The Lycian Way Part 01
- havasalad
- Feb 11
- 4 min read
Updated: May 10
On April 18, 2023, I embark on a journey I have been dreaming of for years and preparing for for the last several months. I have already mentioned the Canadian friend. She is waiting for me in Antaliya.
When I started dreaming about the trip, I heard from various sources that it would be a good idea to join different websites that promote opportunities for people who want to travel the world without having to pay for accommodation. For example, there is a site called Workaway, which connects between travelers and locals looking for volunteers. In exchange for a bit of work, they offer a warm bed and three meals a day. There’s also a site called TrustedHousesitters, which connects people who want to go on vacation but don’t want to leave their home and pets unguarded, allowing them to entrust their beloved ones to someone who wishes to experience local life. Oh, what a wonderful idea!
I paid a modest fee and registered on both sites. So how is the Canadian involved in all of this? She is also a member of these sites, and once, a long time ago, when she came to visit Israel, she found a home, a dog, and two cats in the village where I lived. Both sites have an option to search for travel buddies, and since the Canadian is friendly, she conducted a search that included the name of my village, and my name popped up – Havatselet Arnon lives in Aviel. The Canadian Immediately sent an email, and about a month later she landed at my end of the woods.
That’s how the connection was formed. Not romantic, not deep, not complicated. Just a travel buddy. When she came, we walked in the fields, rode horses, went to a restaurant, and talked a lot, and then she left, but the connection remained. All this happened in 2019.
On April 18, 2023, I'm on my way to meet her at The Old House Hostel in Antaliya. Each of us is carrying a backpack weighing between 11 and 13 kilograms, containing everything needed to camp in the wild for at least two days: 3 liters of water, a tent, a sleeping bag, an inflatable mattress, cooking utensils, a compact camping stove, two sets of clothes, trekking poles, food and more. In Tel Aviv, on the eve of my flight to Antaliya, my backpack was so heavy that I decided to leave the outer cover of my tent at home, a decision that turned out to be both wise and foolish.
The Canadian is not feeling very well so it is very good that we booked a room at The Old House Hostel and Pub in Antaliya where we spend the first night.
In the morning, without coffee or pastries, we start walking westward. We walk and walk and walk, and can't believe how large the city of Antalya is and that it just doesn’t seem to end. The Canadian has all sorts of apps, and I have photos of maps of the Lycian Way. Somehow between us, by late afternoon, we reach the first red and white trail marker that confirms we have indeed arrived at the desired path.
Not long after this marker, the trail begins to climb upward. The ascent becomes steeper and steeper. Neither of us can believe there are such high mountains in Turkey, and we both have little experience reading topographic maps. Therefore, a distance that appears reasonable on the map translates into a 900-meter ascent over 4 kilometers, which makes it really steep. Sometimes after the climb, we are rewarded with short stretches of flat walking, but then it's more climbing—another 800 meters over seven kilometers. I start to feel my feet slowly crumbling into little pieces. By the end of the first day, every step is agonizing. According to the map we have, there should be a village at the end of this segment, with a restaurant and a place to pitch a tent.
As evening begins to fall and we reach the top of the endless mountain, instead of a bustling village, we find a few abandoned houses. This is the village of Geddeler. It turns out that before May 1st, the Turks don’t actually stay in the high villages. The Canadian puts on a brave, positive face, while I feel nothing but despair. We drag our feet a few more steps, and as we round a bend in the path, we turn right and, like a mirage, we see three figures sitting around a working baking oven. The aroma of stew and baked pastry wafts through the air.
I’m convinced that my exhaustion is making me hallucinate, but as I stumble forward, the three figures—a man, a woman, and their daughter—become clearer. We declare that we will pay any price for a meal and a place to stay. A conversation ensues. They speak Turkish while we speak English, but we understand each other perfectly. They lead us up a few more steps to a terrace overlooking the path we’ve walked up to this point, where they set before us a freshly baked pastry, soup and sweet tea. At the end of the meal, they inform us that we are welcome to pitch our tents inside the restaurant.
This is a perfect ending to the quite challenging first day of our journey.
At night, we both pray that tomorrow all paths will lead downward.
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