Back From the Lycian Way

We're back in Antalya after a brief but interesting sojourn on the Lycian Way, a trip involving near-naked Russian men, see-through boxers, and an old lady bearing mysterious fruit.

We started in Göynük, a small tourist town catering to beach-loving Russians. Thanks to the miracle that is Google maps, we giddily ventured down a dırt-rock path to find and start the Lycian Way. The trail extended a couple kilometers past the edges of town; and no people were in sight for miles.

But instead of finding the secluded Lycian Way, we turned a rocky corner to see a big twenty-something Russian guy wearing absurdly tight pants standing next to a pool in a macho pose for the camera. A stunned silence descended on the group by the sight of him, his bikini-clad girlfriend, and an utterly random Turkish guy sitting on a rock hawking Fanta (in the middle of nowhere). We turned back, despairing of the human race.

With the town of Gönük forever linked in our minds to the tightest shorts known to man, we set off for Olympos, not far down the road.

At first sight Olympos appears to be backpacker heaven: plenty of hostels, party-crazed youth, and beach galore. But not all that glitters is gold, and sometimes sun-soaked beaches turn out to be overpriced havens for Europeans splaying their milky-white thighs out for all to admire.

Which wouldn't be so bad had I not forgotten my swimming trunks. Normally I don't swim in my boxers for modesty's sake, but as the beach filled with European males who apparently think that spandex is not only acceptable but stylish, I threw caution to the wind.

Even with just my boxers I had more clothing on than the Euros. But my boxers did another trick that no Speedo can: they turn see-through when wet. I realized this when an attractive Turkish girl, who had swam over to talk with me, beckoned me to join her on shore. A confused and shocked look spread across her face as I hurriedly explained that I just needed to keep swimming.

Then I actually swam away (as fast as my loose-fitting boxers would let me).

So after the beach and a night at an expensive hostel, we found the Lycian Way and set off. Unfortunately, Luke had a bit of Delhi Belly (food sickness). He and Alex turned back after a few kilometers. I ventured on, eventually emerging from the absolutely beautiful mountain range some 18-20 kilometers later, surrounded by lime trees and trying to ward off psychopathic dogs about to break free from their chains and maul me.

Waiting for the bus back to Antalya, a kindly old grandmother offered me some mysterious fruit which I had never seen before. At first I refused, (no Delhi Belly, please) but relented when she became legitimately angry. I figured that one should never turn down a gift from Turks; they may just slip it in your bag anyways.

The trip ended with the pictaresque scene of an old Turkish lady and young American boy sitting by the side of a dirt road in rural Turkey, waiting for the bus and eating her mystery fruit.