Adventure Magazine #242

Ancient coins suggest that Adada dates back to at
least the second century BC, and lasted until the
ninth century AD. Various 2000-year-old temples
populate the site along with a main acropolis,
a forum that could seat 1000 people, and, on a
nearby hilltop, crumbling towers protruding from a
patchy canopy.
And no people. Such a treasured site in New
Zealand would surely be fenced off, with no
interaction permitted. The absence of anyone give
me the freedom to wander, to leap from giant stone
to giant stone.
In the south-east corner, a Roman road consisting
of a series of large, superbly cut stone blocks led
into the hills. As the late afternoon sun sapped my
energy, I trudged downhill to a small village where I
jumped on a local bus towards Lake Egirdir.
Left: An elderly couple who intercepted us as we walked along the street to
offer us some tea in their home
This is not a journey to speed through, I thought
as the bus took me towards my rendezvous with
Katelyn, but to be savoured with long days and as
many local interactions as possible.
The remoteness of the week had left me feeling
content, though I wondered how happy the people
I had met would be five years from now. Maybe it’s
blissful ignorance. You can’t yearn for what you’ve
never had.
A family invite for dinner in rural Turkey should never be turned down, which in this case included a huge pile of delicious
flatbread - called yufka.
The following morning, an
octogenarian with a slightly
wobbly gait invited us for tea
after seeing us walking the
street. We followed him up some
rickety wooden stairs to a sunny
verandah, where his wife laid out
a familiar spread of bread, tea
and olives on a blanket.
They talked continually and
laughed heartily, despite our blank
faces of non-comprehension.
With the aid of our dictionary -
Turkish is conveniently phonetic
- we deciphered a few words and
discovered something universal
among couples who had
endured decades together: mild
callousness. ‘Crazy, old baggage,’
he kept saying as he pointed to
his wife.
Our bellies full, we left the village
and attacked the south ridge of
Sarp Daglari to about 1700m
above sea level. Progress was
slow as we scarred the virgin
snow with our footprints, while
distant snowy ridges put on their
rose cloaks for sunset.
Eventually we arrived in Beydili,
population 12-ish, to familiar
Turkish hospitality. A woman
tending to her goats soon offered
us tea and a spot to sleep on her
floor. The neighbours joined our
special meal of rice with carrots
and leeks, tomato soup, cabbage
salad and candied quince - and
always with yufka.
It was a gleeful evening with lots
of smiling and nodding. In an
attempt at humour, I looked up
the word for 'smelly' and repeated
it several times while pointing to
our snow-soaked socks that were
drying on the woodstove. But my
words were taken literally, and
one lady ended up washing them,
despite my protestations. And
when I continued to make the
same joke while pointing to our
naked feet, her brother earnestly
doused them in some kind of
perfume.
It seemed a picture of idyllic life,
growing organic produce and
tending to goats in a tight-knot
and generous community. They
seemed content, free from all the
pressures of the rat race, from
the anxiety of a hectic, city life of
a million things happening in the
blink of an eye.
But this place was also so
isolated and far from opportunity,
and if I lived here, how would I
even know about all the wonderful
places I've been privileged
enough to experience around the
world, courtesy of an income and
education that would have been
amiss here?
The remains of the ancient Roman city of Adada, which dates
back to second century BC
The household’s children, like so many among the
families we came across, had left the rural life in search
of higher education or work. Would they thrive and
never look back, or shun what they find and return to the
simplicity of rural life?
As we left in the morning, full of thanks and goat cheese,
Katelyn's achilles injury from a few years ago started to
niggle her. The pace slowed to a crawl as we descended
to terraced farmland, where we hitch-hiked to Kesme.
From there, she decided to take public transport to Lake
Egirdir, where we’d meet up again in a few days.
Hiking on my own, the Muslim call to prayer sang out as
I climbed into the surrounding mountains towards the
Roman ruins of Adada. I soon dropped into an open plain
to find a small theatre, and a series of temples in various
states of decay. One corner pillar, with stone blocks
protruding from all sides, resembled an abandoned game
of giant jenga on the brink of a collapse.
As the bus neared the town on the shores of Lake
Egirdir, a bustling city compared to the mountain
villages I had been through, I immediately felt a
longing to return to simplicity: the historical ruins,
the grand vistas, and the gentle kindnesses that
had gifted me so much over the past week.
Above & top right: A teenage girl herds the family flock of goats in rural Turkey.
"This is not a journey to speed through... but to
be savoured with long days and as many local
interactions as possible. "
Katelyn Merrett stands atop some Roman ruins and surveys the rural scenery and mountainous backdrop along St Paul’s trail.
16//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#242 ADVENTUREMAGAZINE.CO.NZ//17