Day 33: Butterfly Valley

Saturday 8 October

I awoke recharged and keen to get on the move- but still not feeling 100%. The weather forecast for the area was not looking good beyond the next 24hours, with predictions of rain for three days straight. From the photos I had seen, Butterfly Valley was not going to be as nice in the rain as it would be in the sparkling sunshine. I decided I would pack my bag and commit to tekking down to the beach- I had made it this far and I wasn't going to foul weather spoil the view. I took as few things as possible, knowing that they had tents available on the beach- so I brought my sleeping bag, thermarest, bathing suit, flip flops, a book, and the clothes on my back.

Rob, who had recommended the spot, had warned that it was a tough, but short climb. He was certainly accurate in his description. As I approached the narrowing trail, the view of the beach below was just like on google.

Despite there being a trail in front of me, it looked dauntingly far below. I was anxious to see how on earth a trail could weave its way down this shear cliffs to get me to this prize.

I did not realise how narrow this trail was and how far it dropped off until I took this photo and looked at it while perched on the trail. It's amazing how far you can get with the "don't look down" mentality.

And yet it did. It was just very narrow, and...well...dangerous. As I was repeatedly told by the young man who ran the pansion I had been staying at the night before.

"You strong?" he asked me, doing the pop eye bicep curl.

"Yes," I say confidently, giving the same pose back. We laughed. He still looked skeptical.

The climb down didn't take more than 50minutes and was the ultimate test for one's hips and knees. For the most part it was all too narrow for switchbacks, so ropes hangs were conveniently (and necessarily) palced at those parts where there was no choice but to shimmy down the cliffs themselves. I was in my glory.

I reached the meadowy bottom and found the main restaurant area to get myself a tent. While I have been traveling with my own, it was more weight than I wanted to bear while making the descent. I dropped my bags and then ventured about a kilometer back into the valley to where the gorge split open at a waterfall. It was the kind that disney models its log rides after- with tropical plants sprouting through water-smoothed rocks, with fresh, clear, and surprisingly tepid water gushing past.

The route to the waterfall

I made it to the waterfall! To my absolute thrill there was no one around so it was nice and quiet- even better it was warm enough to jump in! Spectacularly refreshing.... a bit surreal, really.

I spent much of the day reading and taking in the view. The water in the bay was a perfect turqoise blue- crystal clear and sparkling in the constant sunshine. Oasis.

Tour boats came to and from the beach every few hours- dropping off swarms of tourists for their "one hour visit" to this boat-access only piece of paradise. It was definitely better when the smoke-fuming, beat blasting, beer guzzling visitors weren't there- but they were hardly able to spoil the experience. The tourism board fights a constant battle of having these day visitors and preserving the natural environment- recognising the siginificant disruptions these hundreds of boats bring to the area. Unfortunately it was out of season for the valley's namesake- June to September is when the place is a butterfly haven.

That evening I took in the sunset perched on the rock cliffs nearby, overlooking the sea and watching a rich couple flounce about on their 100ft sailing yacht- manned by at least 5 stewards. So this is what Bond movies are made of.

Included in the 40 lira (16 euro, 23 cad) I was paying for my tent (which came with bed and linens) was breakfast and dinner. The evening was much quieter with the crowds subsided down to no more than 20 people- nearly all Turkish- and many of whom were staff. Dinner was freshly caught tuna with tomatoes and basil, paprika potatoes, rice, salad, cheeses, and bread. I was befriended by a man well into his 70s, sporting yellow running shorts and a ragged white t-shirt. His full head of white hair and crinkly white beard made him a candidate for a tanned, skinny santa clause. He introduced me to some of his newly acquired turkish friends- a woman in her 30s from Istanbul, and a man about the same age who now works in Berlin. Both were here on holiday. Raki was poured around the big table of 12 people- all Turks nattering away happily. They sure love their raki- it's a black liquorice type liquor that is clear, but when mixed with water becomes cloudy. I could barely finish my single glass.

While sitting next to him at dinner, the old man, who's name I could never quite get, turned to me and said,

"What do you do in life?"

This was from the man who practices meditation daily for thirty years now,  and when I asked how long he was on holiday for- he said, "We never know!"

"Do you mean, what work do I do?"

He looked at me quizically. I thought again about what I had just said... what a North American (and even more so "Bonita") reply.

"Yes, sure, work. What do you do... in life?" he repeated.

If only anyone ever asked was "What do you do in life?"-  I think much of the world would feel far less pressed to have an impressive work-related response. It suddenly opens us to answers like, 'live happily,' or 'travel,' or 'eat and be merry.'

Alas, I'm not quite so philosophically inclined (as yet); "I'm an engineer," I reply.

"Of what?" he asks keenly.

"Mechanical." 

He nods his head, and crosses his hand in his lap, turning his attention the pile of juicy grapes in front of him.

"I have just studied another part of engineering- sustainable developemt?" I go on, hesitantly, but fishing for something that might be of more interest to him. There are signs throughout the property encouraging more environmentally-friendly tourism practices, preaching for land and habitat conservation. To an alien, this could easily be described as a hippy commune in an isolated valley. Or even to a regular person. One sign even said, "We love Gaia." (see James Lovelock)

The concept of "sustainability" is difficult enough to articulate in english to someone in a related field, let alone to someone with only rudimentary english. After references to "green," '"eco," "environment," and then their Gaia sign, I think he might have sort of understood.

I then asked him what he did in life,

"Professional holiday maker," he replied with a toothy grin.

And so on this Thanksgiving Weekend in Turkey, in the gorgeous, sunny Butterfly Valley, I think I might have found a new professional ambition.