Lycian Way part 2
The next day, we wake up early. It seems that in the whole village, there is no one but us. We pack our belongings and set off towards a place that, according to what we read, is near a water source, and it’s possible to set up a tent there alongside other campers. Despite our prayers the previous night, the path only goes in one direction – upward. I grit my teeth, and we continue to climb. The view is beautiful, but who has the energy to appreciate the scenery when the soles of my feet are killing me?
There is no strength to talk; I have no strength for myself or for my friend. I am only looking for someone to blame for the terrible suffering that has fallen upon me.
We both walk in silence, and we walk and we walk until we get lost. After some cool exchanges between us and walking in circles, we find the lost path and the climb towards the promised overnight camping spot continues.
Suddenly, we hear running water. As we advance, the sounds of the water grow stronger. We decide to stray a bit from the path and find the source of the noise. A few dozen meters away, we discover a pool into which freezing water is flowing from a pipe emerging from the mountainside.
I take off my shoes and cool my aching feet in the icy water, while my friend lies on her back, stretching her hip joints. We eat grapefruit and an energy bar, and the smile returns to our faces. The grace period is over; I put on my socks, lace up my shoes, and we quietly curse as we load our backpacks onto our backs once again. Alright, yalla, let's go.
From time to time, we stop to rest and remember that beyond the suffering, there is a view, and the view is indeed refreshing. She might be used to vast endless views, but for me, the landscape unfolding at my feet is something out of a fairy tale, entirely unrelated to my roots and Israeli identity.
My friend has a satellite app that firmly announces we have reached the destination. We look around, and without a word each of us understands that there is no campsite, no water source, and no anything.
It is already five-thirty in the afternoon; the sun is rapidly dipping behind a mountain, and I discover that I have run out of water. I begin to shout at my friend, "What are we going to do? What're we going to do?" after all it's her app that led us here and this is all her fault. She doesn’t respond, raises her perfect little nose in disdain, and continues walking, and all I see is her back getting farther and farther away.
I have no choice; I must move forward. I walk, aching and thirsty, up yet another endless mountain, and my friend? She has disappeared. So, I have no idea where I am, I have no water, and I believe I am going to die. "You certainly found a friend for yourself," I kick myself. I am completely engrossed in horror films of various kinds when suddenly I sense a presence behind my left shoulder. In a swift motion, I turn my head and see a man smiling at me through golden teeth and in his hands a rifle.
For a moment, I am startled, but almost immediately I feel a tremendous sense of relief. I am sure that my father, Amatzia, has sent an angel to save me, and I know that I won’t part from this angel until he brings me to safety. Just like that family in Geddeler, the hunter does not speak a word of English, and all I know is that "su" means water, and again and again, I say, "su, su, su," and showing his gold teeth he laughs, points toward the hill top and nods, "Yes!"
With the hunter by my side, I continue up the path, and behind one of the bends, we find my friend sitting on the ground, shedding a tear. The Canadian toughness has left and gone all the way back to Canada, and only the sobbing woman is here now. "Look what I found," I say to her, pointing at the hunter. She gets up, shakes his hand, and without another word, she walks with us.
We mimic driving and make car noises, and he nods and says, "Yes, there is a car." We walk and walk, and just as the last light is about to disappear, we suddenly reach a grassy meadow where a small woman is sitting. They talk a lot between themselves, and when the conversation ends, they gesture towards us and lead us to a rickety old Mitsubishi pickup truck. I have never felt such joy at the sight of such a wreck. But I have nothing bad to say about the truck.
We load our gear in the back, jostle down in the old wreck, and stop by a spring of water from which we drink until we are satisfied.
In the evening, we stay with the hunter and his family in a village called Hiserchandir, and we eat, shower, and sleep in beds while he and his family watch over us.
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