Leg 3, Day 4 - Shining Rose and Laughing Waters

First I have to tell you about the Gul Montana Hotel. It was recommended to me by Suleyman-bey in Yaylasi Kuzdere. He made these pinching gestures with his hands that indicate something exquisite, gazed into the distance and waved an arm across a vision of spectacular scenery. All the rest was in Turkish but I took this to mean "highly recommended".

My first sight of the Gul (Rose) was of a rather austere rectangular building high on the hilltop above the road, its roofline a series of dormer windows. I think it was at that moment that I felt a sense of familiarity and apprehension. Yes there was a resemblance to a hotel I had seen somewhere before..

The road wound up the hill and around the buliding. Arriving at the Entrance I was struck by the display of flags, one for each nation they hoped would be represented among their clientele, but each one tattered through exposure to the elements so that only half the flag remained. The forecourt of the Hotel was rather irregular in shape and uneven of surface, a bit like a farmhouse yard, and it was clear that the building had grown "organically" according to successive demand. This was in contrast to the impression of regimented as seen from the road.

I approached the Receptiyon doors but could see before reaching them there was no-one in attendance. Lights off nobody home. I contemplated pressing one of the two bells next to the door, each labelled with adifferent Turkish word, but which one? One of them might summon the fire brigade. I decided to go to the Restaurant entrance as I thought In had heard voices from there earlier. A man in a chunky Strasky and Hutch sweater and jeans appeared looking apprehnsive. After "Merhaba" I asked if he spoke English. "English! English!" he called back into the building as if there were an invasion. Samir, the cheerful young man who spoke English came and welcomed me into the Hotel.. via a door marked WC at the back of the Restaurant!

If "The Shining" had been made in Turkey this might have been the vast rambling country Hotel wherin the events of that tale occur. These were the corridors down which a little boy on a trike would hurtle, encountering disturbing ghostly presences on the way. Fortunately none were encountered by me but instead Anna and Yesper, a pair of charming, intelligent and polite Danes, who had formed the same opinion of the place. It had a lot to do with the fact that we were the only guests in a place that could accommodate 120. That and the strong but rather eccentric style in which it had been decorated.. and the vestiges of Christmas decorations that remained since, we imagined, it had last been occupied, though they could have been from another era.

My stay at the Gul, despite the eerieness of empty corridors and bizarre decor was not so bad; a sumptuous evening meal with a surprise dessert of sweetened preserved pumpkin and Pasha Kemal (a bit like the Indian rasmalai), a bed with faded, worn but clean bed linen and thick brown wool blankets (warm but like sleeping under a bear), and an invigorating lukewarm trickle of a shower were all I needed to set me up for another day's walking.

Deciding against the trek to Roman Bridge, which would take me back on the same road I came in on, branching off at Gedelme, I decided instead to head down the Kemer Gorge. I didn't have time to read up too much about it but the guide book mentioned a river crossing that might involve wading if the water was high. With snowmelt I thought this might well be the case.

Samir showed me to the nose of the ridge (on which the Gul was built) and I very soon picked up the red and white way markings as I descended through pastures and farmlands, eventually joining a forest track. There was much to enjoy along the way, the weather was fair and I was packing shorts! There were dramatic rock outcrops and pinacles, rare and unusual wildflowers and interesting buildings. I took photos tomshowma variety of building styles and materials.

Again there were the occasional stock barriers and major erosion damage to the road. The message was that this road would not be navigable by any vehicle more advanced than a mule, even in an emergency. It is important to hear these things in mind when travelling alone, even though there is good mobile phone signal for most of the route.

The first hurdle was descent to a river crossing (stepping stones) where landslip meant that the last few metres was more of a scramble than a dignified descent. On rocks on the opposite bank were signs in many language (though few in English!) about the presence of scorpions. Ha! Scorpions I laughed, took off my shoes and socks and danced around singing "Come and get me!" for a few minutes. Then I dressed myself and headed off into the bush, justbjn time to avoid a giant scorpion swinging out of a tree wearing a Lucho Libre mask and underpants, screaming "BANZAI!" before splattering against a rock. Or so I imagined..

There was much "boulder-hopping" needed to follow the track alongside the river. As the gorge continued the sides got steeper and the margin next to the river less viable as a path. Eventually a steep track led to a higher one contouring the velley side. Again this was subject to water erosion and landslip, at one or two points obliging me to scramble (hands and feet involved) across a steeply sloping and crumbling surface or fine rock and soil. I took things really slowly, tested every step before trusting my weight on it and got across safely. I made a mental note to report these to the Lycian Way website.

Waterfalls and rapids and dramatic views; across the gorge at the stratified cliffs, at sections where towering rocks at either side forged the channel to gouge through, with gigantic boulders resisting the flow, vertical pines clinging to almost vertical rock-faces.

Eventually the point came where a river crossing was unavoidable and part of the way-marked route. I spotted the red and white stripes on a rock on the other side of thundering rapids and thought "You're having a laugh!" Again I took my time and considered an variety of routes and strategies to get across. I made my decision; there was a gap between two large boulders where water poured over a set of submerged but flat surfaced rocks. I was pretty sure that bare feet would grip well on their surfaces, there being no sign of algae growth in the rapid flow, but I would have to balance, hands free, and I was concerned that weight of my back pack might affect my balance, so I had to hurl this across first. I took it off and packed all my, precious and fragile things in the centre, padded by clothing, then I'm picked my spot, about three metres wide, swung it a couple of times then hurled it with an extra push for luck. It crashed and rolled on the opposite bank, soft side down. Perfect except that I'm saw one small water bottle escape from a side pocket and roll out of sight behind a boulder. I hoped it had not rolled into the water. I had two water bottles; one I had fills form a stream, but this one I had paid for!

So now I was separated from my pack. The next thing was my boots. I could have hung them round my neck by the laces but I didn't want them swinging against my chest and obstructing my view of my footsteps. I took them off, stuffed my socks insede and tied the laces tight together, the hurled them across in the same place as my back pack.

Now separated form all my worldly good I had to make the crossing. Walking back barefoot to Yayla Gönük was not an option. I took my time, kept one hand on the "departure" boulder until the last second and began stepping across. The stones were thankfully flat and gritty, though the drag of the fast-flowing water pulled at each foot as I lowered it to the surface of each step. Putting my hand on the "arrival" stone brought a great sense of relief, and triumph!

What I didn't know at that point was that two more such crossings would be needed before I could continue walking on Terra firma! The next was equally as daunting as the first, except that I had not option of throwing my pack over first; I had to rely on keeping my balance in spite of it. For a second time I carefullybdried and put socks and boots back on before reasilisng that a third crossing won!d be necessary, this time it was a case of wading across shingle and having experienced "Aging Beach" I remembered I had a pair of flip-flops in my pack (Turkish etiquette requires that outdoor shoes at removed at the entrance to a house). These protected my feet from sharp stones and after a final drying of feet (my bush-hat performing in well as a towel) I took the steep path on the hillside opposite.

There followed about an hour and a half of relentless climbing, hairpinning up through pine-forrested slopes, sometimes countouring, eventually founding a series of ridges and over a rocky outcrop, form where I could look down into the gorge, now about 200 metres below. I could see the white rock a of the stream bed and boulders of the point where I had crossed and hear the roar of the rapids and falls, like the sound of passing plane that never stops.

The descent seemed even more relentless and would have been tedious except for two things; my anxiety about the failing light made me quicken my step, at times where the descent was not too steep breaking into a canter and this had an exhilarating effect. Also, tiring of the soundtrack in my mind I decided to plug my excellent Böse earphones and shared the pain, the passion and the  ecstasy and the entrancing rhythms of Gloria Estevan's "Alma Caribeña". It was still!playing when I'm eventually arrived a by the riverside.

I was signalled from the opposite bank by a German couple Alvin and Eva who showed me the safe place to wade cross (another foot drying operation required). Darkness was falling rapidly and we walked together and talked, sharing out experiences of parts of the Lycian way we had all walked, and news of others met or heard about (Kirsten and Maria, Keeper and Anna, Sofia, Patric, Suleyman). Arriving at a campsite they decided they would stay there, or walk to a hostel they knew about. At the same time I'm was offered a lift in a builders truck to the centre of Gönük. Stepping off the truck I asked "Pansiyon?" and they pointed to the Yalinlar Motel, form whose foyer I am writing.

Today I hope to get to Roman bridge, and to walk from there via Phaselis to Tekirova, but it is now late (10.45) to start, so we'll see how it goes!

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