Gelidonya feneri, A walk towards the light house on the Lycian way.
The light house 2 km away is one step too far and as 14 nimble goats, the group from Sheffield botanic gardens society, scurry up the tree lined track on our left, I with my poorly leg limp gently back on my own. Alone, solitary, single, by myself. Bliss
For the first time I hear humming, the warm noise of insects in the air as solitude and pine trees fill the sky. The path is stony but flat and the views down over the cliffs to the sea fill me up like wine. In the distance the snow on the slopes can be seen on hillsides falling down to the Mediterranean. No real beaches, just mountain sides tumbling into the sea, with little towns and their poly tunnels of ratatouille glistening white against the slopes. With so little tourist development the tunnels go down to the few beaches, practical and agricultural with only a small bar for beer and fresh orange juice for any tourist.
A giant fennel, Ferula communis appears, tall with its yellow cow parsley tops, meters above me, then another, the path is lined suddenly now with the yellow umbrellas, a lizard leaps across my single path and I jump. I have heard them rustling like terrorists in the shrubby growth, silent and unseen but now in my lonely walk they come and join me. A large blue swallow tail butterfly, the size of a wren flutters by, landing on a rock and fluttering on wards, and tortoises come out and peer at me before scurrying back into the undergrowth. A grinding, whirring, I hear a noise.
A terrible insulting noise! Who on earth has a radio that loud? It drifts across the bay from the village. Is it the village mosque calling the godly to prayer, No! There is nothing melodious about this raucous noise. Is it Erdogan making political speeches for all to hear. But I remember, the prices of vegetables from the market so all farmers can know where the best prices are at which market. Cucumber prices in Antalya fill the air crackling and then falling away as aubergine take their place. Silence eventually falls again. The sky lifts up and solidifies into a helmet of blue, a heat beats down my path winds past rock now replacing pine trees. Even though it is April it is suddenly heavily hot, thick air hangs over the ground as my feet wade through the reflected heat bouncing off the road and hillside, till the pine forests reach out and embrace my skin with a cool soft caress. A series of navel worts, Umbelicus horizontalis despite being 12 inches tall, and Echiums take advantage of over hangs of rock above my head. A wort, a cure for my navel. But what diseases of the navel are there I wonder?
I walk past the turning, a stony road past a camp site and a wc block of stark simplicity and reeking smell. Looking for romance and beauty, like a love lorn teenager, my feet avoid the signs of humanity and head to a path, a secret path I had seen earlier down to the rocky shore line. A little path of the yellow spikey fleabane, Pallensis spinosa, and purple thistles and the blue bitumen flower playing in the glades of pine trees, holding on to the gentle slope down to the clear blue sea. It is so clear water turtles may be seen, I peer ecstatic between the branches dipping their fingers and dropping leaves into the blue, but in vain, I see nothing but shimmering rocks beneath the waters wet embrace. The shadows of an ancient ruined church in its sylvan glen down to the blue, blue of the Eastern Mediterranean leads the path on wards to Pirates bay. The salt prickles my skin as it dries after a swim in the un sinking salty sea and I am no longer alone. Every person on the beach, all 5 of them speak on their phones, and my group turn up. I can no longer hear the insects hum.