Facing the beauty of Phaselis

Stretching out from the coast about 70 kms from Antalya is the beautiful location of Phaselis. The day was gorgeous, highs in the low sixties, plenty of sunshine. The Dolmus ride was herkie jerky, stopping at every little town along the route with huge package tourist hotels completely empty, the accompanying shops along the streets all boarded up. The views of the Bey mountains were spectacular, snow capped with blue backgrounds

Finally after 2 hours,  I was dropped at the entrance, paid my fee (45TL) and made the 2 km jaunt into the park.  The road was flanked by pine trees, craggy metamorphic rocks and rising slopes to the west, the coastal highway hummed in the background. It winded past a lagoon then made its way towards the sea. Phaselis is famous for its history and scenic beauty but not for its surviving ruins which are rather underwhelming in contrast to other archaeological sites. 

Settled by colonists from Rhodes (690BC), Phaselis has had many different rulers: Persians, Greeks and Romans. Alexander the Great quartered here during the winter in 333BC, the city opening it’s gates without a fight. After his death, Until 160BC, Phaselis was ruled by the Ptolemaic Egyptians, Syrian Seleucids, when it was absorbed into the Lycian union. Then pirates, under Zenecites, overtook the city using it as a staging base for raids until Rome re-established control in 78BC. Roman Emperor Hadrian visited the city in 131AD, the city reaching its zenith in the 2nd century AD, then declining under Byzantine rule, Arab and pirate raids, disease and economic malaise. The city was abandoned by the 13th century. It was home to a Christian Bishopric and apparently the lance of Achilles was exhibited in the Temple of Athena. 

The Phaselitans were traders of wood, lilium oil and roses, sailing the Mediterranean and Aegean seas. Historians note that the Phaselsitans were rather “unsavory” and “shrewd” in their trading methods and practices hence making them not very admired. The women wore their hair in a style called a “Sisoe”, reminiscent of the god Isis from Egypt. Plagues of wasps and malaria struck the city, all were blamed on visiting foreign traders. It was said that the Phaselitans didn’t care much for politics, only wealth, so they treated invaders with indifference, as long as they allowed business to continue. 

The site has three harbors, all with beautiful beaches and scenery. The pine forest comes right up to the coast, providing marvelous shade and aesthetics. There was an Agora, Aqueduct, Theater (with a fantastic view)  and a necropolis, all of which rather underwhelming. However the views of the Bey mountains were superb and astounding, the glorious sunshine reinforcing their beauty. This undoubtedly would have been paradise 2000 years ago: fresh fish, water, fertile land and glorious views. I hiked up to the Acropolis, where a Basilica once laid. Using fishing rope to help me up the precarious slope, I was treated to broken rubble, nary a stone still standing, all overgrown with thorny bushes and manzanita (?) trees. But of course the views were dynamite!

I spent about 3 hours at the sight wandering and contemplating life. Then it was time to face the “dolmus beatdown”: 2 kms back to the main highway, 2 hours back on the bus, then an hour tram ride back to my quarters. Very exhausting for a 70km stretch of road…but worth it. 

On the other Side

Piri Reis map of 1520: Antalya region

Bus rides never seem to get easy anymore. Even a beautiful highway straddling the mediterranean  seems to be arduous: kids screaming, jerks talking loudly on their speaker phones and stopping for lunch just 20 minutes after starting out. I was dropped off on the highway, about 6 km from my destination and left to fend for myself. Luckily a kind soul gave me a lift into town and I found a place nearby the ruins to set up camp and began my exploration. 

Side (See-day) is an Ancient town located in Pamphylia, some 65 km east of Antalya. It is situated on a peninsula that juts out into the sea for about 2 km.. It had played an important role in the region for well over 2000 years, stretching from the Phoenicians to the Ottomans. Its namesake means “pomegranate” in Greek, but there is some speculation that it may mean something else. Some say the enigmatic “sea peoples’ ‘ were their ancestors. The original inhabitants, the Sideteans, whom little is known, had their own language, coinage and art. However, after centuries of invasions, their culture has been left to the dustbin of time. 

Alexander the Great took the city in 333 BC without a fight, consecrating Side’sHellenistic roots. After Alexander’s death, Side fell under control to one of his generals, Ptolemy Soter. . Subsequent struggles between the Selcuicid and Ptolemy Diodaches bounced the city back and forth when finally in 190BC, a coalition of Pergumum, Rhodes and Rome took the city from the Selucids. In the Roman-Selucuid war, one memorable sea battle took place in July 190, when Hannibal Barca led a force of some 40 ships against the Rhodians, who escaped intact but was unable to affect the outcome of a Roman coalition victory over the Seleucids.  

The city was well known for its Cilician slave trade and piracy, growing rich off their profits. In fact Julius Caesar was taken hostage, ransomed, then returned to execute his Cilician captors. However for the most part,  Rome turned a blind eye to the Cilician slavers’ exploits for many years. That was until the pirates started interfering with Rome’s trade and commerce, when Pompey the Great brought Side under its rule in 67 BC. The city prospered, growing to over 60,000 people, then declined in the 4th century with Isaurian raids from the Tarsus mountains, Arabs in the 6th century and a series of earthquakes and calamities that left the city empty by the 10th century. It did possess an extensive ecclastical presence during its life, maintaining a Bishopric from about the 3rd to the 10th century. This is evident by several ruined churches, chapels and Basilica.

The city was empty all weekend, owing to the quarantine curfew imposed on the locals. The weather was spotty, rain showers but periods of brilliant sunshine. Heading out of my pansiyon, I headed towards the coast and immediately became startled at the breadth and size of the ruins, something I didn’t anticipate. The first clump of ruins was the Nymphaeum, where the city drew its main source of water and an ancient gate, stretching some 2 kms, and was roughly 20 meters thick. From here the road forked, with both routes flanked by what were colonnaded streets, heading into the heart of the city, the Amphitheater perched prominently in the distance. There were some remains of mosaics which lined the floors of shops.

Being close to twilight, daylight was coming to an end. I took the left fork, heading south east and followed a cobble stoned route towards the Agora. Trees, bushes and rubble all occupied the slightly higher ground above the road, the sterling white granite blocks of stone acting as a beacon for my path. The sounds of the sea crashed in the not to far distance, an occasional dog bark and of course the Muslim call to prayer, added to the sublime red hue of the fading sun over the sea. 

I sauntered over broken columns, haphazardly supported by Corinthian pedestals and lintels, all adding to the color of the fading day. Shattered clay pots, roof tiles and assorted debris was littered about. The two storied “hospital” sat silent near the path, its history and purpose virtually unknown (I think it was a slave holding pen), but was given this name because it resembled an ancient Selchuk building in Anatolia. Huge hewn stones were settled into the imperial pathway , irrigation canals lined their sides, otherwise Roman aggregate concrete was predominant in the construction of buildings and walls. . 

The city defensive walls were impressive, some 30 meters in height and ran for a good distance. Near the south gate, sand dunes and crabgrass had clumped up and  covered the outside portion of the portico. Roman arches still in place due to their “keystone”, held up vital building stones in position, providing resistance for over 1500 years. Nearby was a “Sarayi” an old monastery complex: its chiseled columns of flowers and fruits engraved in granite for centuries. A small chapel adorned the site, as well as  chambers and quarters. 

As I neared the end of the colonnaded route, the Amphitheater came into full view with the Agora directly next to it. The theater had seats for some 20,000 spectators, considered one of the largest in Turkey, played host to gladiatorial contests, games and plays. The Agora, sat fenced off, due to restoration work but a round fountain dedicated to the gods Fortuna and Tyche stood semi repaired at its center. From there, you enter the city proper passing near a monument dedicated to Vaspian. 

As I ventured further into the old town, the city was quiet, the effects of the “lockdown” evident on people’s morale, attitude and pocket book. Many of my friends in the states have not missed a paycheck since the “crisis”, making it hard for some to demonstrate empathy with the world. A planet which faces frustration by having their livelihood diminished by fewer tourists, less working hours and freedoms plus stringent government regulations is not a happy one.

 

I shuffled past the darkened streets, closed restaurants and shops, towards the Temple of Apollo. Situated on the edge of the town, the Temple of Apollo sits juxtaposed with the sunset, sea and a corner of rebuilt corinthian columns. Nearby were the remains of the Basilica, and few more temples, Demeter and Dionysus. Intermittent rain, kept most in doors. The sunset was spectacular (insert “awesome” here for those who are vocabulary challenged) aided the spectacle. 

Humble abode for the night….yes it rained.

Having enough rain and wind, I swung back towards the Limani, or harbor, I grinned at the boats being tossed like the SS Minnow from the stormy sea, and headed back to my humble tent, situated under orange and olive trees to await the inevitable thunderstorm. 

 Here is a link for further history and background:

https://www.ancient.eu/Side/

Cappadocia: Lost in Time

The bus ride from Antalya to Nevsehir was a nightmare. Two bus rides, one screaming baby behind me, one long legged Kurd who kept bumping the seat and a cold night spent in the bus station on the floor. This was because I missed the last (mini-bus) local Dolmus to get me the final few kms. Thankfully it was a quiet bus station and I had my camping gear. 

The morning was beautiful, I jumped on the first Dolmus and headed the final 20 km to Cappadocia to Goreme. I found an empty hostel, took a nap and rushed off for a quick overview of the sights. Balloon rides, check. ATV rentals, check. Chotsky shops with Cappadocia magnets, coffee mugs, ceramic mantle pieces and Aladdin hats, check. Camel Rides, check. 

So as you can imagine,  the town is ready for all those packaged tourists from Russia, the UK and Albania.  Beyond the superficiality, there is some true beauty and magic to the area. The scenery is breathtaking; sandstone “hoodoos” and red rock cliff faces that scan the horizon, dotted by  innumerable cave dwellings, testament to the Hittites and later Byzantine Monks. Gentle, meandering hiking paths, which are neither too steep or narrow, always affording you fantastic rock face views or 360’ panoramas of the valley and its nearby villages. The landscape is similar to southern Utah or parts of Nevada: dry, colorful and with hidden draws over every knoll. 

Goreme is just one of many villages that make up Cappadocia. Uchisar is famous for its formidable fortress redoubt, standing solitary and noticeable throughout my hikes. Cavusin, home to the Ayvanli church and Kayseri, the birthplace of St. Basil. Cavusin is a ramshackle little village, its church closed and boarded up.  The open air museum, co-opted by UNESCO, signals formalities, large crowds and higher entrance fees. I skipped this and headed off into the “bush”, aided by my offline GPS map and a backpack full of water, food and mountain money. The weather was perfect for hiking: mid fifties and plenty of sunshine. 

Starting about 10am the next day, I hiked up the “Zemi” Valley, the trailhead, (which started as a dirt road)  just a few minutes walk from my hostel. The trail passed the “El Nazar” church, which is conveniently closed just before Christmas to just after Easter, and winded its way northward under the cover of shriveled fruit orchards and dry creek. White sandstone cliffs faced the trail, soggy leaves and fallen tree limbs were scattered about. The occasional farm shack with ubiquitous barking dogs flanked the road to a point. Lost Russian tourists, driving unsafe and fast, would stop, get out of their car, yell something into their cellphones, snap a photo and speed off, only to backtrack minutes later as the road narrowed to a true path. 

This is where the fun began. The creek started to become muddy, trees thicker and the views startling. Spires of sandstone, tiny notches dug into the soft stone, evidence of some medieval monks home. The path sauntered up and down softly to the rhythm of the creek bed, the sun splashing down at intervals through the spires of stone. A gigantic fallen tree blocked the path, its branches like an “iron maiden” , gauging me as I dropped to all fours, scraping my backpack in the process. 

After about 2 hours, I came to a fork in the trail….one branch continuing on to Uchisar and the other towards higher, dryer ground, looping back to Goreme. I searched the high ground for a place to eat my lunch: nuts, bread, cheese, olives and water. Finding a spot to sit and rest was a challenge, dusty sandstone and animal dung was not appealing. Finally I chose a sunny spot, dry and clear, when a shepherd appeared over the crest with hundreds of sheep, a mule and 3 hungry dogs. He was from Afghanistan, of Uzbeck origin. Not sure how he got here in Goreme, but when he asked if I was American, I decided to pack up and skedaddle. 

Winding higher above the valley floor, the sun dried out the trail and afforded me fantastic views. Columns of sandstone, pecked with entry ways, fake facades from Byzantine days would fill my eyes.  People have been living here since the Hitties, but gained momentum in the 2nd century AD. Aesthetic monks had been living their lonely plight up until the 18th century, when the Greek minority was forced to flee after the Greco-Turkish war in the 1920’s. 

As I pushed upwards along the path, I spotted an interesting group of doorways. I dead reckoned towards them on a south facing slope. Most of the monks’ abodes are simple and plain with no ornamentation, due to the eroding sands of time. However, my eye spotted one humble hole in particular. Climbing up the chalky surface, I crept through a small hole and was treated to an unbelievable sight of 1000 year old Christian frescoes painted on the walls and ceilings. 

In ornate fashion, the whole liturgy was muralized above my head. The nativity and the birth of Jesus, his crucifixion and all the Saints that were canonized by the 12th century. St Michael defended the archway from dragons. Desecrated graves of unknown souls littered the entryway, the sun finding some nooks, its rays highlighting part of the church. I sat and contemplated the monks who painted, lived and prayed in this tiny chapel, gazing out at the vista from that craggy hole. 

The following day was bright and sunny, highs in the fifties, perfect for hiking. It was January 7th, the Orthodox Christmas (sorry…no visit from St. Nick) and what a glorious scene unfolded upon me.  The hike was about 8 kms through the Rose and Red valleys. Some of the highlights included Hacli Kilesi (church) which had a nice assortment of painted frescos, the Direkli Kilesi (Church of the Columns)  that reminded me of something out of “Indiana Jones and the last Crusade” plus an anonymous church with only a few crosses and crypts and a few loud Russians.  I forged ahead, making my own path at times, others using creeks or goat trails to get me towards the canyon opening. On the main paths, swarms of ATVS dusted me silly.

On my loop back to town as I wandered back through town, an eclectic doorway emerged on one of the “cave” pensions. It was ornamented with warped wood and wrought iron, giving it a fine rustic Turkish look. The owner, “Dervish” befriended me, offered me a cup of coffee and gave me a tour of his 3000 year old cave hotel, full of funky antiques. Turns out he lived in Holland for 20 years and has traveled all over the world, now back in his hometown, enjoying his retirement. His son is a San Francisco Giants fan. 

Sunshine was abundant, the balloons taking flight over head, hearing the passengers laughing and joking as they ascended skywards. As I strolled back to town, the weekend quarantine was underway, all stores closed at 5pm. Only foreigners could be out on the streets, making for a quiet walk back to my hostel.