An Unlikely Journey: Reconnecting with Friends and Nature in Rural Turkey
After my memorable stay in the rustic wooden cabin high in the mountains of Kas, I decided it was time to continue my journey exploring the wonders of Turkey. My next destination was the charming coastal town of Datça, located on the country’s southwest coast.
Datça sits on a stunning peninsula protruding into the Aegean Sea, far from the bustling tourism of other resort towns. With a population of only about 25,000, it exudes a peaceful, laidback atmosphere. While larger cities cram towers and high-rises along their shores, Datça maintains its low-key fishing village vibe. Its coastline dazzles with over 80 pristine beaches and secluded coves lapped by crystal clear waters in mesmerizing shades of blue and green. On land, pine-clad slopes and valleys filled with ancient ruins beckon adventurous travelers. Though remote, Datça brims with natural beauty and culture waiting to be uncovered.
I looked forward to immersing myself in this tranquil place and reconnecting with the American friends I had serendipitously met during my first visit to Turkey a few years prior. Steve and Elif were an intriguing couple - open-minded individuals who had fallen in love with the remote regions of southwestern Turkey. They split their time between an off-the-grid stone cottage tucked high in the hills outside Datça and their home in the United States. I had crossed paths with them by chance on my previous Turkey trip, and we immediately hit it off. Now I would have the opportunity to enjoy their hospitality and local expertise of this lesser-known area.
To reach this next stage of my journey from the cabin in Kas, I faced a daunting 30 kilometer trek down the steep mountains on foot. Since no taxis or buses dared traverse the convoluted dirt tracks, I planned to wake up early and set out at sunrise to walk to town. At 6 am, I rose in the cold mountain air. After quietly brewing some strong coffee (not a Turkish one :)) ) on my little camp stove, I said goodbye to the British girl volunteering on the construction project.
As the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the rugged peaks, I slung on my heavy backpack and set off on the winding trail.
The initial part of the hike was grueling, as I carefully picked my way down the loose rocky path. But as I descended, the landscape began to change. Lush green foliage and tall cedar trees replaced the hardscrabble high-altitude scrub. The cool mountain air took on Mediterranean humidity. I caught glimpses of the sea sparkling in the distance between the ridges. The tangible transformation of the scenery re-energized me. I breathed deeply, taking in the fresh herbal scents of wild oregano and thyme. High above, a hawk circled slowly, surveying its domain. Aside from the crunch of my boots on the gravelly trail, silence reigned. I allowed my mind to unwind and embrace this place.
After a couple hours, I reached a small mountain village. Stopping to rest under the shade of an ancient plane tree, I drank from a freshwater spring and reflected on my journey. From the snow-capped Anatolian plateau to the sun-drenched beaches of the Turquoise Coast, Turkey’s diverse landscapes unfolded in a series of revelations. Like shedding one skin to reveal another, the earth morphed from alpine meadows to forests to coastal hills, ever shapeshifting. I felt humbled traversing this cross-section of nature in a single morning.
My feet sore but my spirit soaring, I continued downward. The Lycian Way hiking trail wound closer now to the sea, with postcard-worthy vistas at every turn. In the afternoon, the white houses of Kas came into focus, tucked into the harbor below. I had walked from an off-the-grid world of silent dawns into the embrace of community. My arrival in town marked the halfway point to Datça, but also an important milestone in my Turkish journey.
After getting my shoes resoled and indulging in a well-earned lunch of kebabs and pilaf, I boarded a minibus for the next leg west. We followed the jagged coastline on a narrow road blasted out of nearly vertical cliffs. Below, aquamarine waves crashed into hidden coves that had scarcely changed since the days of Odysseus and other ancient mariners. Carefully preserved classical ruins emerged at every turn, testifying to the rich history imprinted on this land over millennia. The landscape was constantly changing, but also timeless.
I relished the slow pace, winding between pomegranate orchards and stopping in dusty villages where old men played backgammon by the sea. Elements of this ride had remained unchanged for centuries, though now the minibus roared past donkey carts on the road. Turkey's complicated dance between past and present absorbed me. Its deeply rooted traditions and dizzying modernity somehow coexisted, merging old and new into an altogether different mosaic.
After several hours, we reached the outskirts of Datça. Steve had offered to pick me up, so I waited eagerly by the bus stand scanning the street for his beat-up old Russian Lada. Minutes later, I heard the sputter of its struggling engine and a horn honk. Steve had arrived. We greeted each other joyfully - it had been two years since we last met, but it felt like no time had passed. Steve hadn’t changed a bit. His gray hair stuck out wildly as always, his kind eyes sparkling behind round spectacles. He gestured for me to hop in, speaking excitedly about all the things we needed to catch up on.
Steve immediately proposed stopping at a café near the beach for some Turkish tea and conversation before heading to his home. I happily agreed. Chatting over steaming glasses of aromatic çay, looking out at the sailboats bobbing in the harbor, we fell into our familiar pattern of wide-ranging philosophical discussion. Steve recommended several books for me to read and promised to lend me his copy of Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, his favorite novel of all time.
Though something of a hippy, Steve was one of the most well-read people I knew. He was always excited to share ideas from the latest book he was reading, eager for debate and new perspectives. I valued his insight and guidance. The conversation reenergized me after my long journey, and I looked forward to spending more time with this kindred spirit.
After an hour, Steve glanced at his watch and announced it was time to collect Elif from their cottage in the hills near Karaköy. I helped him load up some groceries for dinner into the backseat, and we bumped off down the road out of town. Over the sputtering engine, Steve mentioned that he and Elif would be returning to the States soon for several months. To my delight, he offered to let me stay at their cottage on my own while they were away - he knew I had been wanting an extended solitary retreat. I enthusiastically accepted his generous proposal, my mind already dreaming of long days tucked away in the silent beauty of the hills. Each twist in the road took me farther from the world I knew, and I sighed with contentment.
Bouncing down the dusty track to their secluded stone cottage as the sun began to set, I caught my first glimpse of Elif's smiling face waiting to greet us. Steve beeped the horn and Elif came rushing out to embrace me warmly. Laughing together, we carried the groceries inside. The cats I remembered came rubbing against my ankles in a chorus of meows, welcoming me back. Though Steve and I are both introverts who could happily discuss obscure subjects for hours, Elif balances us with her big-hearted affection and intuitive emotional intelligence. Inside their cozy cottage, filled with books and art and rambling collections, I immediately felt at home. Later, as we ate and talked late into the night, I knew I had been meant to return here. Their off-the-grid way of life both inspired and grounded me.
Over the next days, Steve and Elif introduced me to their local community - groups of travelers and Turkish friends who looked out for each other living in the remote mountain villages. We hiked to a different beach each day, had picnics in the hills, and shared stories around the firepit every evening. They taught me about the area's intricate history and showed me hidden spots only locals know. But they also seemed interested in my most mundane observations and experiences, reminding me that everyday moments create memories too. My unworried days with them passed too quickly, but their warmth would stay with me after I returned home.
When the time came for Steve and Elif to depart for their trip abroad, we said goodbye and I promised them to take good care of the cats and plants. As their car disappeared down the winding dirt road, I stood on the porch watching the dust settle over the silence. Finally, I would have the long solo retreat I had dreamed of in this magical place. Living alone in their cottage over the coming weeks would no doubt lead me on yet another journey, inward rather than across the land. But I knew sunny days on remote beaches, quiet nights reading by lamplight, meals on the porch with a flock of cats: this simple existence in nature was precisely what my soul needed. I was ready to dive deeply into this time and emerge renewed. Turkey had already surprised me in so many ways, but I knew this beautiful land still held more treasures to uncover if I allowed myself to listen and learn.