Have Itch, Will Travel

The Lycian Way is a continuous hiking trail along 500km of Turkey's southern coastline, starting from Ölüdeniz and ending in  Geyikbayırı (near Antalya). It is named after the ancient Lycian people who inhabited the coast from 1200-1500 BC until the 7th to 9th centuries AD, when the culture and population declined due to earthquakes, war, conquests, the introduction of Christianity, and the plague. Remnants of the ancient culture can be found along the trail in the form of city ruins and sarcophagi. In 1999, the trail was researched and marked by Kate Clow, and has since attracted hikers from around the world. View of Ölüdeniz from above This post outlines some tips and lessons learned from personal experiences. You may find them useful if you are interested in hiking the Western section from Fethiye to Alınca, and I highly recommend that you do! Context Route: Fethiye to Kabak trail and then a Kabak - Alınca - Kabak loop Time of year: April Weather: no rain,

Image of cliffs between Kabak Beach and Al ı nca courtesy hiker "suntrail" at wikiloc.com The toe of my hiking shoe nudged the small rocks to reveal a stable stone surface at the exposed edge of the boulder. The overdrawn clatter of the rocks as they fell was a reminder of how high we were. Keeping my eyes forward, I groped for a secure handgrip and scoured the boulder surface for my next foothold. We had been hiking uphill for a good hour along a lesser-used trail on the coast between Kabak Beach and Alınca when the trail stopped at a rocky cliff face. After a mutter and scratch of his sweaty hair, Rob started to scale the cliff, having seen no alternative path, and was now two metres above me. "I don't know which way!" he called out, clinging to the rock awkwardly. My eye caught sight of a red and yellow marker, painted in the centre of the cliff face, as apparent as our deaths should we put a foot wrong. This was indeed the way of the trail. "U

The envious trait of independent slow travel is the ability to "wing it". Stay in a surprisingly beautiful town a few days longer, your last night there and your next stop unknown. Flip a coin, go where the next bus or train will take you, follow the good weather. The uncertainty and freedom of choice have a particular thrill. But sometimes, "winging it" doesn't work out. "Shit." We had stopped for lunch in a backyard restaurant and Rob was surveying the dozen other hikers who were already carb-loading on flat bread. His frown deepened as more hikers made their way past, but he held onto his thoughts. A few more hours of steady trekking ended at our destination,  Faralya,  where it was apparent that "winging it" for a multi-day hike along the remote Turkish coast was a poor decision. Rob's fears were founded; the unexpected number of tourists that day had booked out the town. Hotelier #4 pointed up the street with a sympathetic look a

Someone was singing a sombre tune a distance away, their amplified voice carried in a breeze that shuffled the leaves above. For a moment, I wondered where I was, only vaguely feeling sleepiness and contentment. As I opened my eyes, my other senses also awoke. I was lying on a floor cushion in an open air restaurant, and looked over to see Rob similarly reclined. We had commenced our multi-day hike from Fethiye to Alınca, and had come to our half-way point for the day in Kayaköy . Around us, the houses of the expansive hillside village stared through empty windows, roofs long gone and hollowed remains slowly decaying. The buildings were once alive with a community of Greek Christians (who knew the town as Livissi), but the fall of the Ottoman Empire led to a population exchange between Greece and Turkey. Christian Greeks were expelled from Turkey, and Muslim Turks where forced to leave their homes in Greece, totalling nearly 2 million displaced people between the two countries. For

I could tell you about our walking tour  around Athens to see some of its many ruins and the fascinating history or mythology surrounding the ancient structures. I could also tell you about our stay on the Greek island of Rhodes, where we lived on a sunny rooftop terrace and sped around in a tiny Toyota Aygo to visit postcard perfect Lindos , a whitewashed town climbing a hill from the Mediterranean Sea, presided over by a 14th century castle atop an acropolis. I could tell you about all those sites, but it is much easier if you Google them. Instead, I will tell you about the neighbourhood in which we spent three nights: Exarchia, the countercultural island in downtown Athens, home of Greece's anarchists. We were fresh off a 30-hour transit from home and alighted the airport bus service into the centre of Athens. Navigating the way to our accommodation , we were allowed a sample of the hustle and bustle typifying big cities, and as we crossed street after street, we noted th

A notion I learned while studying the minimalist lifestyle cited that one's home should communicate one's values and personality. Our homestay in Athens belonged to a kind, middle-aged lady who was not a minimalist. She was a collector of all things, it seemed, and each small collection was housed in purpose-built shelving and displays. Tobacco tins and matchbooks adorned one corner of the hall, while cassette tapes and vinyl records were forgotten on shelves across a loaded bookcase. The tiny kitchen could be likened to an ancient apothecary; scores of miniature jars and bottles of spices, herbs, teas, and oils cluttered the countertop. Even the bathroom was a perfume parlour where a muddle of scents stood in rows four or five bottles deep. Who was our host? We never asked, nor did we desire to. Instead, we imagined she was a Professor of Architecture and Design who consulted from her large office. The books she owned surely were evidence of that. Or perhaps she was writing a