oday, for the first time in eight months, we say goodbye to Turkey. Even now, as I (Austin) mull that first sentence in my mind, thick nostalgic thoughts and strong, indescribable emotions fill me. Are we actually leaving this wonderfully complex and contradictory land, where an intense, in your face culture blends with a co-existing kindness of spirit to create one of the most unexpectedly beloved countries of our trip thus far? My mind grasps sentimentally, as I replay distant memories: our arrive to Istanbul long ago, backpacking in a narrow canyon near Bursa, couch hopping Izmir for five weeks before finding jobs and an apartment. Teaching English in a shady private school to Turks of all personality and maturity level. Befriending students and fellow teachers alike, and building a deep bond with our now dear friend Burcu as she helped us find another apartment. Adopting weak and wide eyed kittens from the local park after a nasty rainstorm. Hosting a number of friends, old and new, and laughing away our time in the company of our 'soulmates,' Zihya and Esteban. Learning Turkish better than we imagined possible, a language that I will dearly miss practicing with the seemingly random assortment of people that cross our path.
As our plane to Trabzon prepares to land, from which we will take a bus to the exotic and unknown country of Georgia, I rest my mixed emotions in a confident hope: that though we leave Turkey now, perhaps for good, Turkey will never leave us. We will forever carry in our hearts the nuances, colors, and experiences of this wild and untamed land that is Turkiye.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Friday, June 27, 2014
There and Back Again: Finale
Mt. Olympos, not to be compared with the more heard of Greek Mt. Olympus, towers almost 8000 ft above sea level, surrounded on the east by prized beaches and touristy towns while mysterious brown peaks dominate its western flank. My first view of this impressive mountain was from the sea, as I (Austin) went for a morning dip off the long, sandy beach of Cirali. Literally I was treading water and letting the layers of dirt peel off when I glanced inland, and saw the intimidating peak rising steeply into the heavens, with strong slopes dressing its side like a warrior fit for battle. My heart sank because I was already worn from thirty days of Kate Clow's torturous trails, but at the same time I felt a pulse of focused energy and a readiness to conquer, similar perhaps to a matador when he first sees the bull he is to fight.
Fast forward two days: we camped near the shoulder of Mt. Olympos, under the shade of marvelous plane trees, whose thick trunks and towering heights brought us peace and gave us courage. The alarm clock on summit day sounded at 245 am, and with a quiet intentionality we set for our goal. Besides the constant crunch of rocks beneath our feet and the occasional 'beep beep' as I checked the GPS, silence was our companion, but my, the visual sensations filled in the gap, with stars scattered against the midnight blue, a setting moon highlighting the peaks to the west, and the ever looming silhouette of Mt Olympos towering in front.
We stopped for a quick breakfast of soft cheese and crackers, which awakened our spirit to converse, and the remaining few kilometers flew by, until we stood on top of the world, gazing reflectively on weeks of trails past, and looking ahead to upcoming mountains, and our finish, the endless beach city of Antalya. Summiting symbolized a powerful climax of our journey, a trek that had pushed our physical, mental and spiritual limits while ultimately leaving us as stronger and more whole individuals. Never did we think such a journey could overwhelm our hearts with so much fullness or richness of spirit and identity. I think we can both confidently say that we have matured and grown in great stride as a result of difficulties, deep conversations, intimate prayer, and ultimately, the road of grace that our Dad loves to walk with us. On that mountain top, as we ran around ecstatically and gaped at the endless views and savored the fiery sun's rise above the infinite Mediterranean, we celebrated not only the ascent of a mountain, but the accomplishment of a magnificent trek, whose paths had shaped us just as much as they had once been shaped themselves over the centuries.
The remaining five days of the hike finished in a spirit of wonder, joy, and frankly, fatigue. It took a few days to recover from our long ascent, and that same day as we had summited we got fairly drenched in a rainstorm and worn out by tedious downhill trails. Views of Mt Olmpos blessed us from a plethora of lookouts as we headed toward Antalya. We had one tragically long day coming into a Russian dominated resort canyon full of swimming pools and signs saying it is forbidden to camp there. Naturally, we ignored them, and upon trying to re enter the canyon after re supplying in a town four kilometers away, an alert security guard caught us trying to sneak back in. Fortunately for us, Turkish hospitality trumps local protocol, and we ourselves once again with a 'too helpful' guide and a campspot.
The last two days were easy and somber, as we realized our beloved lifestyle of moving in the rhythm and beauty of nature would soon be over. We danced by the fire our last night, and reflected on all the adventures that had passed. Our return to civilization was anti-climactic, apart from finding a Coldstone in Antalya and all you can eat Chinese near Fethiye. We debriefed our time where it all started: the village of Ovacik, only two hundred kilometers away from our finish by bus. There we took an A/C blasting, amenities filled pension to unwind (not recover, I say; our bodies were so attuned to walking we didnt feel sore, on the contrary, we were frantic to keep hiking!). Ovacik should be named London in Turkey; the Brits had taken over, and signs for a Full English breakfast (with pork!) and other English delights saturated the main street. By the end of our three days there, with stomachs swelling from pork, Chinese, and wine, we stumbled on to our bus to Izmir and said goodbye to the greatest adventure of our lives.
Fast forward two days: we camped near the shoulder of Mt. Olympos, under the shade of marvelous plane trees, whose thick trunks and towering heights brought us peace and gave us courage. The alarm clock on summit day sounded at 245 am, and with a quiet intentionality we set for our goal. Besides the constant crunch of rocks beneath our feet and the occasional 'beep beep' as I checked the GPS, silence was our companion, but my, the visual sensations filled in the gap, with stars scattered against the midnight blue, a setting moon highlighting the peaks to the west, and the ever looming silhouette of Mt Olympos towering in front.
We stopped for a quick breakfast of soft cheese and crackers, which awakened our spirit to converse, and the remaining few kilometers flew by, until we stood on top of the world, gazing reflectively on weeks of trails past, and looking ahead to upcoming mountains, and our finish, the endless beach city of Antalya. Summiting symbolized a powerful climax of our journey, a trek that had pushed our physical, mental and spiritual limits while ultimately leaving us as stronger and more whole individuals. Never did we think such a journey could overwhelm our hearts with so much fullness or richness of spirit and identity. I think we can both confidently say that we have matured and grown in great stride as a result of difficulties, deep conversations, intimate prayer, and ultimately, the road of grace that our Dad loves to walk with us. On that mountain top, as we ran around ecstatically and gaped at the endless views and savored the fiery sun's rise above the infinite Mediterranean, we celebrated not only the ascent of a mountain, but the accomplishment of a magnificent trek, whose paths had shaped us just as much as they had once been shaped themselves over the centuries.
The remaining five days of the hike finished in a spirit of wonder, joy, and frankly, fatigue. It took a few days to recover from our long ascent, and that same day as we had summited we got fairly drenched in a rainstorm and worn out by tedious downhill trails. Views of Mt Olmpos blessed us from a plethora of lookouts as we headed toward Antalya. We had one tragically long day coming into a Russian dominated resort canyon full of swimming pools and signs saying it is forbidden to camp there. Naturally, we ignored them, and upon trying to re enter the canyon after re supplying in a town four kilometers away, an alert security guard caught us trying to sneak back in. Fortunately for us, Turkish hospitality trumps local protocol, and we ourselves once again with a 'too helpful' guide and a campspot.
The last two days were easy and somber, as we realized our beloved lifestyle of moving in the rhythm and beauty of nature would soon be over. We danced by the fire our last night, and reflected on all the adventures that had passed. Our return to civilization was anti-climactic, apart from finding a Coldstone in Antalya and all you can eat Chinese near Fethiye. We debriefed our time where it all started: the village of Ovacik, only two hundred kilometers away from our finish by bus. There we took an A/C blasting, amenities filled pension to unwind (not recover, I say; our bodies were so attuned to walking we didnt feel sore, on the contrary, we were frantic to keep hiking!). Ovacik should be named London in Turkey; the Brits had taken over, and signs for a Full English breakfast (with pork!) and other English delights saturated the main street. By the end of our three days there, with stomachs swelling from pork, Chinese, and wine, we stumbled on to our bus to Izmir and said goodbye to the greatest adventure of our lives.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
There and Back Again: Part II
Picking up where we left off, Kindra and I hiked out of the mountains and into Finike, an actually not touristy Turkish coastal town. There we stuffed ourselves on cheap restaurant food and met a fabulously hilarious and amicable British writer by the name of Alan, who was also hiking the Lycian Way. We laughed and joked together about Kate Clow's sometimes erratic and downright ridiculous trail planning, often exclaiming 'F U Kate!' in playful jest of the many challenging sections we had completed. Alan is currently trekking from Israel to England (he skipped the war torn bits), and our brief crossing was comical and refreshing.
With a day of rest and Turkish kebab under our belts, we skipped a long day's section along monotonous beach via minibus, and camped at the Iconic Lycian lighthouse look out on the southeastern point of our trek, enjoying a classic view that we had anticipated for weeks. Feeling strong, we cranked out two solid days along Jurassic Park esque coastline. Night one was in Adrasan, where, surprise!, we befriended a middle aged Turkish couple camping on the beach who treated us to beer, fish, and a bonfire! By the end of the night, in their tipsy stupor they were declaring us their children and making us promise we would visit them in Istanbul. Having developed our Turkishness BSing ability by this point, with six months of working for a shady Turkish company and dealing with Turkish Realtors in Izmir, we happily gave our empty promises. All in all, it was a hilarious experience, and one for the memory books.
We took another day off in the widely recommended, Hawaii-esque town of Cirali. With its natural beauty and Indiana Jones style ruins, I could understand why Cirali was a hit for many, but the slew of tourists crowding the beach left us a bit jaded and ready to move on. Next up: a treacherous three day ascent to the summit of Mt. Olympos, ~7700 feet above the sea, with a steep, long trail challenging our supply laden packs. Our first two days were exhausting but exhilarating, every step higher brought wider panoramic views and various spreads of foliage. I had my first 'attempt to convert me to Islam' from an Imam in the sleepy mountain village of Beycik. We arrived at a mosque (every town has at least one, even if the population is under 100), exhausted and looking for the water. The imam led us to their spring at the mosque, kindly said we could camp there, and then took the lead in a bizarre conversation about how Muslims are so much better than Christians and how I should convert, in a pretty rude fashion. I was about to tell him to quit it when he got distracted by his children, we took the opportunity to take off and eventually find a far better camp spot on the roof of an abandoned building (with a stunning view to boot!). The next day we continued toward our summit, unaware of what a truly remarkable experience it was going to be...
More to come!
With a day of rest and Turkish kebab under our belts, we skipped a long day's section along monotonous beach via minibus, and camped at the Iconic Lycian lighthouse look out on the southeastern point of our trek, enjoying a classic view that we had anticipated for weeks. Feeling strong, we cranked out two solid days along Jurassic Park esque coastline. Night one was in Adrasan, where, surprise!, we befriended a middle aged Turkish couple camping on the beach who treated us to beer, fish, and a bonfire! By the end of the night, in their tipsy stupor they were declaring us their children and making us promise we would visit them in Istanbul. Having developed our Turkishness BSing ability by this point, with six months of working for a shady Turkish company and dealing with Turkish Realtors in Izmir, we happily gave our empty promises. All in all, it was a hilarious experience, and one for the memory books.
We took another day off in the widely recommended, Hawaii-esque town of Cirali. With its natural beauty and Indiana Jones style ruins, I could understand why Cirali was a hit for many, but the slew of tourists crowding the beach left us a bit jaded and ready to move on. Next up: a treacherous three day ascent to the summit of Mt. Olympos, ~7700 feet above the sea, with a steep, long trail challenging our supply laden packs. Our first two days were exhausting but exhilarating, every step higher brought wider panoramic views and various spreads of foliage. I had my first 'attempt to convert me to Islam' from an Imam in the sleepy mountain village of Beycik. We arrived at a mosque (every town has at least one, even if the population is under 100), exhausted and looking for the water. The imam led us to their spring at the mosque, kindly said we could camp there, and then took the lead in a bizarre conversation about how Muslims are so much better than Christians and how I should convert, in a pretty rude fashion. I was about to tell him to quit it when he got distracted by his children, we took the opportunity to take off and eventually find a far better camp spot on the roof of an abandoned building (with a stunning view to boot!). The next day we continued toward our summit, unaware of what a truly remarkable experience it was going to be...
More to come!
Thursday, June 19, 2014
There and Back Again: A McRobbie's Tale of the Lycian Way, Part I
"So what day of the week is it?" I (Austin) am lounging lazily in our pension, asking a question I have often not known the answer to for weeks. Welcome to vagabond life, but more specifically, a life spent trekking for over a month straight (39 days, to be exact). A sense of date and time vanishes, instead we live by the sun's rhythm, simply waking refreshed at day break and in an exhausted fashion snoring logs soon after sunset. Just as Kindra mentioned weeks earlier in a blog, we have found our rhythm, and the sense of finding a groove only got deeper just about every day since then. Now, past the finish point, and back in Fethiye where we started, it's high time I caught you up on the journey of a lifetime: our tiring, adventurous, and so ever satisfying days on the trail, picking back up from Liman Agzi near Kas.
To be honest, the whole trek is a bit of a blur, our experiences and lessons blending with each passing day, but I'll try my best to share the highlights. We left Liman Agzi, the free beach resort hangout, bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to conquer anything ahead. Well, at least that's how I felt. Kindra had a stomach ache, and that compounded with her rapidly appearing blisters made for a grumpy, rightfully slow moving wife who courageously slugged through three days of hilly, treacherous coastal trails with marvelous views and way too many rocks to walk on. Along the way we encountered an all you can veggie buffet, spectacular ruins coming out of the water (pics coming in a few days!), and a sense that we were pushing too hard again. Then, our entire trip changed as we entered a four day, no supplies section of mountains rising from sea level to 1800 meters. Naturally, it was brutal uphill, but along the way we found the stillness and rest that only remote hillsides can offer, and camped in fantastic locations, like in a thousand year old church ruin the first night, or beside a crumbled BC dated town the third evening. Our second night was near the summit, with rain and thunder and hail, oh my! But then at sunset it cleared, and out came a breathtaking view of recently past islands below, with hues of purple and red strewn across the cloudy horizon. That night may be the most memorable of the entire trek for me, not only for the sunset. While we prepared a bonfire to stay warm by, the distant grunt of an unknown beast in the shadows approached. Was it a cow, a boar, perhaps even a rare wolf? Our hairs prickled, and Kindra got panicky when red eyes bled through the black dusk. I, being spooked but not overly worried, readied a burning stick for protection and headed into the night. It was big, a boar?! No, impossible. It was a spotted Bertha, udders and all, lost from her herd and out for a night grazing, who gave such a scare. We laughed and returned to a relaxing and rather special night, with conversations together with God that helped us see his generosity and plans for a life of discovering love and adventure (call me crazy, but we like to have conversations with him, and we get some beautiful responses). We slept by the fire, me being wild fire man who woke up freezing to tend it back to bonfire status. In the morning, two wild foals and their protective mare mother stumbled and then, upon discovering us, galloped by our camp at sunrise, with blue skies shimmering and spring flowers twinkling. I looked at Kindra, snug in her blue sleeping bag, with surprised, excited eyes peering out, and smiled. Our lives and hearts are full.
The next installment of this tale should be up in the next few days.
To be honest, the whole trek is a bit of a blur, our experiences and lessons blending with each passing day, but I'll try my best to share the highlights. We left Liman Agzi, the free beach resort hangout, bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to conquer anything ahead. Well, at least that's how I felt. Kindra had a stomach ache, and that compounded with her rapidly appearing blisters made for a grumpy, rightfully slow moving wife who courageously slugged through three days of hilly, treacherous coastal trails with marvelous views and way too many rocks to walk on. Along the way we encountered an all you can veggie buffet, spectacular ruins coming out of the water (pics coming in a few days!), and a sense that we were pushing too hard again. Then, our entire trip changed as we entered a four day, no supplies section of mountains rising from sea level to 1800 meters. Naturally, it was brutal uphill, but along the way we found the stillness and rest that only remote hillsides can offer, and camped in fantastic locations, like in a thousand year old church ruin the first night, or beside a crumbled BC dated town the third evening. Our second night was near the summit, with rain and thunder and hail, oh my! But then at sunset it cleared, and out came a breathtaking view of recently past islands below, with hues of purple and red strewn across the cloudy horizon. That night may be the most memorable of the entire trek for me, not only for the sunset. While we prepared a bonfire to stay warm by, the distant grunt of an unknown beast in the shadows approached. Was it a cow, a boar, perhaps even a rare wolf? Our hairs prickled, and Kindra got panicky when red eyes bled through the black dusk. I, being spooked but not overly worried, readied a burning stick for protection and headed into the night. It was big, a boar?! No, impossible. It was a spotted Bertha, udders and all, lost from her herd and out for a night grazing, who gave such a scare. We laughed and returned to a relaxing and rather special night, with conversations together with God that helped us see his generosity and plans for a life of discovering love and adventure (call me crazy, but we like to have conversations with him, and we get some beautiful responses). We slept by the fire, me being wild fire man who woke up freezing to tend it back to bonfire status. In the morning, two wild foals and their protective mare mother stumbled and then, upon discovering us, galloped by our camp at sunrise, with blue skies shimmering and spring flowers twinkling. I looked at Kindra, snug in her blue sleeping bag, with surprised, excited eyes peering out, and smiled. Our lives and hearts are full.
The next installment of this tale should be up in the next few days.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)