Day One

I am still reeling from today's walk experience!

Together with my friend Nancie I managed to get to the startpoint for the Lycian Way by ten o'clock. Pretty soon we were walking through woodland - thankfully cool as the day started to heat up.

The path climbed, then fell then just carried on climbing! There were magnificent views back to the coast around Olu Deniz. We passed a number of cistern tanks, where a fair quantity of spring water is collected for the benefit of passers-by and people working on the hillsides.

The vegetaion changed from pine forest to "maquis" and the curios shapes and surfaces of water-worn limestone became familiar. The grade of the track also varied - mostly it seemed to be lumpy stones that required care with every step to avoid twisted ankles. But occasionally there would be a stretch of green, close-clipped by the ubiquitous goats who seemed to belong to no-one but the sound of whose bells ornamented the silence.

Another common sound was that of bees. This area producss a lot of honey and the bees forage on the flowers of the mountainside. The most noticeable blooms on todays walk were the acid green mops of euphorbia, some with flame-coloured bracts and dark seed pods, and the ghostly spires of the asphodels, their flowers like pale stars, many with a faint pink wash.

Many birds were heard but not seen including a warbler and a stonechat. Numerous jays, a buzzard, black-caps and finches were also seen. Occasionally a lizard caught my eye but most times, having spotted me first it scurried away. I did manage to study one that hung like a devilish tongue beneath a mouth-like cleft in a rock. I got close enough to see its dark grey-checkered colouring, its size, the shape if its head, before it darted ito the "moufh".

To the right, the steep slopes toward the sea were clothed in scrub, to the left rose the flanks of Baba Dag. The walk continued around headlands and across stony slopes, the surface underfoot constantly changing from smooth path to loose rubble, and the gradient rarely level. Some stretches were like an interminable flight of stairs; these were the ones where occasional rest-pauses, regular sips of water and dogged determination were needed.

One descent brought us into a valley of occasional pines on a floor of bright white limestone rubble, the result of rockfalls that occured in 1953, when six houses in the village of Kirme on the valley floor were crushed. The entire south-facing side of Baba Dag appears to have been hacked away, the exposed rock totally lacking any vegetation and extensive scree slopes of chalky white rubble spread out at its base. I found this sight both awesome and depressing, and was keen to move on.

Strenuous climbing led to elevated pastures, a "ghost village" of half-finished villas and a wrong turn or two that meant doubling back or walking an extended loop to reach the next objective. It soon became clear that the guide book was out-dated and that way-markings could be misleading and inconsistent. My frustration with such things was mollified by sharing the experiences with the one or two fellow walkers met along the way - and by the wonders of the country through which we were walking.

After a long uphill slog we rounded a headland to see a village perched on 500m high cliffs above the deep blue waters of a sea inlet; we had reached Faralya, our first sleepover.