Ancient Olympos and Mountains of Fire

Karaöz to Çıralı

Distance: 36 km
Time: 3 hrs 32 min
Max/ Ave speeds: 50.7 /8.5 km/hr
Temp: 43 C!!
Weather: So hot and humşd I don't know when one shower ended and the next began...


Günayden!

The bright sunshine roused us from our dreamland, along with the steady crashing of waves. Ive been waking up so many times each night allowing me to actually remember all the crazy nonsensical dreams I have, then regail Chris with wild tales involving our friends and random people. Good teethbrushing entertainment.


Well fed and ready to tackle

Up by the picnic tables we washed at the spring, almost ready to head out when another family drove in. The mother came to the spring to fill her teapot and pitcher, then invited us to come join them for breakfast. Well I'm no fool! I grabbed my journal/ Turkish translations and we walked over for some tea. Like all proper Turks, they had a giant samovar heating with double kettles over a bumbola.


Love them samovars. Turks drink in style.

Hatice swiftly chopped us some tomato cheese cucumber and a thick slice of emek while I peppered her with questions about her family, hometown, and bayram. Pleased that I could converse a bit in her language (I'm really an über beginner don't get me wrong) she explained slowly, then inquired the same about us and our trip. Her husband, Habil, joined us with his fishingpole in tow. Chris savored a few pieces of baklava she whipped out of the many food chests in their trunk; we said goodbyes and heyirli bayramlars (happy bayram, today is the first of four holy days), then set off into the mountains.


Hatice whips up a Turkish breakfast


Chris, Habil, and Hatice, our temporary adoptive parents

Quite a steep and winding uphill trek, but we were full of energy. Once over the hills we glided several km down into another valley- too late!- before we realized we took a wrong turn and ended up back in the greenhouse packed city of Kumluca, which we had passed through 3 days before...


Oh no! Sea of greenhouses can only mean Kumlaca...!

Shucks and darn nammit! This was not the plan. By now we should be cruising well on our way to Olympos and beat the heat of midday. Nopers.

We walked our bikes back up the long, once-glorious hill that I now hate, almost back to the top where a few houses and peaceful mosque sit, spying a hint of distant ocean from between mountain peaks, when an empty truck came by and picked us up. A nice couple on their way to Adrasan, near the turn we should have made.

So we stood in the bed while the truck flew up and down the mountain roads, passing a lot of dry pine scenery and scattered houses. We got out in the village of Cavaşköy, where we met a nice guy, Sezai, the Hajri of Turkey. He often works nights at his cousin's bar in Olympos, learning English through years of contact with foreigners. Together we rested a long while in the shade outside his barber shop, drinking tea and talking.

Eventually Chris and I mustered the strength to tackle the next set of hills, again at peak heat hours. The highway was decent, passing through pine forests with MORE figs and pomegrantes. We briefly stopped at a small shop where Chris bought and ate 750 grams of yogurt. This is his personal goal on the trip; seeing just how much yogurt he can consume (in Greece he actually drank an entire kilo of strawberry yogurt before me).

The turn for Olympos leads downhill (eah!!) 3 km into a narrow gorge. Several treehouse pensiyons appeared around us: backpacker hippie heaven gone mainstream. Like all former jewels, someone had a good idea (the original treehouse lodge) and everyone copied it, thereby destroying the charm. I often wish I were born one generation earlier so I could travel the world before it got tacky.

We stopped in to say hi to Sezai, then made our way through the Olympos ruins and across the wide stretch of beach to the adjacent village of Çıralı.



Sezai's cousins treehouse pensiyon

The actual ruins of Olympos aren't especially spectacular, but their location inside the canyon walls just away from the beach, nestled in a thick forest of pines, figs, and citrus trees, with a river cascading between them is pretty awesome.


One of the coolest ancient city locations

Our challenge was to get through the narrow passageway, already packed with people returning from the beach and those exploring the ruins, with our bikes. Yavaş yavaş. Success. Then we came upon the rocky beach, packed with people. I believe our arrival, loaded bikes and sporting jerseys, caused several hundred people to turn their heads at once.


Lots of foreign and Turkish tourists!

Çıralı is a beach and village with slightly higher scale pensiyons and fewer tourists. The road out toward Yarnataş (Chimaera) is a pretty stretch past the pensiyon gardens and then into the valley, full of pomegranates, avocado, and citrus orchards. Actual outdoor agricultur! Stunning.

Locking our bikes at the Yarnataş (Turkish for Flaming Rock) entrance, and properly paying our fees, we scaled the 30 min climb in less than 15. We've had a lot of pracice lately!

The mythological Chimaera was a monster of part goat, part lion, and part dragon, and the son of the fierce Typhon, who was burned and buried alive under Mt Etna courtesy of Zeus (thereby creating the volcano). Under Lycian kıng orders, the Chimaera was killed by aerial bombardment, having molten lead poured down his mouth, and because of this flames continuously burst forth from the rock crevices.


Is there a monster under the rock?

Actually scientists now believe (I said believe, nothing is certain!) that the flames come from methane leaks that spontaneously combust when they reach oxygen at the surface. This creates awesome flames that never cease.

So what do we do with free and effortless campfires? Boil some soup! Nearby some Turkish women roasted hotdogs on sticks, something evidently quite common.


Ladies having a bbq

We stayed a few hours, watching the sunlight dim and the stars appear, as group after group of people entered and left. After sundown more groups of Russian tourists arrived, eventually crowding out the magical atmosphere so we left. (Nothing against Russians, it's the large groups I dislike)


This may be my next FB photo


Chris the sorceror

Hobbling our way down the dangerously rugged mountain in the darkness (we only say one guy slip flat onto his butt), at the bottom the outdoor cafe area was just starting to get lively. As it turns out, this is the party place of sorts. We camped a few hundred yards away, rockin to the sounds of Turkish music videos until 3 am or so.


Me by the flames of Chimaera