An Unexpected Journey by Bus — Part 1, The Express Bus Ride to the Saklikent Gorge

Fethiye, July 10

Around 10:15 this morning, we set out on a field trip to the Saklikent Gorge.  The hotel desk clerk puts an X on our abused Fethiye city map to show us where we can catch a bus.

We like taking public transportation when traveling in foreign countries.  It’s certainly more economical but the real dividend is the insights you gain into the local people, their city, and how they live.  A cab is a cocoon that takes away your incentive to study a map to decipher where you’re going for fear of missing your stop.  On the other hand, a cab sounds pretty enticing when you’re packed into a tram so tight you think, my god, if he were any closer, I’d insist he first buy me dinner.

Public transportation in many of the smaller cities is by dolmuş, a vehicle the size of an airport shuttle van.  Each dolmuş runs back and forth between two points announced on a reversible sign affixed by suction cup hooks inside the bus’s windshield.  There is no set schedule but if the bus is not full when the driver leaves his terminus, he’ll pick up more passengers along the way much as a cab would stop for a waving fare.  Passengers can get off all along the route by simply asking the driver to pull over and stop as soon as it’s convenient.

(Because we were going to get wet hiking in the gorge, I did not bring a camera on this trip, so did not take the photos in this post.)

When we walk up to the bus stop, pause, and look lost trying to figure out which dolmuş to take, we are swarmed by hawkers trying to get us to take their bus.  Finally, a bearded man who speaks English and seems to be interested in rescuing us says the dolmuş to Saklikent is the one over here and that the driver will charge only 10 lira ($5.50) each way.  He emphasizes it is an express bus and will make only one stop, at a waterfall, before arriving at the gorge.

I figure that’s a bargain for an hour-long, 18-mile trip drive through unfamiliar territory, so we climb aboard.  There are actually four stops which extends the trip to nearly four hours.

I should have asked how much extra it would cost for a regular seat.  I’m too frugal to spring for a first class upgrade on an airplane, but since I’m on my sabbatical, to hell with the budget, I’m willing to pay an extra lira for a real seat on a dolmuş.  Ours has seating for fourteen passengers, but seven more of us squeeze in. Four are children who sit on their unfortunate parents’ laps.  A makeshift bench for two more people faces sideways. I share it with a young couple so affectionately entwined, I have enough bench to make do.

I later learn that the English translation for dolmuş is “stuffed.”  Now when I see stuffed grape leaves on a menu (dolma — or dolmades if you’re at a Greek restaurant), I will be reminded of my status as a grain of rice.

Our first stop is a gas station mini-mart.  While our driver fuels up, we passengers are handed plastic cups of a size popular with urologists.  We are offered a double shot of Coke or orange soda splashed out of two-liter bottles.  I wasn’t expecting beverage service, but I think I’m a stranger in a strange land and maybe this treat is because we’re on a longer ride.

Our next stop is at the promised waterfall.  Having challenged the rugged durability of a good pair of flip-flops earlier on my sabbatical, I am not impressed.  The falls consist of a half dozen two to four foot drops over man-made stone and concrete walls.  I’ve also been to Disneyland, so am no kid when it comes to judging a good artificial waterfall.

It turns out the main purpose of the stop is to patronize a hillside restaurant whose novelty is a frigid mountain stream pool stocked with lethargic trout for the hearty to dip into while the rest of us drink overpriced Cokes and orange sodas to quench our thirst after giving our flip-flops a workout.

We later get a glossy brochure explaining that this isn’t just any roadside stop but “The Original Tlos Yakapark Restaurant.”  The front fold warns us, “Beware of Fake Yakapark!”  There is another yakapark in Tlos falsely claiming to be the real McCoy. How dastardly.  Is this the result of a family schism?  Does the feud go beyond accusations of inauthenticity and include sabotage?  Our trout did look suspiciously drugged.

The poolside bar features a small channel of water just deep enough to hold several 10-12″ trout that the bar patrons are free to touch or hold.  I’ve made it a policy not to pick up anything cold blooded when I’m in a bar, so just watch.

The fun is just beginning.

We slowly figure out that we are on an organized tour.  Another bus — a real tour bus where everyone got his own reclinable seat — had overbooked, so the tour company enlisted a dolmuş to take the extra passengers.  There weren’t enough overflow tour passengers to fill (read “stuff”) the dolmuş, which is why we are among several people recruited for the trip just minutes before it left.

The tour guide drives the other bus.  The responsibillity falls on him to explain the sights, tell jokes, and inform everyone when to meet back up at the bus.  I didn’t catch his name so will refer to him as George.  George is an irrepressible bundle of energy.  Always smiling, he is a stillborn adolescent trapped in the body of a short, stocky 50-year-old.  He brought a piston action water bazooka which he fills with frigid mountain stream water to spray the tour group.  He pushes several willing victims into the trout pond.  They don’t seem to mind and there is much laughter and many squeals of delight.

By contrast, our driver is an earnest young chap in his mid-30s.  He sweats a lot but takes seriously his job as a dolmuş driver between Fethiye and Saklikent.  He had taped two photos inside the bus that show him smiling for the photographer while standing on the catwalk over the Saklikent Gorge.  In the pictures, he is wearing the same blue-striped polo shirt that he has on today.  I imagine he was someone everyone liked in high school, but didn’t want to hang out with.  He speaks very little English, so I didn’t catch his name.  I’ll call him Lenny.  Lenny is sweet and took care of us because that’s just what you do when you’re a dolmuş driver.

George is kind enough to include us even though we are little more than paid stowaways.  Nearly everyone else on both buses is Turkish, but he makes sure we get an English translation.  He makes sure we’re not left out of the fun.  He would have thrown Kelsey into the trout pond but she gave him a look that required no translation.

Our third stop was to climb around the ancient ruins at Tlos.  It’s the oldest Lycean settlement in Turkey and dates back to 2000 B.C. Its most interesting feature was the tombs carved into the rocks of this unimaginably old hilltop town.  One is dedicated to the Greek hero Bellerophon who rode his winged flying horse Pegasus to slay the Chimera, a beast with a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a serpent’s tail.

The next stop on our express bus ride was at a roadside fruit stand.  The elderly woman who runs this particular stand is selling apricots and jars of honey.  Apricots are one of the popular and plentiful fruits that we’ve enjoyed almost daily since arriving in Turkey.  I didn’t realize how sweet a real apricot tasted.  Its flavor has not been sacrificed to the gods of appearance, shelf-life, and the need to be transported long distances.  The apricots are passed out by the handful so we stand in clusters on the gravel shoulder lapping them up and spitting out the pits.  After we have our fill, we rinse our hands at a faucet and get back on the two buses.

Shortly before 2 p.m., we finally arrive at our destination, the Saklikent Gorge.