Distance: 14.0km (43.4km), time spent: 7:35 (18:08).
Altitude (start / end / highest): 257m / 754m / 754m.
Weather: Sunny, clear blue sky, hot.
It has been hot in the night and I have barely got some sleep. However, I must have slept at least a little bit during it, I have a vague memory of a weird dream that I could not sleep. The breakfast at the place is as the dinner a buffet, perfect for a picky walker who then can choose away what he does not like (no tomatoes or olives on my plate this morning).
Cultivated walled terraces above the very small village of Belen, beehives all lined up on the uppermost terrace.
The ascent from Faralya is not as stunning as up from Ovacık and the view after the climb does not carry the same splendour either. It is unfortunately easy to compare what you see with what you have seen on earlier days on hikes like these. The walk is pleasant though, and the scenery is nice. It is easier than yesterday as well (something that would be radically changed later in the day), there is often a conjunction between how easy a walk is and the reward you get from it. The heat has however not changed since yesterday.
Between Faralya and Kabak I walked past this little café shed, I could not resist the temptation of a freshly pressed orange juiced.
The area around Kabak and Faralya is known for its beekeepers, there is a constant hum in the air. Above one of the walled terraces in the landscape, I can see rows upon rows of beehives, and the beekeepers in action between them. Around all the water sources there are hordes of bees; I quickly learn that to drink or fill up my water bottle, I have to move in slow motion.
Overlooking Kabak beach from the hill above.
In the heat, I am an easy target, the temptation of a freshly pressed orange juice are too big. They are peddlers as good as anybody these Turks, above some of the beehives a local villager sells everything from cold drinks and various biscuits and fruits to potholders, lucky charms and paper flowers. The juice is consumed on a couch in the shadow of a huge tree.
The sandy beach at Kabak. Turtles nests here on the beach and it is therefore not allowed to stay on parts of the beach the whole day and night. The area around the beach bore as the Butterfly Valley a mark of a more free-minded clientele, with a relaxed atmosphere.
The descent to Kabak begins from a junction with the world's smallest signpost, so small that I walk straight past it and only become aware of my error a long way down the hill, my backpack weighs a little extra on the way up again. Almost down at the village, I become taken over by a steady stream of words, three hikers who I first assumes to be Americans are catching up with me (I could hear the same voices above me at Kirme yesterday as well). I keep company with them down to the beach.
I passed several signs with 'Reflections' written on them after leaving Kabak beach, whether it was meant for me to reflect over if I really wanted to leave the beach I cannot tell.
Kabak beach is yet another typical retreat, and has the same laidback hippie mood as at Butterfly valley. The three hikers are Craig, Mike and Craig's father, Chris; their passports are British and not American as first assumed. In the heat and after the stiff descent there is no quarter, we all jump out into the water. An idea we must have been sharing with the local bees, which for them is not the brightest of ideas, the water is full of dead bees. I eat a Turkish pizza, pide, for lunch at one of the restaurants down at the beach.
At Delikkaya, the trail stays close to a steep mountainside with some though escarpments above me.
I decide to continue walking in my swimming shorts. It is now the genuine climb of the day begins, of which I got a good indication of on the way down. I pass several signs with 'Reflections' written on them; whether these are warnings that I really should consider it well before I begin the climb up is unknown to me. One would almost think so; I struggle my way up, the gravitational forces keeps trying to pull me down again. The sweat is running, the view down towards Kabak through the trees gets better and better.
View up towards the mountain from Kuyu Zeytinlik, olive trees in the foreground.
All the toil is quickly forgotten when the mountain above reveals itself in all its glory, and without the struggle the view may not have appeared so satisfying. The worst of the climb ended at Delikkaya (rock with a hole), where a precipitous cliff next to the path guided me to where I now stand and gapes at the mountain. The Lycian Way continues up short hairpins on a stonewall. I come up to Kuyu Zeytinlik, where a local farmer has chiselled out a small and hidden farm. From a rocky outcrop next to it, there is an impressive view down towards Kabak beach.
I arrive at Alınca, where the first thing that happens is that I are being waved in to a farm. Here they serve me tea and polite questions in Turkish that I cannot answer. I sit in a chair in my drenched swimming shorts, this time wet from sweat and not seawater. They want 6 lira for the tea, I had overseen a small sign advertising another private house operating as a café. You could also camp at the place, for a price.
Magnificent view down towards the Kabak beach from a rocky outcrop at Kuyu Zeytinlik. It tempts only almost, just almost, to go back down to cool off in the ocean.
Alınca is defined as a village in the guidebook, but here there are so few houses and so spread out that I more would like to describe it as a hamlet. The place is situated high up above steep cliffs with great views over the sea and down towards Yedi Burun (Seven Headlands). In my mind, I had only planned to eat here and then walk on further a little bit to camp. In the end, I decide on something in between.
In Alınca above Manzanar Pansiyon with the view over the ocean and Yedi Burun.
I am allowed to pitch my tent below Manzanar Pansiyon, and can borrow one of the rooms to get a shower (for 5 lira that I gladly pays). The three Brits also arrives at the guesthouse and I spend the evening together with them. Sitting on the terrace with a cold beer each, we can enjoy the beautiful view. The dinner is served on a platform next to the guesthouse and consists of good local vegetarian dishes.
There is almost just the light from my headlamp you can see in the village when I crawl into my tent. After another great day on the walk, I am excited about what the next day will provide.
My campsite below the pansiyon, with the pointed needle of a promontory jutting out into the sea from the seven headlands.
<- FaralyaBel ->
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