September 20, 1996

The coast of the Mediterranean has improved considerably. As soon as we moved beyond the areas surrounding Antalya and the crowds of tourists that clung to them, we were rewarded by the sight of steep cliffs that dropped to waters so blue we readily understood the reference to them as the Turquoise Coast. Cleopatra and Mark Antony are reputed to have gone swimming in every one of the coves here. We too would have followed suit, alas, but for the time. The coves we did swim in we will remember for a long time. One in particular was Kekova Sound.

Kekova is an island that lies off the coast from Ucagiz, a sleepy community surrounded by ruins. It's lifeblood appears to be catering to the few tourists who venture there, taking them in giant wooden sail boats, dinghies or power boats to the Sunken Cities. We too took a boat. It wasn't a fancy wooden, masted sailboat like the ones we passed; in fact it didn't even have a mast. It had an old one-cylinder tractor motor mounted in the center with all the noise and leaking oil that goes with it. But we did have a Turkish carpet laid across the stern and that made us feel regal. (We would never throw a hand woven carpet into half the places we see them thrown here.) Our boat also had a blanket on the bow on which we knelt to lean over the edge to watch the sunken remains of ancient Roman and Greek cities quiver under our rippling wake.

Then came our special treasure. For some that might be the ominous fortress sentry on the hill at Kale, for some perhaps the remains of castle walls and stone steps on the small islands surrounding Kekova. For us it was a silent cove against jagged rocks and the clearest hazel blue water. A ladder went over the side and so did we. We swam with tiny fish, looked down at anemone and sea eggs, and tried to touch the rocks that we were sure were only a meter from the surface. The sun was high, the water warm, we wanted to stay forever. Eventually, though, our arms grew weary and our two hour boat ride, perhaps already extended to three - we hadn't brought a watch, had to end. The boatmen cranked the motor and we putted away from our private cove.

I daydreamed for most of the ride back to the mainland, imagined living within the sinking stone walls, walking the stone steps of the ruins we passed. Of course I was a member of the nobility and lived in the most stately of stone homes, high on a hill and safe from the fate of the ones at sea level. The 'house' I finally arrived at though was the same one I've slept in for the last four months, made not of stone but of plastic and metal, and certainly not regal, but we were on a hill and I was definitely dry.

Before dinner we explored the town - actually just a few quiet streets surrounded by stone houses and Lycian tombs on the hills, and visiting the few carpet shops (you really can't just pass them by). Then we took a late night walk for ice-cream and gazed at the fortress of Kale, now aglow as if by golden light. Our last Kekova treasure was on the way out of town the next morning. As we wound up the steep road leading from the water's edge, we saw a group of camels grazing under the shade of a lone tree.