Join Mitch and Carrie Wood as they hike the breathtaking Lycian Way, uncovering Turkey's rich history, beautiful landscapes, and vibrant local culture along this famous Mediterranean trail.
Earlier this year, Mitch Wood and his wife, Carrie, hiked the Lycian Way, an extraordinary 760 km (470 mi) trail following Turkey’s ancient southern Mediterranean coast ending on the outskirts of the gateway resort city of Antalya on the Turkish Riviera. For these two American hikers, the Mediterranean Sea was often in their view and always on their mind.
Already warm in March, the midday Mediterranean sun makes us thirsty. Ahead, thankfully downhill, lies an exceptionally green valley. We know this from trail creator Kate Clow’s detailed and informative guidebook, The Lycian Way: Turkey’s First Long Distance Walking Route, as well as our downloaded GPX maps. Such knowledge, however, is hardly necessary as the path is well marked.
There is an exceptional water source, a well. It’s more than a well, the kind we have been drawing water from over the past two weeks. As with the others, there are columns, stones, a portion of a wall, all evidence of ancient buildings. There’s also a bench underneath a nearby shade tree. The guidebook notes that this was the site of a Byzantine church, chosen because the apostle Paul stopped here. Heading downhill, the bowl-shaped topography emerges: the bench, the shade tree and the buildings at the bottom create a natural meeting place for humans, animals, and water. Long before Paul stopped to quench his thirst, people have been doing the same, bringing their thirsty selves to this spot and drinking from what we discover is prodigious fresh water.
A woman wearing a veil is approaching at the head of a dozen goats. She motions for us to sit while lowering the rope to help us with the water. We drink, watching as she draws for her goats. She herself does not take a sip; its Ramadan meaning no quenching of thirst or hunger until sundown. She asks us two questions, the two phrases in Turkish that we have come to recognize: Where are you from and how old are you? We’re New Yorkers and world travelers, 74 and 66 respectively. The people we meet along the Lycian Way are just as interested in us as we are in them.
A few days later in the former Greek city of Olympos, or Olympus, believed to have been founded during the time of Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC, and one of many in this region they call Lycia, I step out of my tent at dawn. I’m on a stage, not a nightmare. It’s been several thousand years since people sat on the stone seats, now mostly buried under the earth, to watch a performance of Antigone at what was once a popular amphitheater. We had come down a steep hill arriving in this ancient metropolis by the sea late in the day. The stage is flat and secluded, away from the main street of the ruins and the major archaeological work in progress of recreating the city.
The ancient theatre of Olympos in southern Turkey. (Photo: Turkish Museums)
We break camp and follow the stream running through the city to the Mediterranean. Thousands of years of sand deposits have separated what was once the port of Olympos from the sea itself. At the edge, incorporating a wide new beach, we pluck oranges from a tree before stopping for coffee at one of the first of several shaded guest houses. A gravel path takes us up to a paved road where flowered guest houses and restaurants intermingle with orchards, pastures with cows, and local grocery stores. We find a seaside bungalow with a porch, hammock and a friendly host, and call it a rest day. We’ve been walking a long time.
The trail forks here, as it does frequently. A hiker has options of walking along the coast or climbing into the hills above. A German couple we met are pressed for time and opted to follow the sea route. We decide to follow the orchards into the hills.
We soon find ourselves hiking through fire spewing out of the rocks. Balancing concern for our packs, boot soles and selves, we peer into the blackened holes of the “Chimera Flames”. These are the source of the fires the Greeks used to light their Olympic torch. We mentally nod to the runners who will soon be taking the flame across the Mediterranean, to Nice, en route to Paris.
The Chimera Flames. (Photo: Wikipedia)
The Lycian Way, or in Turkish, the Likya Yolu, was developed for experiences like these. Unlike some treks that circumvent villages to create a wilderness experience or take the hiker into more remote regions, this trail was designed to engage the hiker with the past and present. There is also wilderness with several nature reserves, as part of the Teke Peninsula is not conducive for agriculture, industry, or settlement. The area is known for its birdwatching, but also wildlife such as wild boar, fallow deer, jackals, wild goat, and even Egyptian fruit bats. The trail winds through forests, mountains and canyons combined with several challenging river crossings. One night, for the first time in a lifetime of nights along the trail, we listen to the howling and yelping of wolves. On others, we hear the hoots of less aggressive, more familiar nighttime predators.
But as the guidebook says, it’s a trail for people who wish to discover the real Turkey. That current reality is the product of people who, over thousands of years, have lived in these hills or along the coast. The designated trail combines ancient trading and herding paths. We walk though coastal olive groves first planted up to three thousand years ago. We pass through the temples, graves, houses, and fortifications of ancient cities, at times stepping on the same worn paving stones of bygone streets, ducking though the lintels of old doorways. We follow modern roads used for the transport of goods and people, taking them to various seaports, ancient and modern.
Modern Turkey is a product of cultural interaction. Representing an exchange of past and present, it can be messy, troubling and not necessarily beautiful, but always fascinating. In Kalkan, an old fishing port, we snaked through a warren of twisting streets and alleys leading steeply down to centuries-old mosques by the port. To get there, we must walk through the modern part of this Turkish resort city – a mix of gleaming white houses with million-euro price tags and the shells and rubble of unfinished housing. In nearby Kas, hotels, guest houses, and hawkers selling guided boat trips dominate the waterfront; a few fishermen peddle their catch to locals. We tip toe around a film crew as we select a restaurant from one of many.
The modern port city of Kalkan. (Photo: Kalkan Tourism)
After visiting the ancient acropolis at Myra and the Byzantine Church of St. Nicholas, we refuel at the cafes and vegan restaurants of the bustling modern city of Demre standing on what used to constitute the Old City. We are spared several kilometers of walking through a conglomeration of agribusinesses, notably greenhouses and warehouses for growing and shipping tomatoes to Istanbul and beyond by a cab driver who knew exactly where the trail leaves the truck route to become once again hiking path climbing steeply into the hills.
On the trail, hunger hits. As a hiker, I’m always hungry and this is a delicious trail. At the edge of the inland village of Mugla, we pass an old house with a handmade sign reading: gozleme, the ubiquitous Turkish crepe-like fast food. A woman, looking old, but probably younger than us, begins to make coffee. She lights an outdoor stone stove fire before grappling with the mixing bowl with her flour and then chopping vegetables. As the fire warms and the coffee brews, we share stories and show pictures of our home and family. We learn that her six children living in Istanbul, Antalya, and Ankara; some with careers, others looking for work. Two hours later, we finish our fast food and resume hiking.
My wife and I are part of the cultural exchange, bringing change to the region even as we practice “leave no trace” hiking. A purpose of the trail, the guidebook explains, is for us visitors to benefit the locals by offering an “alternate income, to promote alternative tourism.” An industry has developed around this with stores providing specialty hikers’ supplies, including “can’t ever find it” camping gas. There are also knowledgeable guides, some operating independently, others with organized companies. They specialize in their localities. Even though we weren’t hiring, the ones we met were always pleased to help and we talk about life in Turkey.
There are guest houses that understand the needs of hikers. One can hike the trail and sleep in a welcoming bed and breakfast, or a hotel, with good to excellent food almost every night. But without the tent, we would have missed the Mediterranean sunsets and sunrises, while experiencing the value of water in an arid land, and much more.
Throughout the trip, we meet people and make friends. An English-speaking man in Finke finds me a cobbler to fix the hole in my boot. He gives the shoemaker instructions, making sure the job is done properly. We sit and compare countries, plus talk about elections, the one in the US and the one here in its closing moments as we hike. Part of our trek includes stops at rallies, coffee at party headquarters and listening to the sound of slogan broadcasting cars roaming up and down the streets of the smallest villages. We witness a volume of active civic engagement unmatched with anything we have seen in America or Europe. We watch groups of people glued to TVs as the votes are counted on election night. Connected to the world via social media and conventional news outlets, we see the smiles on faces as the results come in.
Along the trail, we meet other hikers: Australians, Poles, Germans, Russians… Only on a dramatic stretch of canyons near Antalya do we meet a group of Turkish hikers — teachers from Istanbul. The locals care about us hikers. They help and they know what we are doing. But they don’t really know why. Our purpose of walking is to make connections…with people, the planet, the past, and the present. Such exceptional trails help us to appreciate the interdependence of life around the world. On the Likya Yolu, we’re always on that journey.
Mitch and Carrie Wood retired from their careers as history professor, documentary filmmaker, and business manager, leaving their New York City apartment to set off on an open-ended world journey, an adventure where the journey itself is the destination. Traveling slowly and close to the earth, mostly by foot and bicycle, they have been trying to navigate barriers of privilege, culture, politics, tribe, hoping to learn what brings people together and what keeps them apart. They have been on this journey for three years.