Carried Away By A Moonlight Shadow

I spend another night in perhaps Turkey's coldest dorm room. I'm sure they keep the Ice lollies and beer under my bed, but sadly, last night it was just too cold to check. I meet at Sherif's as he wants to ensure I make it on to the correct mini-bus to Denizli, before my connection onwards to the lakeside town of Egadir. Three and a half hours later, the bus climbs to a summit and we are afforded fantastic views of the lake and the town on its shores. The partially man-made peninsula is a famous image of the area, forming part of the the town centre and jutting out into the brilliant blue of the lake today like a very delicate spindle. My attention is also drawn to a large military training camp on the side of the mountain, as we begin our descent into Egadir. The base is a real hive of activity today, with soldiers in full military kit, yomping around the perimeter and marching on the parade square.

I make my way to the only discernible hostel in town with Will, the only other tourist to disembark at the bus station. We fortuitously arrive just in time for the owner -Ibrahim- to serve us some complimentary lunch mainly prepared for the workmen banging and hammering in the rooms. Straight after dinner, we decide to make the most of the bright day, by walking up to a village at the top of the mountains. We wander through town, before beginning our climb. Not long in to it, we are offered a lift by two chaps in a car, and not knowing how far we are going to need to walk, we graciously accept. Some 10 minutes, and one steep windy climb later, we arrive in very quaint and rustic looking village that will forever remain nameless.

The views from our lofty perch are sensational. The snow covered mountains provide a fitting compliment to the lake centrepiece. It's wonderful to see the light, and the shadow of the cloud dance across the surface of the water. We also get a fine view of a now much smaller looking town stretched out well below us. The Turkish equivalent of Mrs Doyle from Father Ted, insists we come in for a cup of tea at her promontory cafe, and we eventually buckle. Once inside, she makes great use of her exceptionally loud voice (particularly on me) but it all seems in good fun, and out comes the tea. Originally, we thought we might have annoyed her by interrupting her praying, but she's happy enough to recommence once the brew is on the table. After a bit more shouting at one another (when in Rome...), we head for the exit and walk back down towards town, accidentally kicking a cat and having some fun with a group of kids in the process.

Watered and changed at the hostel, we hit the streets for a Pida (Turkish pizza) meal. Having dinner with fellow travellers you've only just met is usually a highly enjoyable experience. You don't need to bother with the usual nonsense of "So, what do you do for a living?, and "How long's the commute from Surrey?" etc.. There have been several times where I spent an evening out with somebody and never even got their name. And nobody cared. Such is the different mindset of the backpacker.

After food, we brave the plunging temperatures and increasingly strong winds to go for a walk down what can only be described as a desolate promenade. Nearly everywhere is completely empty. There is scant lighting, so we walk in near darkness. Many hotels and restaurants remain closed for the colder months. Several signs and displays for activities such as trekking, kayaking, and canyoning appear left over from last summer, apparently forgotten about in the stampede to avoid the onset of winter. The moon's glow reflects in the choppy, anthracite waters, whenever the lingering clouds permit it to. Making my way back to the relative warmth and light of the shoreline, it's hard to imagine this place in the hectic summer months, when tourists wil flock away from the stifling heat of elsewhere, for cool altitudinal air and the invigorating waters of the lake.

However, tonight the signs just creak and the shops and bars remain empty.