The story resumes, a few days behind already, in the port town of Çeşme on the western edge of Turkey’s Aegean coast, where we find our intrepid heroes soaked to the bone from a five minute walk between the morning dessert café and the afternoon tea café, where they will while away an unproductive afternoon watching the clouds clear and waiting for a ferry to the Greek island of Kios/Çios/Chios/Xhios/Hios.

But how did we even get to Çeşme, you are almost certainly dying to ask? It wasn’t on the initial agenda (I’d never heard of it until a few days ago). Whatever happened to the hike? Well, the hike was most amazing, and I’ll have much to say about it in good time. But for now we’ll start at the end. We left what would turn out to be our last Lycian* campsite, a series of verdant tiered fields below an ancient aquaduct, where we bathed in surprisingly warm springwater and whiled away an afternoon reading and chatting with our German field-mates, after a very lazy morning in which a local lad helped us pack up our tent. After several solid hours of hiking in the increasingly sticky heat, we made a town with bus service, and got ourselves to the large-ish coastal hub of Kaş. Arriving late in the afternoon, we discovered that there was no onward bus to Ucagiz, our chosen Lycian way restart point, and after wandering briefly around the centre of town, we decided that camping would be a no-go. There was nothing but villas between the cliffs and the sea as far as we could see, never mind walk. So we settled into a luxurious evening in Pansiyon (bargaining success!), treating ourselves to donair and kunefe, along with a couple of beers, before collapsing at around 9:00 pm (so late!). the morning brought a the usual Turkish breakfast, not quite up to our incredibly high trail standards, but breakfast was accompanied by a chance meeting with a Turkish salaryman, down from Denizli for the weekend. After hearing about the supposed beauty of Ucagiz, he cancelled his own tentative plans and offered to drive us to the town. The drive was swerving and beautifully scenic, passing old stone Ottoman houses in small valley-towns, before coming to the sheltered bay of Ucagiz, and the ancient island-city of Kekova across. I’d actually heard of the sunken city at Kekova when I was last in Turkey, but in December no one was heading out on boats, so I’d given it a miss. This time though, we were approached by a tout almost immediately, and agreed to a couple hours on his boat for what seemed a reasonable price. Stocking up with a second bottle of wine, we headed into the turquoise sea.

The island city was beautiful, though almost entirely obliterated by the last earthquake. Even the sunken sections were little more than fallen columns and outlines, but the joy of pottering about on a boat, wine in hand, G’n’R on the stereo, made up for this small disappointment. We drank and talked and swam for a few hours, before heading back to shore and lunching atop the ruined castle. After all of this exhausting activity, and still buried under a sticky heat, the thought of hiking up out of the valley was looking slightly less than appealing, so a plan B was hatched. Tarik would take us with him back to Denizli, from whence we could head to Pamukkale, one of Turkey’s ‘must-dos’s’, collecting our gear from Fethiye on the way.

Having found out that ferries from Fethiye towards Greece didn’t really exist at this time of year, an offer to go a few hundred kilometers in the right direction with a bed at the end of it seemed too good to pass up, so we loaded back into the car and left the Way behind. While a few more days would have been lovely, we’d had many highlights during our week, and, with time suddenly tight and our legs weak, north seemed the way to go. So off we went. Up bright and early to get to the ‘cotton cliffs’ of Pamukkale, we managed to beat most of the rush, and though thunder threatened constantly, avoid the rain. Pamukkale is indeed a strange place – rounded white cliffs formed by hot spring water spilling from the rocks above, topped by the ruins of a massive city. The ruins weren’t the most impressive we’ve seen, but their setting in the middle of the valley, surrounded by mountains, edged by the white cliffs, and filled with brilliant green grass and a rainbow of flowers, was exquisite.

Sunset found us spending our second evening free-camping in the shadow of one of Turkey’s world heritage sites. Our previous spot near Xanthos was a wildflower-filled meadow between a bank of trees and a verdant green field, underneath the fortress-walls of the ancient city. The much more touristy town of Pamukkale, surrounded by tilled fields and more thoroughly fenced, couldn’t quite match this, but we managed to find what appeared to be a defunct campground on the outskirts, just across the road from the cotton cliffs. We settled onto an old tent site cut out of the steepish hillside, and managed a decent sleep, despite the hotel-party down the hill and the less-than-flat status of our pad. From there it was a simple three busses to Çeşme, the port town which would ferry us to Kios, a Greek island just offshore. Unfortunately, various sources misinformed us regarding the ferry, which meant a night in town.

Empowered by our previous successes camping in the immediate environs or large towns, we weren’t too discouraged to find that we’d have to spend an extra night in Turkey waiting for our ferry. Çeşme seemed to sport some decent-sized green spaces, despite being rammed up against the ocean, and a quick scouting trip revealed a small field by the water that the locals clearly used for partying. After killing a few hours on the waterfront, we followed the dying sun west to our chosen spot, traversing a small beach. We settled in to read and await a little more darkness before setting up, but it wasn’t long before a curious local, who’d seen us cross the beach, which leads to nowhere, laden with backpacks, wandered up our small ridge to say hello. He spoke no English, but through my tiny fragments of Turkish and a few well-placed gestures and hasty drawings, he managed to make it clear that this point was cold, and ofen visited, and if we intended to stay in Çeşme, we’d be much more comfortable at his home, where we could stay for free. Overcoming some hesitations, we followed him the kilometer or two back through town, and spent a lovely evening snacking and laughing at our failure to communicate even basic things. He’d left before we awoke, but hopefully a token gift of maple syrup will leave him with a fond memory of us, as we certainly have of him. Depending on the weather and the ferries, it may be awhile before we get a good hot shower again.

The ferry departed on queue the next day, and with the clouds parting in from of us, Kios welcomed us into its bustling harbour with fading sunbeams and a Greek ferry strike, which fortuitously stranded us at the most beautiful little hotel (superlatives deserved) for the night, and compelled us to rebook for an extra day to explore the island. All for next post, you may be pleased to read.

*A pre-greek (and then Greek, Roman, etc) confederation of cities on Turkey’s southern coast, details to come in the hikey post.