Sunday, April 28, 2024

The Second Long Walk

When I first met Jean-François walking the Camino, I assumed our conversation would follow the usual pattern of hello-where-are-you-from-why-are-you-walking-have-a-nice-day.  But we started talking travel, and before long he was telling me about sailing in Greenland, backcountry skiing between alpine refuges, and medical missions in Afghanistan.  I don't usually read articles or books with titles like "Top 100 Places to Go" but when he told me he'd read about a hike in Turkey that's supposedly one of the most beautiful in the world, I thought, "Well, maybe he's onto something."

The Lycean Way winds around cliffy-mountain fingers that reach into the Mediterranean from Turkey's southwest coast.  There are Bronze Age ruins, Ancient Greek ruins, villages abandoned a hundred years ago after forced relocation, family farms perched on hilltops, luxury hotels with infinity pools, traditional guesthouses, terraced olive orchards currently dotted with red poppies and dandelions and various purple flowers, and the platonic ideal of beach tucked into every cove.

The route was pieced together by a British woman (enthusiastic hiker and Turkophile), linking old donkey trails with remains of Roman and medieval roads, and forging some rough connectors.  From Fethiye to Antalya is 540 km.  We're here for five weeks; the first week we've averaged 12 km per day -- because even when the gain is reasonable, the grade is often very steep, with scree and rocks of all sorts to navigate.


There were large populations of Turks in Greece and Greeks in Turkey; unfortunately, many lives were lost and entire villages abandoned in the early 1900s.


looking down down down from Faralya


Jean-François hiking into the mist


spring is in full swing


1,000 ft down and up, abruptly


baby goat tree


Patara ruins


Monday, April 8, 2024

Mon Cheri

As previously predicted, I did indeed gaze upon glaciers, revel in the technicolor cornucopia of the supermarket, and enmesh my toes in grass as well as beach sand.

But enough burying the lead.  You guys: I joined my companion in France, and everything is très excellent.  Allow me to introduce you...

- Name: Jean-François (fact check: he is French)
- Age: 66 (not a typo)
- Meet cute: walking the Camino de Santiago, discussing our mutual interest in poetry and type-two fun  (-Is that redundant?)
- Profession: author, surgeon (retired)
- Enthusiasm for consuming cheese from a rucksack:
off the charts

A common and legitimate question is, aren't you worried he'll die or get sick?  This is not a new concern for me, I thought of this often even as a newly-married 23 year old.  Now, as then, such thoughts are eclipsed by the dazzling sense of fun and warmth that radiate from the man in question.

We have eaten so very much cheese -- it has essentially replaced dessert at the end of the meal, and served as the main course in the form of fondue and raclette during two weeks in the Alps.  And I tried unctuous Mont d'Or for the first time.  Who knew spruce bark could do so much for a cheese?


hiking near Chamonix


backcountry skiing and trying not to die (for me anyway)


Carcassonne is home to a medieval walled old city, and delicious cassoulet


home at Ile de Ré