Akseki

Over the past two months, the Taurus Mountains have formed the backdrop of our life in Alanya.  Take a right out of our apartment building, walk for 10 to 15 minutes and you’re in the foothills of the mountains.  Each time the boys and I head that direction to buy groceries at Metro (the Turkish Costco) I remember my plan to spend a morning with them walking up into the hills.  Then I get back to the apartment and promptly forget.

My first close-up of the Taurus Mountains was from the bus window as we returned from Göreme.  So awe-inspiring.  Our bus entered foot of the mountains from the inland side, after passing through hours and hours of flat barren dusty Anatolian plateau, an area that is the very picture of the devastating effects of deforestation.  The boys can tell you all about this after our recent 6^th grade science lesson on how deforestation leads to desertification which in turn destroys biodiversity.  It was a relief to see deep green pines and cedar trees sprouting out of the jagged limestone slopes of the Taurus Mountains as our bus neared.  Fortunately, it’s not a hospitable landscape for clear-cutting.  As we entered deeper into the mountain pass, I had just enough time to imagine cute little goats hopping up the sides of the slopes before the sun dipped and night fell.  My attention turned back to the mother of young children sitting in the seat in front of me, wearing full black niqab speaking Arabic.  Where was she from (Syria, Iran, Iraq?), where was she going?  

Those questions weren’t answered, but we did return to the mountains for a closer look at the life within.  Bryan organized a weekend trip for us to Akseki, a small mountain village.  This is a place that doesn’t see many tourists.  An hour and a half from Alanya, well into the Taurus Mountains, our bus stopped briefly to drop our family of four on the side of highway before zooming over the mountain toward Konya.  We waited on a patch of gravel on the side of the highway, with a makeshift bench of old bus-seats leaning against a tree.  An Iranian hitchhiker, with only sunglasses and a pack, shared our little gravel patch.  He was heading home after two years of travelling the world by catching rides and surfing couches.  Nothing scared him, he said, except apparently Ebola.  He had jettisoned the Africa portion of his itinerary after reading about it.

The innkeeper of our “boutique” hotel arrived to retrieve us in short order, and drove us to the Ottoman era house converted into a hotel.  The house had beautifully restored ornate woodwork and the rooms were elegant and simple with windows opening onto a breathtaking mountain view.  The inn was, however, experiencing electrical difficulties due to recent rains, according to our innkeepers.  We had the only guest room with electricity, and the only shower that worked was in another room downstairs.  Seamus was thrilled to see that the downstairs bathroom had a BATHTUB!  Just as he was filling it up getting ready for the first soak in two months, the light went poof.  Poor little guy was crouched in the lukewarm water trying to cover himself while the innkeeper balanced tip-toe on an old chair to change the overhead light bulb.  That failed, and we were down to zero functioning showers.  Good thing our stay was only one night.  In any case, the nice innkeeper made up for it by shuttling us through the mountains to the town of Akseki where we caught the tail end of the town farmer’s market and hiked up into the surrounding mountains.  The townsfolk were hardy weathered mountain types, many of them selling their produce spread on blankets, or piled into plastic crates and large recycled buckets.  A couple of men had set up a table with tin bowls of tasty looking porridge.  As we passed they pulled us over and gave us each a bowl, gratis.  It contained various grains, chickpeas, fresh fruit, nuts, sugar and cinnamon.  Not sure whether the free distribution was connected to a municipal, civic or religious group, but we were happy to partake in the delicious offering.

The next day we wandered down to a tiny village that was next to our hotel.  It was eerie.  During our walk into the town we saw one man hammering away at his garage and a clutch of old ladies in head-scarves sorting olives on blanket.  Other than that, the one town administrative building, streets and houses were apparently deserted.  We walked by the town mosque just as the call to prayer rang out through the empty streets.  Clearly this town used to be bustling – the houses were old and well-constructed and the graveyards were full of impressive tombstones.  I suppose the young moved out to Akseki and beyond and the old are left to tend what’s left of the goat-herds and olive trees.