Misadventures on the Lycian Way, 2001, Day 8

                        We like Orun Pansiyon.  We decide to make it the base for a few day trips on the Lycian Way.  That way we can leave most of our gear behind.  Today, we will continue our wrong-way tour of the trail, marching west to the ancient city of Aperlae.

                        Starting out, we walk along the main street.  The town is tiny, perhaps 40 houses in all, but it has 15 or 20 shops.  Carpets, copper, ceramics, spices, fruit, groceries, and nuts – all prepared and displayed for the tour boats that dock here everyday.  It may be touristy, but it makes for a colorful and pleasant stroll.  Turkey in August is a late-rising place and the shops are just opening at 9:30.  Less than five minutes after setting out, we have left the village and are alone with the brush, the sea, the stones, and the trail.  It’s hot, but this trip will be different than the rest of the week.  Gordon is carrying no pack, and mine is far lighter than I’m used to.  The track is nearly level, the wind blows steadily across our sweat-soaked bodies.  No longer beasts of burden, we suddenly see why Kate Clow loves this country.

                        With the sea on our left, we roll along a trail that wavers up and down a few meters as it skirts a bay that gradually dwindles down to a shallow inlet. We amble footloose for an hour, passing a cool spring that seems to be gushing directly into the sea.  Finally, the trail begins to rise across the first peninsula.  We cache a bottle of water.  Soon, we can look back on the village and the host of cruise ships scattered across the harbor.

                        Now we enter a wilderness of stones, some rising ten feet from the ground, bright white in the harsh sun.  The trail threads its way through and around these monoliths.  Off  the trail, the space between the stones is filled with thorny brush that makes it nearly impossible to travel.  For once, we cannot lose the trail, no matter how hard we try.  Remarkably, this unwelcoming ground seems to be pastureland, at least for goats, more common here than on any other part of our trip. 

Now the trail alters again.  The great stones fall away, and we are crossing a flat spot that most Americans would call a stony field scattered with occasional weeds.  To us, however, after a week of Lycian landscapes, it looks the Turkish equivalent of Ireland – green and inviting in a way we haven’t seen before.  Looking down on this lush land are three abandoned houses.  We can’t imagine why someone would move away from the scene of such agricultural bounty. 

                        Soon we arrive at Aperlae.  Aperlae was never more than a modestly important town.  But it took a big hit in 40 A.D., when an earthquake dropped the entire neighborhood several feet.  This was particularly hard on Aperlae’s seaport. Large parts of the old Roman waterfront are now under water (and likely to stay so, since Mediterranean Sea levels have been rising for centuries. After exploring the tombs and fortress walls that climb the hillside near Aperlae, we take to the water with snorkels and masks borrowed from the pension. We spot still-intact warehouse walls lying in the shallows.  Farther out, we can trace the old harbor wharves and quays.  Here, seriously deep water is separated from water only six feet deep by a straight-edge run of stonework that almost certainly marks the spot where Roman galleys tied up to deliver their cargo.  It is a magical place.  Apart from an occasional tour boat moored far offshore, we have it to ourselves.

                        Walking back, it’s clear that Gordon has recovered from our troubles.  Instead of the monosyllables in which he spoke during the long, tough hours of past hikes, he is energetic and almost talkative. We stroll back, losing the trail only occasionally, and arriving a good half-hour before dark.