Olympos is a resonant name: it conjures the grand pantheon of the ancients; a mountain so high it scrapes the heavens; the athletic contest where muscley dudes were/are revered like gods; and that goofy stop-motion animation in "Clash of the Titans." The internet tells me there were at least twenty places named Olympos in the classical world. We went to the ruins of Olympos, member of the Lycean League (a strategic union of wealthy city-states), and its eponymous neighboring mountain.
The ruins mostly date from the Hellenistic era, and you can find the usual Roman settlement box set of buildings -- amphitheater, baths, temples -- and lots of tombs. The city was built on both sides of a river in a steep valley leading to the sea, making for a greener, more sheltered landscape than other ruins we visited. Some areas were cleared and buildings have been partially reconstructed; in other areas the forest has grown back, and we crept under branches and through vines to reach unexcavated, recently discovered structures. This sort of jungle treasure hunt was a fun contrast to other sites where we baked under a cruel sun.
At this point in the trip, we were in a nice groove of taking our time and swimming in the afternoon, and we knew we wouldn't complete the entire trail. I mapped out a final week of hiking to take us from the beach up to the top of Mt. Olympos (over 7,700 ft) and back to the sea, AND allowed us to be somewhat lazy. (Somewhat.) How, you ask? The teleferik!
Yes, friends, there is a state of the art cable car that will whisk you to the top of this majestic mountain. There you will find a Starbucks cafe, a novelty bungee-bounce trampoline, and a forest of selfie sticks. Jean-François and I were the only hikers that morning among the chattering families and scores of Russian women all identically duck-faced with the same mediocre lip-enhancement plastic surgery. (Medical tourism and aesthetic procedures are big business in Turkey.) It was pea-soup foggy, so we began the descent into a spooky, desolate rockscape. When we reached tree line, we met magnificent cedars -- cedars laden with 3-ft diameter limbs. We wound around behind the ridge line and continued down dramatically pitched coniferous forest.
We reached what ended up being the most charming guesthouse of the hike, napped in exhaustion, and woke up to a delicious dinner. The food was simple but good, and abundant, and the guy running the place was the epitome of hospitality. We watched the pink light fade, and collapsed to sleep.
We hiked two more jaw-droppingly beautiful days in the mountains, passing only two small villages, one with absurdly large plane trees growing in a riverbed. After such bucolic environs it was a surprise to find a thoroughly developed tourist operation at the mouth of a deep canyon. The course of the river had been landscaped into enormous stone-lined pools, with kitschy driftwood statues, cafes, and a small bird-only zoo. In a bit of a stupor after hiking all day, we got an overpriced gin and tonic, sat on a glider where we could soak our tired feet in the cold water, and celebrated the end of our hike.
After a dinner featuring the largest portion of salmon ever (basically an entire fillet) and a solid night's sleep, we returned to the canyon to swim and poke around. For a reasonable fee you can rent a wetsuit and helmet and make your way up the quarter-mile of astonishing water-worn stone. It was a nice cherry on top of all the beautiful places we were able to go.
