The minibus took us, two French people and a Turkish guide westward from Antalya. We were doing the self-guided walk along sections of the last part of the Lycian Way and they were doing a very similar guided walk with their French-speaking guide, Ali.  We all headed out along the extremely rugged Lycian coastline, through a series of tunnels bored beneath the rocky mountains that butt right up to the sea, to the starting point of our 5-day trekking sampler of the Lycian Way. It was an inauspicious starting point, a pullover alongside the main road, where a red and white marker indicated where the Lycian Way crossed over on its final push inland. We were however heading in the opposite direction towards the coast.

Bringing up memories of our blue cruise misadventures, we discovered that the trekking company had forgotten to include our walking guide notes with our packed lunch, which to a large extent defeated the purpose of doing a self-guided walk. The solution was for us to join Philipe-Alain, Marie-Claude and Ali on a guided walk. Since arriving here, we have learned to take it as it comes, so off we set - the trip promised to be interesting and our French-speaking skills were about to get an unexpected workout.

We found ourselves on a narrow dirt road, which led us quickly through the scrubby pine forest to a sparkling bay – the classic Mediterranean landscape of blue seas, rocky shores and pines. Crossing a small beach of smooth rounded white pebbles, Ali led us up onto a rocky pine-covered headland. We appreciated the shady canopy as we crossed the headland to reach its western side.

Looking north, a line of orange cliffs directed our gaze up to the imposing blue silhouette of 2365m Tahtali Dağ (aka the eastern Olympos), a mountain revered by the ancients.  With large white clouds billowing about its summit, it was easy to see why.

We resumed our path beneath the pines, passing through an ancient necropolis – the broken slabs of 2000 year-old tombs scattered amongst the rocky outcrops and scrubby understorey. The track dropped down onto a rocky shoreline and we followed the narrow path between sea and low-cliff into a wide bay. Ahead lay some more impressive upright tombs (for the Lycian A-list), plus remnants of a stone wall, buildings and an arched aqueduct. We had reached the site of the ancient city of Phaselis and it was time for lunch.

Phaselis was founded in the 6th century BC and was variously ruled by Lycians, pirates, Greeks, Persians, Romans, Arabs and Byzantines before passing into oblivion by the 13th century. Learning the history of this city was one of the advantages of walking with a guide and we could not fault our classroom of old stones walls in a soft brown bed of pine needles.

The Fisherman's Bay of ancient Phaselis

The sun was reaching its peak, so we took a break sitting in the shade of the pines on the edge of a small bay, listening to the wind sighing gently in the canopy above and imagining the fisherman coming in to port and landing their catch on the stone steps opposite, all those centuries ago. Our reveries over, we headed on to wander through the ruins of Phaselis where Ali showed us the old bath houses, market places and 3,000 seat amphitheatre – fascinating.

The main street of Phaselis beneath the pines

The old main street brought us out to the third bay of the town, a wide expanse of water, backed by the blue-hazed silhouette of the Taurus Mountains.

The rhythm for the day was soon set, as the wide stony track meandered and undulated its way across the pine-covered spurs and valleys running perpendicular to the coast. Although summer was almost here, there was still an abundance of wildflowers scattered along the edge of the road, enough to keep my camera clicking over and ensure that I was permanently in the rear. 

From on high, we overlooked a series of beautiful little coves and inlets, while beyond the bright bare summit of Olympos appeared, vanished and reappeared as we passed from ridge to valley to ridge again. This was a very picturesque section of coastline. At a couple of points, we dropped down to cross the flats at the rear of the grey-brown gravelly beaches, grasslands dotted with flowering herbs and scatterings of the ubiquitous pine. Finally we reached the saddle and, from just beyond it, caught the first glimpse of Çirali beach, our goal at the end of the day.

The descent was rapid at first and we quickly found ourselves next to the diggings of an old chromium mine that overlooked the drier mountains further inland. The road then took us out along a long spur before dropping down to the large, brown-sand beach of Maden Beach. Here also were the ruins of the mining operation and port, abandoned in the 1960s, and a small fish-farm. The floating cages, however, were all piled on the beach along with the flotsam and jetsam of this aquaculture operation – it was the first bit of ugliness we had seen on the walk. We hurried by in the soft brown sand to a rocky footpath that climbed shortly and sharply over a scrubby ridge to drop down to a more isolated brown pebble beach on its far side.  After 4.5 hours of walking we had reached our lunch / siesta spot.

There was a small uninhabited fisherman’s camp there and we were met by two dogs and rooster. The former two were friendly enough – in fact they wanted to join us for lunch in the shade of pines filled with the summer drone of cicadas. It was a time to laze and read and swim in the curiously stratified water of the bay – tepid on the surface and chilly cold near the bottom. We spent a lot of time diving down to the refreshingly cold deep layer.

At 3pm, with the temperature still well into the 30s, we set out on our final push to Çirali.  The rocky path climbed up the headland on the far side of the beach, offering great views back over our lunch spot and the coast beyond, before descending a set of zig-zags into a deep and spectacular ravine.

Typical coastal inlet - pine clad hills and clear blue-green sea

At the bottom of the ravine, we followed a dry creek bed back out to an isolated brown-sand beach on the far side of the bay. From here, the climb began all over again, as we undulated and meandered around the steep pine-covered slopes, between 20 and 120m above the deep blue sea.

It was a beautiful section of coastline, but I was finding the going unexpectedly tough in the hot sun – sugar deficit was setting in, so I had to call a rest stop to get a boost from some lollies and a drink of rehydration salts (which every trekker should carry). With a quick sugar boost, it only took 10 minutes to recuperate, cross the last two spurs and look down on the broad light sand beach of Çirali, backed by the brooding peak of Musa Daği – a superb and welcome sight.

After loading our packs up with extra water, we set off to follow the main road of Çirali, as it ran parallel to the beach past a long line of pensions and hotels. Near its western end, we cut on to the white-grey pebbly beach to continue heading west towards the towering face of 982m Musa Daği (Moses Mountain) and a low rocky cliff near the end of the beach with several ruined walls. We had reached the entry to Olympos, one of the six major cities of the ancient Lycian League.

The entry to the city site was spectacular – rounding the cliffs we looked up a deep river valley, lined on both sides with dense and lush broadleaf vegetation. In front lay a shallow lagoon, full of croaking frogs – all that remained of the silted up harbour of the ancient city – while on either side of the river were the scattered remains of the cities buildings, dating from the 2nd century BC. Ali told us about the history of Olympos, and led us past the monumental tombs, along the ancient water canal, past the ruins of Roman temples and Byzantine bishop’s houses, all witnesses to Olympos’ long and diverse history. The cool shade of the jungle-like vegetation provided welcome relief from the sun, already hot at 10am.

Leaving the ruins of Olympos, we passed through the modern tourist village of the same name, a haphazard collection of wooden cabins, bars and self-styled treehouses (usually just huts on stilts). This is another place on the backpacker circuit for pretend-hippies and we hurried through, turning off the road to follow a dry, boulder-filled creek bed out past the plastic bottles and refuse of modern Olympos (Gaia would not be pleased). Crossing the creek, we followed a footpath to start a 200m climb on a long traverse through the pines lining the steep valley walls. After the deep shade of ancient Olympos, the pines seemed to offer little protection from the sun, and with the temperature well into the 30s, we were once again feeling the heat stress of yesterday.

The footpath became a rocky road, which brought us out to a dry grassy saddle near the rounded summit of Omurga Dağ. Even the breeze that greeted us here seemed hot, as we crossed the saddle to pass through a new olive grove and reach the high point of this first climb for the day. It was time to take a rest and take on some more fluids, before following a road down past the farmhouses, olive groves and lush green pomegranate orchards of Sarmasik Mahallesi. Once again, the outline of Mt Olympos watched over our route, a little further away than yesterday, but still dominant – no wonder the ancients were in awe of it.

A rapid descent through two rows of pomegranates brought us to a dry creek bed at the head of a scrub-filled valley. We made our way down the rocky bed of the creek to pick up another footpath, sometimes faint, sometimes overgrown, as it wandered down through the thick, spiky scrub, beneath a canopy of scattered broadleaf trees and dotted with the garish mauve and yellows of rock roses in flower. A small frog-inhabited spring enabled us to wet our heads before proceeding down in the still hot air.

Finally, we emerged onto a flat and crossed a small stream to reach a paved road, site of a very pleasant roadside buvette. It had a fast-flowing cold spring that fed a small trout pond, large shady plane trees and even the cooling wafts of a gentle breeze. This would be the spot to pass the heat of the day, enjoying Turkish pancakes for lunch and a quick snooze after.

By the time we set off again, some high cloud had built up and the temperature fell to around 30. It was bit more pleasant as we quickly left the paved road to ford a stream and then follow it around into a cool valley. Passing an old watermill, now turned into a rainbow-coloured residence by its friendly alternately-oriented owners, we started a steady climb up through the pines along a churned up forestry track. The valley narrowed and the road followed the edge of a small rocky gorge - the sound of unseen water cascading down it drifted up from below. As the gorge widened, we dropped down a steep bank to rock-hop across the stream and pick up a goat track on the far side. We knew it was a goat track because we passed the old goat herd and his bleating flock as we crossed the mouth of a narrow rock-walled side gorge.

After a short break during which the fair Nello made friends with a tortoise, we started the long descent of stone steps used by the ancients to access their temple and the eternal flames. We had just left in time, as we passed four busloads of hot and red-faced Russian tourists clambering up the steep steps to visit the site. It may sound a bit selfish, but it was a different experience to enjoy it on our own than with a hundred or more other members of the human race.

The stable weather pattern seemed to be hanging around, which meant another hot day on the Lycian Way. The bad news was that today we faced a climb of over 700m – the good news was that it would almost all be in the shade. Setting out from the pension, we quickly retraced our steps of yesterday down the road and along the crunchy pebble beach to reach the entrance to Olympos again.

However, this time we took off our boots and waded across the shallow river mouth. Once on the other side, we found a footpath into the dense undergrowth on the western bank of Olympos and followed it past a series of ruins overgrown by the thick vegetation - Lycian tombs, Roman baths and amphitheatre, Greek walls – all adding to the colourful history of the site.

The rock walls of Musa Daği

For a while it led us fairly gently up into the valley, beneath a thick canopy of broadleaf trees. Even with this deeper shade, we were soon perspiring freely in the still air – just as well we threw in a few extra litres of water. High above, the rock walls toward which we were heading taunted us.

The track soon started to climb more steeply as we reached the rear of the valley, winding its way up a stony path, lined with mossy rocks and scattered ferns beneath the shady canopy of scrubby oaks and red-barked strawberry trees. The metres clicked by to the rhythm of our slow ascent as the canopy eventually opened out into the less dense and less shady pines. We wound our way through a rock-jumbled path and landscape of fallen trees -  fire had passed through here several years earlier and opened up the forest. Looking back, we caught a glimpse of the distant sea – blue, cool, inviting – we turned away and pressed on, not sure where we would rather be.

One last push brought us out to the clearing on top of the pass, where we were greeted by cool and refreshing westerly wind – it was as if someone had opened the fridge door. A little higher up to our left lay some of the jumbled ruins of ancient Phoinikous – with the cooling wind sweeping across, it was clear why they had chosen this site for a summer retreat. 

After spending a bit of time at the pass, we made a short descent on a forestry road to reach a dilapidated shepherd’s hut, surrounded by some large pines. Far down lay a broad green valley, covered with a mosaic of glasshouses and orchards.  With the wind rushing though the shady pines, it was the ideal place for lunch and the, by now, compulsory siesta.

The climbing was over and the long 700m descent was about to begin. With our sweat-soaked clothing dried by the wind, we followed a forestry road around the tops to a second saddle, where the Lycian Way transformed back into a footpath that started to drop down the next valley. The descent became increasingly steep as we followed the valley down, watching it transform gradually into a deep pine-filled ravine, lined by grey rock walls. The track switched from side to side of the ravine, crossing the dry boulder-strewn stream bed twice, as it brought us quickly out of the ravine to a patch of dried-off pasture. Just as quickly, we re-entered the forest to follow the stream heading toward the coast beneath a line of orange-coloured cliffs.

Our riverside pension was a great spot to cool down with the obligatory Efes and to enjoy one last dinner with our companions de route. Tomorrow, Ali was taking our French friends in a different direction and we were finally going to do a self-guided section of the Lycian Way. Let’s hope that the change which seemed to start blowing through as we arrived at the pension would bring us cooler weather.

It was sad to farewell Marie-Claude, Philipe-Alain and Ali, our companions de route of the last few days, but we were also looking forward to walking to our own rhythm today. We had learnt a lot walking with a guide, but we pace ourselves very differently. Over the years you get to know your body and today there would more short stops, perhaps just to listen to the wind, perhaps to sit and admire a particular landscape, to investigate some wildflowers or because we were just plain buggered. More frequent stops and a shorter lunch break – it’s just the way our walking has developed.