Hiking, the Lycian Way

The last trip I had planned unfolded perfectly two weekends ago. By word-of-mouth, Jamar and I learned of a beautiful, world-famous beach on the Mediterranean named Oludeniz, near the city of Fethiye. We also heard of an ancient city called Olympos, which pours out onto a similarly beautiful beach. We wanted to visit these places the first weekend of June. It was to be our last trip before everyone split up for the summer. Jamar decided to go to Fethiye the following weekend with the girls; since the World Cup opened that weekend, I would explore Fethiye anyway. Instead, Jamar would go to Antalya, a city about 500 km from Fethiye; we agreed to try to meet each other in Olympos (about halfway between Fethiye and Antalya) on Sunday.

There is a new intern at TOBB; Ayo Chan is an IR major from Hong Kong University; he arrived the beginning of June and will leave midway through July. Jamar and I took him under our wing and promised to show him around Turkey, as well as teach him how to get around on his own after we leave (we take the lessons of Turkish hospitality seriously). So, Ayo and I set off on a Thursday overnight bus to Fethiye.
Unfortunately, the major towns of the southwest Med are designed specifically for tourists; the beaten path has been trodden so hard as to disfigure anything Turkish. In Fethiye, Antalya, Kas, and Olympos, English menus outnumber Turkish versions, displaying misleading names (and exorbitant prices) for classic Turkish foods: Cigkofte becomes Turkish meatballs (calling apples pears); pide becomes Turkish pizza (calling spaghetti macaroni and cheese); and Kayseri manta becomes Turkish ravioli (the two aren't even in the same category of the food pyramid, in my opinion). Also, eager Turkish salesmen heckled us like we were walking wallets, in some places going so far as to block our path and grab us by the arm: gross behavior we would NEVER receive in humble Ankara. Even our Turkish language abilities didn't spare us from harassment. In many places, I felt I had left Turkey and entered "Turkeyland: the World-Class Resort for Europeans and Americans."

Even still, that weekend was certainly the best I've had in Turkey. Oludeniz was indeed picture perfect, but it's well groomed sands were unsatisfactorily artificial as it was abuzz with tourist buildup. So, Ayo and I took a water taxi to nearby Butterfly Valley, which we had read about in Lonely Planet. The secluded valley (accessible only by boat or expert hikers) is a hippie slice of heaven. An organic farm hosts hammocks and two open-air bars; guests and volunteers of the farm reside in simple bungalows on stilts or two-person tents. Everything is painted with psychedelic symbols, mystic markings, and esoteric engravings: Om signs stared out from napkin holders, I-n-I's were etched into the trash bins, and colorful signposts demarcated every area of the valley, from the beach volleyball court to the waterfall. The namesake insect fluttered among a wild ecology of flowers tangled on the banks of a brook. On either side of the narrow valley, rock walls rise a quarter click high, creating a feeling of secure isolation. The vibe was so perfectly relaxed, it was all I could do to resist staying the night (the last water taxi leaves at 5:oopm; when the sun goes down, the guitars, bonfires, and spirits come out). I met a young Welsh hippie pulling up weeds on the pristine beach. He told me his story: he'd come to Oludeniz, Turkey for the first time two weeks ago with a friend, bumming along with his parents on their 50th birthday celebration. When he and his buddy found Butterfly Valley, they left his parents in the cushy comforts of the resorts and passed their vacation eschewing the chill lifestyle of the eco-friendly spot. He returned to Wales with his parents, grabbed his diploma from university, paid off his phone bill, and took the next flight back to Turkey. He would be working there for the summer.
I was quite taken by his alternative lifestyle; I now know that I have plenty of back-up options. As I left him to continue pulling weeds, we introduced ourselves. "Warren," I said. "Wally," he replied with a friendly handshake and an amused twinkle in his eye.

After the ride back on the last water taxi-- the coolest transport in the Med.: Turkish jazz and reggae set the mood as the clear blue water and brightly shining sun inculcated in me a deep sense of bliss-- we took a dolmus away from the beach, to another periphery valley LP clued us in to. Here we found a campsite in Kabak, a rural village now abounding with campsites since a road has recently linked it to the rest of Turkey a few years ago. Many like-minded foreign backpackers come to this valley to escape the resort atmosphere of Fethiye. And with good reason- the valley lacks almost any electricity, so the stars shine and everything is quiet, so quiet. Bedtime is shortly after sunset, and breakfast is at dawn. Ayo and I arrived a half hour before sunset, just as the hostel-campsite staff were preparing dinner for everyone (perk of the campsite: dinner AND breakfast are included). I have pictures on facebook of the campsite; it's too beautiful for me to paint with words: the deck of the reception/eating area, which looks out over the valley and into the Med., is adorned with dream-catchers, tribal masks, tealights, plants and tables with inlays of mosaic glass shards. Diners lounge on throw pillows and admire the campfire and ward off the dangling company of curious lovebugs. We happened to get the last available tent; the campsite was unusually busy because a group of British acupuncturists were there on retreat for a week to learn Qi Gong 18, a form of Tai-Chi. The night pretty much went perfectly from there, as Ayo and I conversed with the interested/interesting adults until the later hours. They told us of their practice and their experiences with the healing powers of acupuncture: remedies for everything from aches and pains to colds and fevers. It was really nice to hangout with adults and speak English with new people! I had a perfect night.
The next morning at dawn I attended their very first Qi Gong 18 lesson. The practice is popular in Indonesia: it is a series of 18 motions of six times repetitions; just as people in the US go jogging, Tai Chi practitioners do Tai Chi in parks and at home. The sun rose over the valley walls towards the end of the session, lighting up the blue of the Med. as we sank into the movements' meditative rhythms.
After breakfast and packing, Ayo and I headed down to the beach. We planned on hiking up the valley on a route called the Lycian Way. The path is the Appalachian trail of the southern Med, and runs 500km between Fethiye and Antalya, hitting up Olympos on the way. It has been named one of the top 10 walks in the world. Ayo and I were to hike to a rural village three hours up the valley, then try to hitchhike to the main road and catch a bus/free ride to Kas, a town in the south, by nightfall. After some paddling in the perfect waters of the beach, we began our hike. Unfortunately, Ayo's footwear was ill-equipped to handle the terrain and, not wanting to risk dehydration, injury, or nightfall in the middle of the rural trail, we altered our route into a circuit that took us back into the village after a few hours. Despite the setback, the hiking was spectacular; I'm definitely going to hike the whole thing, one day (any companions?). By mid-afternoon we were on a bus winding its way along the jagged Med coast to Kas.

At this point I'd grown disillusioned with the LP. On the one hand, it showcases some seriously excellent sites. On the other hand, everyone knows about the secret spots, and those untamed patches of world left decrease every successive edition. For example, LP let us know about Butterfly Valley and Kabak's campsites; but everyone goes to these places so, despite their cool vibes, they don't have that hidden authenticity travelers like me search for. This is why I wanted to hike the Lycian Way to the isolated village of Allinci, a destination off-limits save to those searching to get lost.
With this in mind, I didn't want to refer to the LP for the rest of the trip-- a sense of personal accomplishment would be lost with its reference. Therefore, when we arrived in Kas, a picaresque town on the sea with a quaint marina and thriving multinational patronage downtown, I refused to resort to it for lodgings. Using Turkish, I found accommodations for Ayo and me: a double bedroom with in-room allafranca toilet/shower, free internet, free breakfast, and a lounge/common area, all for 20TL ($12). I was proud I'd found the place; it seemed as though the adventurous part of the trip was underway. Ayo and I freshened up and hit the town as the sun set, walking along the seawall alongside old German tourists. Ayo and I have different evening mentalities though; he wasn't into the latenight barhopping scene, so we compromised: we found a terrace under construction a bit away from the downtown and conversed for a long time.
The next day, I awoke early and watched the dawn (since Belize I've taken extra care to watch sunrises and sunsets) from the seawall. After a delicious kahvalti, Ayo and I headed for Olympos to meet with Jamar, Inshallah. It took about 4 hours, including waiting to transfer, for us to reach the coast.
Olympos was far different from my fantastic expectations. The ancient city was certainly not a secluded, overgrown gem on the Mediterranean; instead, it was a hotbed of backpackers and day-tourists. "Tree houses" comprise the majority of accommodations, attracting hoards of international youth (in reality, they are sparse shacks), while the sunny beach bakes vacationing Turks. The level of commercialization was difficult to fathom, considering my expectations. Even the city was unremarkable- a few pockets of crumbled walls in tangled, buggy woods.
Fortunately, there were two successes. First, Ayo had never been to a beach as long as Olympos (Rhode Islanders: think slightly longer than Narragansett). Secondly, despite arriving two hours past our rendezvous time, we actually managed to locate Jamar, amid the throngs of people, lounging in the sun. Reunited, we swapped stories of our weekends, explored the hyperexploited and ignored ruins, then left to get some dinner in Antalya. The bus ride to the Med's major city took over an hour- by the time we reached the bus station, we were eager for some Tavuk Doner.
This is when the trip hit its only low. Back in the big bad city, we were beaten by tourist treatment uncharacteristic of Ankara. Catcalled in English by avarice-eyed vendors, we couldn't go anywhere without harassment. In one mall, we were physically blocked and manhandled by brash waiters. Furthermore, the price of food was appallingly high- 3 or 4 times the normative cost. Jamar and I indignantly dragged Ayo up and down the dark, rainy Antalya streets looking for respect. Far from the built-up coastline, we at last found those authentic bastions of delicious Turkish food, and we gorged accordingly.
We even were able to bargain the bus to Ankara down TL 10 each, which was a definite plus considering there were in-seat TVs and plenty of Nescafe.
Despite the aggressive hounding of the last few hours, and the overall disappointment of Olympos, the weekend was spectacular. Like my time in Turkey, the most meaningful experiences came from good preparation mixed with great fortune. And, like the best Turkish food, the greatest recreation cost very little.

On Flotillas and Fighting

Yesterday, one of the ships in an international humanitarian flotilla meant to deliver aid to the Gaza Strip was attacked by Israeli Defense Forces, resulting in the deaths of at least nine. Outraged protesters gathered worldwide to demand an apology from Israel. Turkey, whose ship was targeted and whose citizens are the majority of the dead, angrily leads the condemnation of Israel. Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutoglu calls the attacks "murder by a state." Immediately after the incident, officials from Europe, the US, and the UN met to form an emergency response. The statement from these talks expresses concern and the need for an immediate inquiry into the violence; sterner sanctions are, as yet, awhile off.

Here in Ankara, the reaction from students has been anything but restrained. Political alliances are well known by the Turkish public- it is no secret that the United States is a firm supporter of Israel. Oftentimes, this relationship negatively links the US with Israel's more brash behavior: the US is, in the minds of many Turks, a de facto supporter of the nation that humiliated its ambassador in January and reduced the Gaza Strip to rubble in early 2009. This support is further connected with a perceived Western dislike of Muslims (many in the EU publicly oppose Turkish membership to the body on the grounds that Turkey is a Muslim country). So when students asked what I thought of the incident, the question was really: "Given your affiliation with Israel, to what extent do you support this barbaric attack against philanthropic Turks, impoverished Gazans, and Muslims in general?"

I told them that killing humanitarians in general is deplorable. Even if the humanitarians did attack the IDF, warranting defensive maneuvers, the deaths beg the question: how did several armed soldiers up against knives and clubs end up killing 10 people?
This response seemed to please the students. Then they wanted to know my opinion on Turkey's reaction. I said war is not an option, for two reasons. First, the flotilla does not represent the government; though many Turkish politicians may support the mission, the efforts represent an international, humanitarian, and, importantly, apolitical attempt to help Gazans. Therefore, though Turks were killed, Turkey per se wasn't targeted. Secondly, humanitarians get killed all the time, and the deaths of humanitarians has never been a reason for war. Members of the international anti-famine group Action Contre la Faim are routinely kidnapped, killed, or otherwise brutalized in places such as Sri Lanka and DRC. If there is to be international outrage solely on the grounds of humanitarian deaths, may it be much broader in scope than this one well-televised incident. Turkey is unlikely and would be ill-advised to rush to war.

Many students were visibly, vehemently angry at Israel. We discovered the extent of the anti-Israeli feelings later that evening on the student's Facebooks. Several students (not all; well less than half even) posted images of protest as their default photos: Xed out Israeli flags or combination Turkish-Palestinian flags. Worse though were the numerous defaults of Hitler, accompanied by his quotes in the status bar: "In the future, people will wish I had finished the job" is the most common post, sometimes in both Turkish and English. We were dumbfounded by this harsh, extreme statements.

Unfortunately the sudden burst of anti-Israeli sentiment is predictable. Turks are fiercely nationalistic; the deaths of their citizens will certainly be lionized. There is also the recent political tensions that I mentioned. But the Hitler quotes and images reveal the antisemitic side of some of those who loathe Israel. Turkey is still--if just on the periphery--a part of the Middle East; this sometimes entails an undercurrent of antisemitic feelings and more usually a distrust of Jews. This dislike has cropped up elsewhere: when we prepared a lesson plan around the 9/11 terror attacks, many students were quick to blame "the Jews"; according to them, none of "the Jews" went to work on September 11th (the Internet is the common source of conspiracy theories such as this). Its always tragicomic to hear educated college students make widespread accusations such as this in a supposedly modern university in a supposedly modern city. The undercurrent of antisemitism, the distrust of Israel, and national pride all combine to produce some very distressing, ill thought-out reactions.

The beauty of the Internet is instant access to multiple points of view, as well as an unrestricted ability to comment on all subjects. Discussion, debate, and idea-sharing thrive in forums. Unfortunately, as often as this power is used for good (think flash-Twitter protests in Egypt, Iran), too often arguments devolve into incivility as gut reactions find quick, easy outlets. The elements of anti-Israeli sentiments combined with the Internet to produce some extreme forms of protest.

The important thing to note in all of this is that, despite the reactionism, most Turks are not antisemitic or anti-Israel. Indeed, just as the actions of the IDF and the Israeli government overshadow the probable majority of ordinary peace-loving Israeli citizens, so too do the actions of a few reactionary Turks obscure the majority of level-headed, tolerant Turks. What this incident and the Internet responses do allow is an unfiltered view of each nation at its worst. In the case of Israel, security priorities apparently trump cooperation with aid workers. In Turkey, nationalism and antisemitism manifest into appalling bigotry. Hopefully, in the wake of this crisis each of the involved governments will communicate and gather information responsibly with electronic tools. Otherwise, irrationality and extremism will worsen a tragedy: a crisis nobody wants. Cooler heads must prevail, Inshallah.