SUICIDAL SELGE

The florid sunrise heralded another day of rest.  We swam in the  warm but choppy waters at the foot of the Antalya cliffs. Like albino sea lions, we lounged with the other hotel guests on the terraced decks of our hotel.  In the late afternoon, we strolled the sidewalks of Antalya and  at night we drank tea under the moonlight in the stone alleyway of old town.  We were thankful for the day of leisure, because the next day we headed south to Anlanya, with a planned stop in Selge.( Truthfully, I planned, and Nabil reluctantly agreed. He had had enough of mountain trekking already).

Maps can be deceiving.  So can road signs.  A large brown highway marker announced our exit (we have come to rely on these because they are  consistently used  to lead folks to the treasure trove of attractions throughout Turkey),noting that Selge was another 55 kilometers.  We relaxed as a glance at the map and the voice of our Tom-Tom confirmed our route.

It would be the last relaxing moment of the next 5 hours.  After a few miles on a strait-away, we made a left turn onto a country road, that quickly began climbing and snaking through  the foothills of the Taurus Mountains in Koprülü Canyon National Park.  Again, we found ourselves bracing on the blind curves and fighting nausea from the dizzying views.  What had seemed like a short distance, now seemed interminable, despite the beauty surrounding us.  We climbed higher and higher and finally found another marker for the the canyon, which was not only a planned way point, but also the only way through to Selge.

Gravel gave way to dirt and the road narrowed as we leaned into a sharp curve.  Then it narrowed even more, as the walls of the canyon grew up around us.  There was barely an inch of clearance on either side of the car as we rounded another corner and inched our way across a stone bridge. Comically, this was a two-way road. Nearly a dozen cars were  waiting for us to pass so they could cross. The view point for the canyon offered a glimpse into a brilliant aquamarine river pooling at the base of steeping granite cliffs. The rock walls were decorated with long-needled pines and aspens whose autumn gold leaves fluttered in the soft breeze.  A handsome young Turk tried to sell us on a boat trip.  I was game, but Nabil was clearly losing patience and insisted we stay on plan and push on to Selge.  The river guide offered to jump in the car with us, to lead us through Selge, a strange offer which should have set off warning bells.  We chalked it up to overly aggressive salesmanship and climbed back into the car.

If the first leg of the trip was daunting, the second seemed suicidal. It was another 14 kilometers to Selge, but it felt like 140.  We dangled over cliffs on hairpin turns with no guard rails and scraped by boulders.  Donkeys and goats grazed on the shoulder, occasionally step out of bounds and forcing a quick maneuver to avoid killing the interloper.  With barely enough room for one car to ascend , we shared the road with passing cars that seemed to materialize out of thin air.  We climbed higher and higher into the mountain wilderness, with no sign of human habitation.  The dramatic views sucked the air from our gut.

Finally, we saw the ramshackle village of Altinkaya nested in the undulating hills at the crest of the mountain.  In the distance, scattered on the far left were the faint outlines of the monumental city ruins.  We thought we had arrived, but looks can be deceiving. Not a single sign announced our arrival and nothing marked the way to the site. We blindly bounced up and down through the rutted village roads, dead-ending  at animal closures and garden gates. On one pass, we asked for directions, and a young boy eagerly offered to jump in the car and act as our "representative" .  Again, this should have been a wake up call, but we are either supremely stubborn or naive, and didn't get the signal.

Without really knowing where we were or what to do, we pulled into a narrow patch of low lying weeds and before we could ask for directions, three young boys eagerly waived us out of the car and up a mountain pass. They didn't speak English ( we kicked ourselves for not bringing along the other "representative" who spoke beautifully) but enthusiastically joined us, pointing the way to the now visible ruins of Selge.  Nabil stridently pushed ahead with boys in tow, a subtle message that he was not enjoying our adventure.  I took up the rear, enjoying the views despite the obstacles we had overcome to get here.

As I walked, three peasant women ambled onto the path and struck up a conversation with me.  Their broken English was charming and unexpected.  Self-taught guides, Uma, Sina and Ashe glued themselves to my side,  sharing snippets about themselves, their children and the ruins of Selge.  Weathered by age, isolation and poverty these scrappers maneuvered like mountain goats.  Sure-footed they literally scampered over the rocks, while I wheezed and struggled to stay upright. With only a few teeth left in their broad smiles, they helped steady me on the steep climb. Deep wrinkles winked in their animated faces as they led me to a rest stop on the stone stadium seats of the remains of the Selge theater.

And then the selling started.  The women and the boys all pulled out small satchels jammed with cheap souvenir items, each hawking their wears with desperate eagerness.  They fingered their merchandise, displaying choice pieces priced at 5, 10 and 20 lira. I had no cash, and tried to explain that I wasn't interested, but they were relentless.  Instead of dispersing, they continued to pick their way through the rubble with us, occasionally pulling out their wares and making another plea for consideration.  By now I was overwhelmed with guilt.  Nabil had left me in the dust to contend with the harpies.

It took us about an hour to hike the mountain and survey the remains of this Roman city.  The village posse stuck with us the whole time. Despite, the beauty of the setting, it was hard to conceive of anyone wanting to settle in this remote inhospitable terrain.  It was obvious that the Altinkaya residents were struggling to eke out an existence.  The predecessor city of Selge clearly did a better job of overcoming natural obstacles, but eventually it too was beaten down by the challenges of a city site ill-suited to communal success.

When we finally stopped at a clearing near the end of the foot path, the  hawking intensified.  I pleaded with Nabil to make some token purchases, in part, feeling a responsibility to make a small contribution to the struggling economy of the village and in part, to thank them for their guidance.  (Though I must say, it would have been more enjoyable to take in the sights without being pestered by guilt).

Unfortunately, neither of us had our wallets with us and Nabil had only 50 lira in his pocket to split with six people.  We had no small change.  A heated debate ensued as the woman brandished the scarves I had chosen ( but really didn't need or want) as to who deserved what.  The boys also argued for their share as "lead guides".  We finally settled on a 15-10-10 split for the women  and asked the boys to split the remaining 15 lira between them.  One of the women made change, clearly more skilled as a merchant than the others. Incensed by their perceived unfairness of the spilt, the  boys stomped off, while the women carved up their booty and headed home to cook for their families.

We trudged back to the car, with Nabil far ahead and fuming. He had anticipated that our troubles were not yet over and he was right.  The boys had  lodged their complaint with their family, and now their parents and grandparents stood defiantly in the path to our car, arms folded and jaws set as they chastised us for not fairly compensating their sons.  Harsh words were exchanged though neither side really understand the others language.  Nabil overturned his empty pockets, threw down his remaining change and stomped off in anger. A momentary panic overtook us as we imagined the boys retaliating by sabotaging our vehicle. Question like, "How would we get out?" and "Who would find us?" swamped our imagination.

We found the car unharmed, climbed in and headed back out through the village to the mountain pass.  It was a tense and long descent.  I had been titillated  by the "authentic" experience, but Nabil was not buying into my quest. He was spent.

The return to the highway was long, but less challenging than the ascent.  Along the way, I spotted a restaurant by the rushing river and encouraged Nabil to stop for a bite to eat.  The restaurant was crude, but spotlessly clean.  The setting was magical.  After taking our order, the waiter scrambled down the bank of the river to pull our fish from a holding tank, where he killed, cleaned and grilled it.  Delicious.  We languished over a cup of tea, watching rafters paddle down the river and listening to the gentle rush of water spilling over the rocks.    The tension eased, life was good.

By late afternoon, we were back on the highway to Alanya, my newly acquired scarves fluttering on the back seat. The scarves aren't worth much but the memory of Selge is priceless.