Tree Houses in Turkey by Christopher Deliso

Nestled deep on the southwest coast of Turkey, Olympos is built entirely of wood and the ruins of long-gone civilizations. Here one will find neither iron nor steel, neither asphalt nor hotels. All this because the rocks above Olympos are on fire, and Greek temples cling obstinately to the hillside, entrapped in vines.

In one of the few enlightened decisions affecting the development of the ‘Turkish Riviera’, modern construction has been prohibited according to the rules governing archaeological sites - of which Olympos is one. If you are willing to not only go but also to sleep a little bit off the beaten track, Olympos offers everything - beaches, forests, history, merrymaking – all within one idyllic seaside Mediterranean valley.

Undoubtedly, the most unique feature of Olympos is its tree houses. They vary from lavish to ramshackle, and are run by local families. The tree houses are also the only sign of life along the forested and dusty stretch of road leading to Olympos’ tranquil cove, ringed by forests and the ruins of a medieval fortress. Further back in the woods are remnants of ancient Greek temples, columns gnarled with vines and crumbling foundations poking through the underbrush. Through all these ruins gurgles a rocky brook. At night the only sounds come from the crickets and here, a world away from civilization, the sky is filled with thousands of stars. Given this magical setting, and the novelty of living in a tree house, it’s not hard to understand why Olympos is a favorite destination for adventurous travelers.

It was an unusual pastime in Turkey, hitchhiking, that first brought me to Zeus Tree houses. “If you are going to Olympos,” said my driver, a young Turkish man with long, almost hippy-like hair, “go to Zeus - it’s the last one, the furthest down before the beach. It’s more relaxed than the other ones, and they have the best food there. My friend, you like the Turkish food? Go to Zeus.”

I was sold. The idea of a good, home-cooked Mediterranean meal appealed strongly, and proximity to the water clinched it. I was going to Zeus. I passed by all the other tree house complexes (including Kadir’s; this one was recommended by the guidebooks and was, unsurprisingly, jammed with noisy Australian backpackers). After I thought I’d gone too far, Zeus emerged on the left. It was a little place with a sweeping deck, and low, circular tables on it for the guests. This ‘deck’ could best be compared to a Seminole longhouse, for those who know about our half-naked native Floridians. It had a long, flat roof supported by pillars on the sides, but was not restricted by the bother of walls. The wrap-around benches were strewn with colorful Turkish pillows, and long rugs hung from the ceiling on the eastern side, to keep the veranda shady during the morning. Subdued music of the Buddha Bar variety wafted up from somewhere and a small handful of young folk were sipping tea on the patio.

The manager led me to my tree house, rough-hewn and rickety. It was accessible only by a few nailed-on steps, and blessed by two irregularly carved windows probably fashioned with the rustiest saw in the shed. The floor was slightly uneven, and a thin, well-worn foam pad for bed kept up the rustic theme. All of this - the tree house plus two meals a day - cost only $5.

After dumping my things inside, I headed back to the front of the place, where dinner was about to be served on the veranda (which I came to refer to as the Temple of Zeus). It was a delicious, all-you-can-eat buffet of home-cooked Turkish specialties: fried eggplants, dolmas, lavash bread and locally-caught fish, with grapes from the trellises above for dessert. I was joined by a few of the Turkish guests. I did not see any foreign ones and I don’t think there were. We enjoyed the evening in quiet, with some bottles of Turkey’s favorite beer, Efes Pils, and the ubiquitous low-fi Euro music from somewhere in the darkness.

Around eleven o’clock, we were informed that the van would soon be leaving for the Chimaera. This was the site of the famous and bizarre flaming rocks which had bedeviled the ancient Lycians and convinced them it was better to worship the volatile Hephaestos than not to. To this day, no one can really explain it. All scientists know is that gas of an unknown composition seeps from under the rocky slopes of Olympos’ eponymous mountain, and bursts into flame upon hitting the air- the magic of oxygen indeed.

At night, I found that the strange tongues of flame leapt irregularly from the rocks, casting uneven shadows and sputtering in the blackness. Yet even here, I learned, Olympos is a shadow of its former self: in antiquity, the flames had been so large that sailors off the coast had used them as a lighthouse.

The next day, I went rambling through the woods, through the Greek temples that once were worshipped too, and the Byzantine-era church on the beach- one can say what one will about the Greeks, but it must be admitted that they’ve sure always known where to set their sacred temples.

The beach itself was small but lovely, and swimming in the warm waters of the eastern Aegean, late in the day and late in the season (by then it was early October) was also a divine experience.

Altogether, I spent four days in Olympos. But I could see why many people stay longer; it is the seduction of the secluded that keeps them three months when they had only intended to stay three days upon arriving. In today’s hectic, non-stop world, people value quietude and will go to the ends of the earth to find it. But Olympos is not the end of the world; it is 45 minutes north of Antalya, the major southeastern tourist destination in Turkey, with regular flights to many European cities.

With its relaxed atmosphere, great swimming and ruins, not to mention the treetop living and longhouses, Olympos is truly unique- and inexpensive. But this seclusion is negotiable and one is looking for another good time, going up the road to Kadir’s gives access to a more party-minded atmosphere (provided one has a high tolerance for garrulous young Australians, that is).

With none of the modern world’s obtrusions, and delicious, vegetable-rich Turkish food provided from the abundant gardens and vines of the owners, my stay there was effortless and, dare I say it, even soothing for the soul. And as long as I made sure to be up and out before nine, the little black ants wouldn’t go marching across my nose.

Yet with the warmth of the sun and the sea just a few yards away, and the promise of a great breakfast to come, there was really no reason to sleep in. In the end, the only stress I had to face in Olympos was in trying to keep the bees off my toast and strawberry jam.