It was a beautifully warm and blindingly bright morning. A kind of morning not uncommon in early August along the Turquoise Coast, at least from what we could tell, the kind that makes you reach for your sunglasses out of need, not want. The Turquoise Coast, or Turkish Riviera, refers to that stretch of coast in Turkey that runs roughly, from east to west, between Alanya and Çeşme. It encompasses more than one thousand kilometers of pristine coastline along the Aegean and Mediterranean shores.
Aman and I awoke in the tiny beach resort town of Ölüdeniz (literal translation, Blue Lagoon), having traveled from Istanbul and arrived there the previous day with good friends Brian, Leslie, Lindsay and Jodi. We washed up, got dressed for the beach and went to join everyone else at the hotel’s seaside terrace restaurant overlooking the golden pebble beach and aquamarine waters of the Mediterranean Sea. It was not a bad view to go along with an impressive breakfast spread of yogurt, fresh fruit, sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, olives and warm bread. (This was all provided before we were asked what we would like for breakfast, of course...)
The main conversation at breakfast that morning was a topic that we had discussed much the day before when we had gotten in: who, among our group, was up for paragliding off the top of Babadağ Mountain, which loomed 2,000-meters high (at its summit) in close proximity (less than 5 kilometers) to the beach. Thanks to Babadağ Mountain, Ölüdeniz, in fact, is one of the world’s most popular paragliding destinations and, a day earlier, we had watched the skies as person after person came gliding gently through the air, over our heads, for a beach landing. It looked pretty cool.
Lindsay, Jodi and Aman (“Team One”) decided that they were up for the mission and, immediately after breakfast, took off to check in with one of the several paragliding companies in town. Brian, Leslie, and I (“Team Two”), on the other hand, decided to hang back and man the pool. With cameras ready nearby, Team Two spent the morning scanning the skies in hopes of seeing the members of Team One descending off the mountain. Although it had been a clear morning thus far, a dense cloud mass was rolling in, right over the point from which the paragliders were prepared to launch. Not good. We watched a few parachutes descend from the skies, but only a handful had gone before the air mass stalled and essentially parked itself on the top of the mountain.
Not long thereafter, Jodi appeared back at the hotel. She had made it down before the cloud rolled in! It was awesome, she said.
Jodi confirmed that Lindsay and Aman were still at the top of the mountain, eagerly waiting for a window to open so that they could jump. In the meantime, the rest of us sat at a café on the beach, talking and intermittently watching the massive cloud, as it sat perfectly motionless, and shaking our heads. No one was jumping off the mountain anymore. Eventually, we checked in at the paragliding company to see what was happening, and learned that it would be not much longer before they declared the mission over and bussed the gliders back to the beach. So we went back to the pool to await further news.
There, Jodi (incidentally, a doctor specializing in physical therapy) and I agreed that it was the perfect time to have my first physical therapy session, which consisted of a rigorous massage, assisted stretching, and some simple exercises designed to strengthen the muscle above and around my injured but steadily improving knee. It had been about seven and a half weeks since the bicycle accident at that point, and I was ready to kick it up a notch. Thankfully, I had Jodi to help me. Here I am, working through the pain as Jodi works to loosen up a serious knot of muscle. Funny that I can laugh about it now...
Long-faced (to put it mildly), Aman and Lindsay walked in not long after the rest of us had relocated our base camp to the pool. After hours of waiting, their mission was a bust. The cloud was not interested in moving out and, meanwhile, we needed to. Our plans for the rest of the day, after a great time in Ölüdeniz, was to move on for a night to the Yediburunlar Lighthouse, an off-the-beaten-path boutique hotel set in high in the mountains. The van that we had rented for the week was mostly packed, and we were ready to go. So after a quick jump in the pool for Lindsay and a quick doner kebab for Aman, we collected our stuff and jumped in the vehicle. Our navigator Brian, sitting shotgun, was the last one in. Wow, he said as he closed the passenger door and opened the map to ponder it. I’m glad I talked to that guy at reception. Apparently, there is a short cut that we should take….
The distance between Oludeniz and the Yediburunlar Lighthouse is approximately 66 kilometers via inland highway (to the east of, and around, Babadağ Mountain). Following the shortcut, we eschewed this option in favor of another route that ran west of Babadağ Mountain, along the coast and over the mountains.
The Inland Highway Route:
The Scenic Shortcut:
**Sadly, we cannot provide a visual for the shortcut, as it involves an uncharted segment of road and, therefore, will not register on Google maps... But, basically, we drove straight as the crow flies from Point A to Point B, above.
It was a promising beginning up a relatively moderate incline, and the glistening blue sea never looked so beautiful. Nevertheless, it did not take long for things to get insane. For one, there was no shoulder or guardrail protecting us from a steep cliff between the road and the sea. As we drove, the impossibly narrow, (barely) single-lane road became an endless procession of switchbacks that got tighter and more unforgiving as the incline grew steeper. As we climbed in elevation, the air became foggier and foggier until it got to the point where we could not see much of what called itself the road, and Brian was helping Aman to determine whether the road was sharply turning right or left as we essentially drove through the clouds. Aman, by the way, was brilliant in maneuvering our fifteen-person, full-size van with manual transmission through the gauntlet of hairpin turns.
The surface of the road gradually went from paved asphalt to loose gravel, until at one point it was nothing but dirt and large rocks, one of which we almost had to move in order to pass.
There was absolutely no one else on the road. We passed no signs and, for a long time, few villages. When we finally passed by a small village of houses, I spotted an old man sitting outside his front door. He had a look of curious wonder on his face, the kind of look that tells you it is not everyday that he sees a van full of tourists rolling by....
At the first sight of someone on the roadside, we stopped and asked for directions. It went something like this:
Local Man (with excitement): Ah, Yediburunlar! OK!
Brian (pointing): This way, no?
Local Man (pointing up): OK!
Brian: Way up? Uh huh...
Local Man (still pointing): OK!
Brian: Same road?
Local Man: OK!
Brian: Same road?
Local Man: OK!
Brian: No turn? No right, no left, straight?
Local Man: OK!
Brian: About how far?
Local Man (with excitement waning): OK...
Brian: Maybe five kilometers?
Local Man: OK...
With terraced mountainside and goats running along either side of us, we pressed ahead, motivated in part by the hope that we were going in the right direction, in part by the dread of having to turn around and navigate this route all over again. At least it was not raining. Jokingly, I told Aman that I would need him to hug me for a minimum of thirty minutes when we got out of the car. Lindsay joked that she would need to hug a cold one for at least twice as long.
Glad we did not miss that one. Relieved that we were on the right track and with the worst of it behind us, the rest of the ride was not that bad. Leslie, Lindsay, Jodi and I emphatically declared that there would be no more scenic shortcuts on this road trip. Brian and Aman innocently opined, on the other hand, that the scenic shortcut was the highlight of getting from Point A to Point B. We resolved that reasonable minds could differ, and enjoyed the sights along the way as we continued to drive through the middle of nowhere.
Local shepherd:
It was great (gross understatement) to finally reach our destination. Set high in the mountains and with dramatic views of the coastline below, it was one of the most unique places that we have stayed all year.
Wasting no time to serve us a round of cold beers when we arrived, the hosts were wonderful as well. As our group relaxed poolside, they whipped up an authentic Turkish meal involving all sorts of mezes and various meats cooked over a wheelbarrow grill.
By sunset, we were ready to eat.
We served ourselves and toted our plates to a dining table on the outdoor terrace, where we could enjoy the setting as we enjoyed our meal. Local music played from the house, where the hosts and some friends were eating (and later, dancing). After nightfall, we even got some fleeting glances of the full moon, as it emerged briefly from behind the clouds between two distant mountain peaks. A refreshing and stunning ending to a very eventful day!
