan, surrounded by hills on all sides. I could live in a landscape like this, I think. The call to prayer is loud and long, maybe the best one yet this trip. We pick through a roadside trash dump to find square blue tiles that are so prominent on the new houses and infinity pools we see everywhere. We pry them off concrete to keep as souvenirs. We take shortcuts through prickly, rocky, steep foothills to avoid walking the highway switchbacks down into Saribelen. We get lost going up the other side and end up scrambling through sharp dense things to end up in someone's back yard before righting our course. After a long but pleasant hike through flat rocky fields, then we find a clear spot with a smiley face arranged out of rocks, which seems like a fortuitous omen. Just kidding. It's very windy here but we camp anyway and manage to get a roaring fire, which we have to constantly feed because we only have small scrubby fuel for it.

Jan 7

It's windy again, but I insist on coffee and get the stove going behind the stone wall. We leave camp by 9 a.m. but are promptly waylaid in Gökçeören by a man and woman leaning out the second story window asking us if we need any food. We buy some bread and cheese from them, and they give us tons of oranges, apples and sweet peppers in addition. Of course we have to stay for tea, though Emerson is itching to get going. We finally part company and continue down the valley. The trail follows a river most of the way, and we point out to each other what we think would be great swimming holes, if only it were summer. It's gray, misty, cool, and the tops of the hills hide behind low clouds. We pass a tiny picnic area with benches, a natural spring, and a roof. It's the perfect place to eat our bounty of groceries from the couple in town. At the bottom of the valley we cross the stream and promptly take a wrong turn, wandering through a logging area for a half mile before the road dead-ends in a yet-to-be-logged forest. We backtrack, and decide to take a shortcut by scrambling straight up a loose hill covered in downed limbs, to rejoin the trail. Once on the trail, it continues steeply up - a second annoying surprise - for another 1000 feet of elevation. We pass a couple of horses in a high pasture and I leave one of my many extra apples for them.

The high point of the day is the Phellos ruins atop the ridge overlooking Çukurbağ. Emerson gets some drone footage, which also lets us check out the parts of the ruins we can't get to from the steep, thicketed mountainside. Down in town a guy walks by with his dog as we fill water at the spring. He pleads with us to fake throwing stones at the local dogs so they don't follow us (we've figured this out). He says the dog with him ended up six days from home. It looks suspiciously like one of the dogs that followed us from Kalkan the day before. It isn't, we decide later. As if on cue, we pass a half dozen dogs on the way out of Çukurbağ, and practice our fake stone picking up motions.

We cross some flat fields and get to the cliffs dramatically overlooking Kaş below. Jim is setting up there for the night. After a brief chat we decide to push our luck and hurry down the 1400 feet to Kaş. We barely make it by dark. Rain starts to sprinkle as we navigate to a park just outside the downtown and we set up our tents in a rush. I petition Emerson to relocate 100 feet over to a spot with trees and slightly fewer rocks (every bit counts). It's calm during our dinner - ramen, tuna, instant bolognese sauce - and dessert of cookies and peanut butter. I've decided to try to wean us off of Nutella, but the peanut butter tastes like a Reese's cup, so I'm not sure it's any healthier. As soon as we head to bed the wind picks up, gusting to 50 kph (conservative guess) and ripping up a few tent stakes for both of us. Should be a fun night.

Jan 8

We get minimal sleep because of the crazy wind. Stakes kept pulling out, Emerson's tarp tore when it flapped and the trekking pole poked through the edge. I had a bowling-ball sized rock sitting atop the main guyline stake, but the wind kept dragging it toward the tent with each strong gust. I had to lean out under the edge of the tarp to fuss with it every hour. I finally got up at 4 a.m. and piled more rocks on top. The wind carried dust and dirt with it so all of our things are coated with a layer of grime and tree detritus in the morning. The worst night of sleep in a very long time. We pack up and head down the hill to town, and find Jim napping in a tomb. Why didn't we think of that? It's perfectly sheltered. He's staying a day in Kaş, so we bid farewell. We hunt for a public bathroom and Emerson remembers that mosques often have them. Simple but it works. We run into an enthusiastic retired fellow American, and get waylaid chatting for another twenty minutes.

The road out of town passes a few beautiful small coves and seasonal beach outposts before turning into a trail. We traverse downhill across the side of a bay, pass right through the beach and out the back, up a hill, and down the other side to another bay and repeat this several times. These charming little coves are surprisingly empty and undeveloped. It starts to rain and we break out the ponchos, then take refuge in an abandoned concrete-slab-with-a-roof to snack and psych ourselves up for hiking in the increasingly heavy rain. We're only about halfway through the day and want to press on, but it would've been better to sacrifice the mileage and stay dry. I use rainwater from the corrugated roof to fill our cold soak container for dinner. Rain Ramen! We set out and get increasingly wet hiking the next 5-6 miles, our ponchos snagging on branches and shrubs. There are a few bright spots: a lone palm tree growing out of a rugged rocky beach, with waves crashing in the background. Neat old ruins (the tomb doesn't look large enough to sleep in, but we consider it). The scenery changes to a dark, moody, misty landscape, and we find it refreshing. A farmer yells words of encouragement and surprise, and a lone car passes us, the horn honking and passengers smiling.

We start looking for camp spots with increasing desperation. We call a pansiyon number on a sign but the call quality is bad and the person who answered doesn't seem to speak English (duh). From what I can tell he is saying it's closed, and to go to the next town. We arrive after a few miles, and he confirms the operation is closed but he can give us a taxi ride to the next town. We happen upon a large group of western-looking trekkers, who are lamenting the same fate, but heading the other direction. Russians? We decide to finish what we signed up for and camp for the night, and head up the road in our original direction, finding a lone flat grassy spot after a few minutes.

I help set up Emerson's tarp first and we stash our stuff under it, then we do mine. It's a poncho tarp so it requires some fiddling to convert it back to a tarp mode, and it's nearly impossible with cold hands that are losing dexterity very quickly. Emerson to the rescue. We take an hour or so to sit in our sleeping bags and warm up, and the rain abates. Then we rig up a clothesline to hopefully dry some things overnight. Suddenly the stars are overhead, magnificent and clear. My pants are soaked so I have to wear my swim trunks. We both sit under Emerson's tarp and heat up dinner and laugh about silly moments from the day, letting our imaginations run out loud. The rain and wind pick up again as I drift off. I wonder how the clothesline is faring.

Jan 9

It rained on and off throughout the night, so our clothes on the line are still damp. We pack up quickly, eat, and then run out of things to do and are faced with the inevitable: put on our cold, wet, muddy clothes. Emerson uses plastic grocery bags to line his boots. My pants aren't bad. Socks are cold but warm up as I move around, and the wool helps. Same with my shirt. I layer lots on top to help warm up quickly, hoping to dry things out from within as we hike. It works, though it's a pretty brisk and windy day until around noon.

The worst part of all the rain is its effect on the trails, not our clothes. Every bare patch of soil has turned to mud and we slip with every step, whether on flat ground or on the wet chunky rocks on the trail. In big fields the mud cakes to our soles until it feels like we have weights attached. I stop periodically to kick or shake the mud off, usually futilely. The scenery is standard: a few small bays, tombs and ruins, and rocky pastures. I find a foam sit pad on the trail, perfectly clean! It must be an accidental gift from the Russians we crossed paths with yesterday evening.

We hike past endlessly rocky, twisty, scrubby paths along the coast. There are several beach/hostel/camp places, closed for the off-season. The coastal town of Üçağiz is very cute and larger than expected. It seems like a destination for fishing trips, ocean and island tours, etc. Even though it's the off season, it's very busy with locals (and cats) coming and going through the streets. We stop for lunch and buy bread, olives, cheese and juice. The bread has surprise fillings: feta, olives, chocolate. It is a culinary highlight of the trip so far. The walk out of town takes us through the middle of a large boat yard, with lots of people doing repairs on massive wooden vessels. We stop at the beautiful cove of Çakıl Plajit just before sunset. It's a rocky beach of smooth white stones that drops steeply into the turquoise ocean. The thought of swimming here is both tempting and fearsome.

Another mile, through a huge shepherd encampment, and we emerge on the beach west of Demre. It's a long walk across the beach, then along the paved roads into town, and my feet are complaining by the time we arrive at our cheap hotel room. I take note of a chocolate shop, döner restaurant, and baklava place all on the block. Excellent. We settle in and shower and then get dinner - lamb and mixed şiş, moussaka, pita, ayran and turnip juice, followed by milkshakes and chocolate-covered chocolate cake. Decadent, filling, not cheap but totally worth it. Demre seems like a different vibe than other places we've been. Fewer headscarves. There is a university here. Or maybe it's just a bigger city bringing a younger, more casual, progressive crowd. Or maybe it's just Friday? We do laundry in the hotel suite (which has a washer!), and crank the heat and set things on the drying rack. I blast the hair dryer in my shoes to make them smell less like a swamp, and head to bed at midnight.

Jan 10

It's drizzly outside. We've decided to hike up and over the mountains to get to Finike. It's the standard Lycian Way route but it's also the most remote part and has a lot of elevation, and is easy to cut out by just staying on the coast from Demre to Finike. We pack up, motivated by our desire to see the ruins at Myra but also the annoyingly early 9:30 checkout time. Nobody is at the front desk and the door to the street is wide open, so we leave the key on the desk and close the door. We walk to St. Nicholas church (who lived and served as bishop of Myra after moving from Patara) but it looks unimpressive from the outside and is expensive to enter. Pass. Google reviews confirm our excuse.

We get breakfast and Turkish coffee - finally - at a cafe, then more breakfast and supplies at a grocery store. The ruins at Myra are a 30 minute walk past more greenhouses, and we sneakily pick a few giant oranges for the road. Myra is full of spectacular tombs cut into the rock walls and a large amphitheater with side passages, immense vaulted staircases, and a third tier of seats above the upper level entrances. And lots of silly cats. They befriend us, wrestle with each other, and huddle together to hide from the occasional drizzle. I find a silly "I was here: Antalya" postcard and hope I remember to send it. I realize that I don't know what a Turkish post office looks like.

We walk another 2km out of town through modest homes, industrial and agricultural areas, and along the wide and shallow Demre River. We muse about how impressive it must be after some good rain (foreshadowing). The trail leaves the road, passes someone's driveway, then ducks behind greenhouses and immediately starts to climb. It's steep but the rocks are large and smooth, almost like stair steps. We make 500 feet of elevation and we stop to marvel at the valley view.

The rain drizzles on and off as we climb a rockier, more natural trail up to 2000 feet, crossing a dirt road several times. I navigate us with embarrassing difficulty up a small hillside and into a misty cemetery. We stop to snack and admire the tombs. Perfect mood. We pass through a small town and we pour out our water from the hotel (it tasted funny) in exchange for some from the town spring. The trail goes up, up, up but it is well-marked and not too wet, so we quickly get to 3000 feet and meet the road yet again. The sun peeks out for the first time all day. The trail dips down through a farm, passes a flock of angry turkeys, then back up the other side.

We pass the ruins of the Angel Gabriel Church, which has very intact archways, ornate carvings, and an old well. I putter around and Emerson gets some cool drone footage. We both take a flurry of photos during a quick sun shower, trying to make the most of the warm light before setting off up the valley. It's late now and the rain is falling in earnest, so we keep our eyes peeled for a camp spot. The trail is steep and very rocky, so we're thrilled to find a shepherd hut under a big pine tree with makeshift plastic roofing and walls intact. Overjoyed, even.

We sit and write to kill time. And notice how rather chilly at this elevation. Wish I had cell service so I could text Leah. Emerson and I set up our sleeping bags, then realize the makeshift shelter roof is only semi-waterproof. We run around rigging up our tarps overhead to divert any drips away from our sleeping areas.

Dinner, cookies, brushing teeth, and our nightly hug. A nice routine and a lot to be thankful for. Tomorrow we'll finish up the last 2000 feet and then walk 18 miles down to Finike. Maybe in the rain. We'll get a hotel for sure, I tell myself, for further motivation. I find myself leaning toward the creature comforts sooner as I get older. It's to have Emerson's youthful ambition to keep me from doing the whole trip on a credit card. But sometimes it's also nice to be warm and dry and not stuck on a mountain.

Jan 11

The hard day. We wake up and in my haste to make coffee I spill alcohol fuel on the ground. There's nothing to do but let it burn off... a fire nonchalantly sputtering in the background as we pack up. Thankfully no gear got wet overnight. It's dim and misty outside, a fitting mood for the pine forest. We set out anxious for the rainy day ahead, but most of the climb is just drizzle. Following the route up another 2000 feet of scree is a challenge, but the scenery lifts the mood and the body heat from the exertion keeps warm. Instead of a valley view down to the Alakilise ruins, we get mossy trees disappearing into mist and low clouds blow up the hillside.

As we near Karlıöz, the high point of the entire trip, the weather starts to pick up. Hail and high winds hit us from the west side of the ridge. There's no reprieve as we start our trek downhill, another 25 km toward Finike. The rain is gradual but persistent, and the wind is relentless. Our ponchos billow around us, snagging on branches, the hoods flapping, rain dripping inside and out. The plasticky fabric sticks to itself and to us. We're wet and getting cold. It's miserable, navigating the trail by blazes and cairns is still hard, and fumbling with the phone touchscreen with cold wet hands is maddening. Gloves are sticky to peel off and hands are too cold to contort to fit back inside. Everything but my shirt is soaked. We press on - frustrated, angry, a little worried. No snack breaks, photos, distractions or pleasant surprises. The wind and rain never let up. Gradually we start to warm up as we drop elevation over the course of the afternoon. Fingers regain some feeling. The 10km road walk to town is still very wet, but the end feels in sight. Then it is, with the city of Finike appearing (still far) below us from the mountain road. It's flat, beachside, and sprawling, all of which feels so foreign. I call the pansiyon whose signs we've seen posted on the trail for miles, and we walk another two miles to get there, still in the rain. It's run by a kind, local middle aged couple. We unpack, shower, rig up garments to dry, then enjoy a home cooked meal while we chat about politics and share our lives with each other.

Jan 12

Our host prepares a breakfast of bread, jam, honey, yoghurt, two kinds of olives, orange, bananas, and tea. A young man knocks on the door and asks to stay at the guesthouse. He doesn't speak Turkish and only some English. His name is Amin; is from Algeria and he has come to look for work in the portakal (orange) farms. Our host seems skeptical that he will be able to find work without knowing anyone or the language, but when he asks Amin how he will manage, he shrugs and replies “Allah".

We drive along the coast to Karaöz. Being in the car feels like a time warp. For us it's an entire day of distance, gone, just like that. But it's worth it to make the most of our time here. The route between Finike and Karaöz is nearly all pavement or sidewalks, largely adjacent to the D400 highway, with an endless flat beach as scenery. We cut it out to make up for the day of our delayed incoming flight. Our host warns us not to take the interior route into the mountains (Beycik) because of weather and snow.

The trail out to the Gelidonya lighthouse is mostly dirt road, but offers spectacular views of rocky cliffs and beaches below us. We can see to Finike, and even Demre, when we look back along the coast. Both of us notice that we feel slow, like we're walking underwater. Despite a night of good food and rest, we're probably still recovering from yesterday. The lighthouse is nothing special, abandoned and automated, but has a beautiful simplicity nestled into the huge forested cliffs of the point. We climb and descend, the forest turns from the loose sharp rocks we've become accustomed to into an old growth pine forest with smoother footing. We stop in a rockslide area and hear a goat bleating. We scan the boulder field to see a pair of baby mountain goats practicing their footwork. Mom is above watching them silently. One keeps bleating but she offers no help... I guess they just need to learn. There are a handful of small rocky islands off the coast, we daydream and discuss what we would build there and how to make them inhabitable. Or which one would make the best supervillain lair.

The trail here has more deadfall than elsewhere, so we entertain ourselves by flicking small branches out of the way with our trekking poles, using increasingly elaborate moves. It scratches the compulsive itch. Soon we're descending into Adrasan, and walking the main road along the wide beach with a picture perfect cove. There are dozens of camping lots, hotels, boat rentals, and restaurants. Must be a huge draw in the summer. We stop for bread and enjoy the walk out of town, with several friendly cat escorts. There is a cute canal that has dozens of small footbridges over it, connecting the road to each establishment on the opposite side.

We leave the main road and find a dog with two puppies, which get free passes to the fake stone throwing rule, and get cuddles instead. Nab a few oranges from a large orchard, pass a crew drilling two new wells for the property, then climb the last few hundred feet into the hills as the sun sets behind the mountains. We find a perfect camp spot - pine needles, fire ring, tucked in the trees, nice and flat. Owls hoot vociferously to one another down the mountainsides. Noodles, cookies, fire, bedtime.

Jan 13

I snooze my alarm and sleep in until 8:30. It got cold again last night, apparently I needed the extra hour. We make coffee and eat breakfast, then head up another 2000 feet to a pass. The landscape changes from open pine forest to a dense, dark, humid mix of foliage that feels almost jungle like. The trail is damp and steep with lots of downed trees and branches have fallen down. It makes for an annoying 5ish miles down to Olympos. But the valley at the bottom is striking, with sheer cliffs on both sides and a wide river through the middle. The ancient city of Olympos straddles the water, with ruins on both sides. The trail leads us through a hole in the fence on the south side (just like Xanthos, I love this theme) and we explore an old theater, necropolis, church, and other buildings. We tiptoe across the river on rocks. The north side has lots of building ruins, a Roman temple, Byzantine era church, notable tombs and original mosaic floor tiling. We climb up, around and down a steep cliffs to get to the beach, which is about a mile, long and sandy.

We cut inland to cross another creek and wander the back streets until we find a market to resupply. We eat lunch on the stoop of an empty-for-the-season restauran, and are joined by an overly playful and hungry kitten, and eventually its mother and another cat. A lady working next door on restaurant renovations brings us tea, out of nowhere. It classes up the bread and cheese lunch we're having from our grocery run.

We head toward the chimaera (eternal flames), stopping for water and a bathroom break at a mosque. The chimaera is out of town and up a decent sized hill with giant rocky steps. The vibe is that of a low-maintenance tourist attraction; a few quiet guys hang around a fire pit at the bottom and take money for tickets. The chimaera flames themselves are neat but not spectacular. A half-dozen small campfire-sized flames lick up out of an exposed rock incline that covers about 60 meters of the trail. It looks like there used to be a lot more flame vents, which might have contributed to the mythology of the place in older times. Cats and foreign tourists abound. We snap a few pictures and warm up by the flames then head back down to look for camp. It's already 5pm and we have covered maybe eight miles today. My knees have hurt going downhill the past two days, so I don't mind another quasi-rest day. We walk up into the hills near town only to find wind, rocks, and zero flat spots. We find a rugged road that twists back down to nowhere, and tuck into a small wooded area off of it. It's near a promontory/cliff directly over the beach. The view of the beach and water below are well worth the cramped, scratchy campsite. And it's dark. The stars over the ocean are so bright! Dinner is instant noodles with powdered four cheese sauce (the de facto winner of instant sauces here) and some Hamburger Helper-esque packet that we don't understand. Pretty darn good.

Jan 14

My alarm goes off and I snooze for ten minutes, then get up to snap some sunrise photos over the ocean. Emerson is already at it, making a timelapse. We follow the trail along the contour of the cliffs, up, over and down into the next bay. It reminds me of the section from Kaş but on a smaller scale. We pass through pine trees and open forests, with more shade than expected. Eventually the trail turns into a dirt road with gradual grades, which I'm thankful for at this point in the trip. My knees still ache on the descents. In the corner of one beach we find what looks like a horizontal mineshaft, carved straight into the cliffside. It's flooded with water but tempting to explore. We don't. We pass lots of springs coming out of the hillside pouring over the road. Sometimes they form a small stream, sometimes they are fed via pipes into a makeshift roadside faucet (with some surprisingly nice tiled basins, which are funny to see in the middle of the forest), sometimes they just flood the road so much that we need to hop around the edges.

We are passed by a couple of mounted police on horseback as we approach Tekirova They greet us in both English and Turkish and I manage to find the right word in time ("Nasılsınız? Iyiyim!"). A few minutes later we are passed by a couple of western looking mountain bikers. They seem out of place on a not-that-rugged dirt road, but not out of place in the oddity that is Tekirova. The town seems to be an empty Russian beach resort/outdoor mall combo. It feels quite weird. The main road is lined with luxury hotels and resorts, salons, and shopping centers - which are all closed for the season.

We load up at a grocery store, shamelessly committed to eating a gluttonous amount of cookies and snacks each day until the end of the trip. We have lunch in a nearby park - the one normal feeling part of the town - with a curious triple basketball hoop. We did this in Kaş too, I realize. Same hoop. Emerson scares off a persistent and annoying cat with some accurate javelin throws of his hiking pole. I'm surprised no passers by mistake him for a crazy person.

The ancient port city of Phaselis lies just outside the other end of town. Wow! We're late enough in the day that everyone has gone home, so yay, another free ticket! It's impressively located, with a main street spanning a small peninsula from one side to the other and multiple harbors. Many walls, roads, and piers still exist along with the amphitheater and a dozen archways beneath the old aqueduct. Of the places we've visited, Phaselis is the easiest to imagine as a real city, due to the present day preservation and location (ex: Patara's harbor has filled in, so it's harder to picture). I'm glad we took the coastal route instead of the interior route - it's worth it for this. Emerson gets a cool drone video flying down the main street, and I befriend a cat and carry it up to the amphitheater to explore together. We stroll through to the north harbor, marvel at the aqueduct, use the unlocked bathrooms, and hike out along the cliffs to looking for a camp spot. We spy a cave in the cliff wall and decide to check it out. It's clearly a hangout spot, but isn't very messy... just lots of cigarette butts. Perfectly flat, huge, and with a perfect view of the water from about 80 feet up. Home for the night!

I fall asleep thinking about how there is an emotional beginning, middle and end to the trip. To every trip? At first, enthusiasm, anxious and sometimes frenetic assessment of the unknown parts. Frustration at things forgotten or not planned for. The body is unprepared, the mind struggles to fully comprehend the undertaking. It's hard to imagine it ever being over. Then things fall into place: routine, pace, what we talk about, when we stop, the everyday decisions of what to see and do get smoother. We hit our stride, the body mostly cooperates. Time flies by. Suddenly, the realization that it will end, and very soon. Bittersweetness. The complexity of what we will return to feels overwhelming. There are things we need: loved ones, jobs, obligations, more socialization. But what replaces the single day-in, day-out purpose? Maybe that is the point of all this, to illuminate that need.

Jan 15

I wake up to a brightening sky before sunrise, the gradient of subdued red through blue stretching from the horizon to the sky with a crescent moon hovering over the bay. I force myself out of my sleeping bag and try to silently take photos until Emerson wakes and sets up a time lapse on his camera. He ends up guessing the sunrise position just right and it pops up nicely, framed by a tree in the corner of the image. We eat and use the last of our water to make coffee , then set out roaming the dense network of trails up the coast. We find an unlocked bathroom at the next small beach and fill our bottles there. Technically, it is locked but the key is in the door.

We walk out a dirt road and are suddenly next to the D400 highway again. Rather than cross four lanes of highway, we decide to each follow one of the massive storm water tunnels all the way under the road and interchange, through 200 meters of darkness (with headlamps of course), to emerge on the other side. It's uneventful but a fun and spooky way to liven up the morning. As we descend from a ridge down towards Kuzdere, we're surprised by two dirtbikers brapping up the ridiculously steep trail. We step aside to watch them navigate up the technical terrain. At the bottom we run into a few more riders. A first for the trip, but... share the trail I guess. In town we watch construction workers hammering and rebar-ing two new houses on the block. The half-built houses in this area are being actively worked on, unlike numerous others we've passed on the trip. We muse about why rooftop solar hot water is ubiquitous but not solar electric. Conclusion: lack of water infrastructure because it's so rocky. Electric is easy.

More pavement walking out of town and up the road into the Olympos Beydağları National Park. We turn off onto a bridge that crosses the steep rocky gorge that the road has been following. The bridge has concrete walls no higher than my knees, which is certainly a unique safety design choice. Finally the trail leaves pavement and follows a dirt road that hugs the contour above a tributary creek, equally as rocky and steep as the first. The path is actually pretty smooth, aside from several rockslides and slight detours around them. Around 5pm we spot a nice flat campsite by the creek and decide to call it for the night. Emerson takes a quick dip in the stream (!), and we make a fire and dinner. Truffle sauce with curry ramen turns out to be a gigantic menu fail, so I guess we're still learning on the culinary front. I wash my socks in the creek and dry them by the fire. Cheese and raisins with a slight crunch for dessert (how do they get the outside of the raisin crispy like that?). I stare up at the sky and find Orion and whatever the V constellation is and think of Leah. The stars are so bright here. Again. I stay up staring at them, and rotisserie-ing my socks and drying Emerson's towel over the fire. I awake in the early morning to pee and see the eerie glow of lights at the top of the canyon.

Jan 16

I get up at 8 and start coffee, Emerson sleeps a bit more. We drink and fill up from the river before heading out. Very manageable dirt road walk up the mountain into the small village of Göynük Yayla. It is surprisingly tricky to navigate through the town, with lots of turns (some mismarked), switching between trail and road, and steep wet trails. We look for a bathroom to no avail, there's only a handful of houses here. We continue down, dropping briefly into a canyon gorge then crossing up and out the other side to the road again, where we find the EkoLykia Cafe (?). It's an open air post-and-roof building with picnic tables. It's closed for the season but has a restroom (without an east-facing wall, so you can see the mountains), electrical outlets, and leftover oranges and pomegranates, many of which haven't rotted yet. We eat fruit and cheese while devices charge (drone batteries!) and we admire the high, narrow walls of Göynük Canyon from the top.

We leave some lira for the pomegranates and oranges then descend into the shaded canyon floor via a sketchy bridge made of nails and branches. The bottom of the canyon is filled with boulders and crystal clear water - we hop from rock to rock for about fifteen minutes before the trail branches off and climbs up a few miles to a scenic lookout. Emerson gets a drone shot and we snack.

We drop all the elevation again in the next few miles, coming out at Göynük Canyon (the eponymous tourist attraction, not just a canyon). There are multiple zip lines, “beaches”, and fast food shacks all closed up - but working bathrooms again! Thankfully it's the off season, though eating a burger in the shade of a cabana patio thing sounds nice. It's already past 5, but we decide to start the climb up to Hisarçandır, and push hard to make it a few miles in. This means less climbing tomorrow, right?

We find a great camp near a spring and get to work gathering firewood. Thirty minutes later, it's roaring, we're toasty, and we set up tarps by the firelight. Dinner is noodles with tuna and another curious hamburger powder that gets just soft enough not to be weirdly granular. I love it. I get a bit worried about the pine trees overhead, so we deconstruct the fire a bit. We sit by the fire and talk about how time distorts at different points in the trip, random anecdotes and fun stories from our time here. Tomorrow is the last day of hiking; the idea hasn't settled in yet.

Jan 17

We rise and pack up early-ish, eyeing our snacks for the day anxiously. Nuts, biscuits, and lots of cheese. We eat a cheese block with breakfast, I can't resist. I didn't sleep great. It got pretty cold, and every time I tossed and turned it would let in a new draft somewhere. I only got comfy right when I went to bed, and when it started to warm up at 8am (time to wake up). On the plus side, being bleary eyed and half awake makes it easy to zone out on the climb, and the first 2000 feet are over pretty quickly.

The trail is rocky and relentlessly uphill but the surrounding woods are quiet and beautiful. Climb, water break, repeat. We take a break at a small grassy pass and notice what look like old graves nearby, with stone and wooden headstones. After a mercifully flattish section we go straight up the side of the cliff. It's sweaty work but over pretty soon, another 1000 feet. We get views of Antalya and the coast as we ascend, interrupted by jagged mountains in the foreground. We follow the contour of the hill up the final, more gentle climb. We pass a frozen spring, which makes me feel better about our decision to not continue on to Geyikbayırı, where the weather will be even cooler.

In the village of Elmayani, we sit outside a deserted cafe on the corner. Emerson finds a highback chair in the shape of a giant pink high heel and sits in the middle of the road, soaking up the sun. Huge mountains are visible farther to the northwest. I look them up. 8k, 9k. Two cats appear, one friendly and one skittish. Emerson flies the drone around. We are making good time and realize that we'll likely just end up sitting around Hisarçandır for hours this evening, and that camping another night just to catch the morning bus is a bit silly. So we decide to go to Antalya tonight if we can, on the evening bus. I text the hotel to change our reservation and it's all sorted. We hike north down a gradual ridge (apparently this is an alternate route), then I opt to detour us up to another scenic vista, off trail, since the bus is not until 7pm. We see two groups of day hikers. The last bit is legitimate scrambling/rock climbing to a pinnacle that has 360 degree views. Amazing and well worth it! But also vertiginous, with at least a thousand foot drop off the side. We take lots of photos and the last drone flight that the battery will permit, which seems fitting on our last day. These might be the best views of the trip.

Finally we plod down toward Hisarçandır. The landscape starts to resemble that at the start of the trip as we pass through rocky fields and dirt roads and a small farm in a basin. We end with a confusing stumble through a steep, dry canyon and an old rockslide, then pop out on the edge of town. We regain the trail for a bit, only to lose it again on the small streets. We give up and just walk the dirt road the last half mile into town. It's a bit of an anticlimactic ending. We laugh at our frustration at the trail throwing one last puzzle at us.

We pass the mosque for a well-timed banyo break, and the proprietor tells us the bus stop is right next door. We have two hours to kill, so we sit there and cook our last two packs of ramen on the metal bus stop bench. Between the bus into Antalya and subsequent taxi to the hotel, we'll be in transit for a couple of hours, so an early dinner seems like a good plan. Plus it's hot food, and the temperature is sinking quickly with the sun. We eat and then watch silly videos on our phones, taking breaks to do jumping jacks or jog up and down the street to stay warm. We watch a young kid play soccer by himself in the middle of the street on the hillside. The evening call to prayer rings out from the mosque next door, and we hear it echoing off of the canyon walls miles away. The distorted reverb delay makes the chant even more beautiful.

At 7:01 p.m. on the dot, in the dark, the Route 515 bus rumbles around the corner to whisk us down the mountain to Antalya. The heat inside is on full blast. It's glorious. The bus takes seemingly every small rural road possible along the way. We get out on a busy street stop and look for a taxi to get us to the hotel. Emerson finds and presses a “taksi butona" out of curiosity - it's a red and yellow button mounted on a box on the fence that promises to summon a taxi for us. It lights up after a few minutes, indicating the ride is here. We see a woman halfway down the block getting into - presumably - our cab! We bail and use an app. The cabbie stops right in front of a large stone archway in a busy area. Emerson was marveling at it from the car window, so he thinks the driver stopped to let us get a better look. But nope, this is where we get out. We have to walk through Hadrian's Gate into Kaleiçi - old Town. The hotel is inside the old walls of the city, and driving in is a pain because of the narrow, one way streets that are effectively pedestrian-only. We figure this out and hop out, and are at the hotel in a few minutes. It's stately, simple, and quiet. We don't see anyone aside from the staff during our stay. We unpack, hang things up to dry, shower, change, and celebrate with beers that Emerson grabs from the corner store (finally). We stroll around outside before it gets too late, and find a reasonable place just around the corner. Food, especially dinner in the tourist center, is surprisingly expensive compared to what we're used to. But it's a nice luxury we don't mind indulging in after weeks of cheap simple meals. I do laundry in the hotel sink, out of habit, and hang things up everywhere to dry.

Jan 18 - 20

A blur of city things. To name a few...

We explore Kaleiçi and visit museums. We invite ourselves to play basketball with some kids in the park. Through a hilarious miscommunication we buy 2 kilograms of Turkish delight, and eat it all before we leave. We eat börek every day. We visit the Antalya Ethnographic Museum and the Atatürk house. We wander through Karaalioğlu park and along the cliffs overlooking the ocean, then sit and gaze out at mountains across the bay and try to identify which peaks and canyons we hiked. I buy black cumin (çörek otu) and tahini for Leah, fulfilling my one true mission in Turkey! A store owner in the Old Bazaar market tries to upsell us on bedroom supplements and an extremely potent lemon-menthol-salt beverage mix. We write postcards on the hotel balcony and manage to have a short but complete conversation in Turkish with the post office clerk. We choose dinner spots based on the number of locals inside. We sweat and get thoroughly exfoliated at a hamam. We take a tram to the airport and fly home, our departure infinitely more peaceful than our arrival.

Notes

• Our trip ended in Hisarçandır instead of Geyikbayırı, due to time constraints. The 515 bus runs down the mountain to Antalya. The Antalyakart app (Android and iOS) has schedules and real-time bus tracking! I wasn't able to register with a US mobile number, but you do not need the app to buy a ticket - the bus accepts tap-to-pay.
• We cooked using an alcohol stove with lemon cologne as fuel. It is readily available in small convenience stores, and smells kinda nice.
• Between the wild camping opportunities and the pensions/guesthouses in the nearby towns, accommodation planning is very easy.