The Transient Power of Travel

Two traveling climbers in front of a small bungalow in Geyikbayiri, Turkey.

It was the last day of Petzl RocTrip and all of the participants were re-packing their enormous bags. Mylène, a member of the video crew documenting the trip, grabbed me to help shoot some closing interviews with RocTrippers who had stayed on for the whole 40-day journey, which started in Romania and finished in Turkey. These folks, who hailed from all over the world, had taken to the road for over a month with only a rough outline of a plan. Most of them lacked vehicles and so either hitched rides or rode the RocTrip buses from one country to the next. They camped everywhere they went, rain or shine, on rocky ground or flat, subsisting on minimal supplies and tight budgets. They relied on their own resourcefulness and the kindness of strangers to get by, and, on the whole, trusted in the fates to bring them safely through it all.

As we called these nomadic climbers into our makeshift studio in the back of the Petzl Airstream trailer, I was surprised at the similarity of their answers. “How do you feel now that the trip is over?” asked Mylène. “I feel full,” said one woman. “I’m really satisfied,” said one of the guys. “I feel enriched,” said a third person, “and ready for more.” No one said they were burned out or eager to return home. Several suggested that they would travel on after the trip, seeing new places and meeting new people for as long as they could. Clearly, there was some underlying source that powered these wanderers through the challenges and uncertainty such travel entails…

When I was in college, a buddy and I took a month-long backpacking trip across Western Europe, bouncing from hostel to pension to campsite, exploring great cities like Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, and Prague. Along the way we met people who made us think outside the insulating bubble that American culture and media had built around us. We threaded old cobblestone streets, gazed at millennia worth of art and architecture. We drank too much and stayed up too late, talking to locals and fellow travelers. Exhausted, we dozed off sitting up in train stations, under the boughs of old trees, and on city benches, lulled by the murmur of languages we didn’t understand. But always we awoke ready for more.

On our trip, my friend and I tapped in to the same energy as the RocTrippers, I think—the energy of people on the move, untethered from the responsibilities of life and the banality of the familiar. If you don’t stay in any place too long, you can, in a way, game the system and experience only the new and the exciting, constantly feel thrill of fresh friendships, uncomplicated by past history, unburdened by obligation. …

But, of course, there’s a catch. Stop in any one place for too long, and the radiant sheen starts to fade. The wonders of the place—seen in three-dimensional hyper-clarity by the starry-eyed traveler—become mere background, just part of the everyday scenery of a more static life. The new people, brimming with new ideas and perspectives, become known quantities. (As Ralph Waldo Emerson put it in his essay “Circles”: “Men cease to interest us when we find their limitations.”)

In this light, it made sense that the people we interviewed about RocTrip were ready to keep going, despite the long and tiring miles they’d already logged. To stand still would be to gather moss. To return “home” would be to admit that the adventure was over and accept the staid and pragmatic travails of a more stationary life.

Freedom or stability, short-term excitement or long-term fulfillment, newness or consistency—it seems we’re always being asked to take one at the expense of the other. Often, the flashiness of the itinerant lifestyle is held up as the antidote to our modern malaise, our workaday routine that keeps us moving predictably, as if on rails. I tend to think that the best we can do is to seek a balance between motion and stasis, to move when it’s time to move and also to stay put when it makes sense, letting the contrast of the one enhance and inform the other.

At the same time, I want to believe that we can carry a certain mindset of home with us wherever we go; a certain comfort within ourselves, whatever the circumstances. And on the other hand, wouldn’t it be ideal if we could also bring the traveler’s sense of openness and fresh eyes when getting groceries or walking the dog? What is the perfect balance, after all? I suppose it’s up to each of us to find that point in accordance with our own nature and time in life. What’s been the best balance for you? Are you a constant traveler or a homebody, or some creative combination of the two?

Turkey: A Trip Worth Taking

I’m writing to you from Kadir’s Tree House, a funny little tourist resort in Olympos, Turkey. I’m here for Petzl RocTrip, which, by the time you read this, will be over. This was a work trip, mind you, so I didn’t do much climbing, but it was still an experience worth sharing. I’ve heard the value of a picture can be quantified in terms of words, and that, in fact, it takes more than a few words to pay for one picture. Therefore I’ll turn to some pictures to tell you, in a very broad sense, the story of my two-week trip to turkey, which was localized to Olympos and an area called Geyikbayiri.

It’s important to note this post focuses on the places I visited more than the people I met. Indeed, it’s harder to translate the new friendships and the perspective-stretching discussions one has during a truly international event like this one (people from over 60 countries attended RocTrip’s 40-day road trip across Eastern Europe). In my last post, I wrote that climbing was a wonderful vehicle for connecting with people of different backgrounds from yourself. After this trip, I believe that more than ever… but that’s a topic for another day.

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When you fly into Turkey’s Antalya airport (usually via Istanbul or Munich), you pass over the Taurus mountains, home to Mount Olympos and the town and crag of Geyikbayiri. These peaks, up to 3,756 meters, rise almost directly out of the Mediterranean sea, which is, as they say, preternaturally blue and clear and warm.
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The city of Antalya was built 150 years before Christ, give or take, but really grew and prospered under Roman rule during the Pax Romana. The city looks Roman in its layout, my mom pointed out when I sent her this arial image. I have no idea if that’s true, but it sounds good, so I’m going with it. (Fun fact: in 2013, Antalya was the third most visited city by international tourists behind Paris and London. Who knew?)
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You can either camp or rent bungalows or pitch a tent at several spots in Geyikbayiri. Here, climbers chill at a place called Rido’s Camp, which has tents and this nice gathering spot with beer and wine, water, good food, and bad wifi. Other places that offer accommodations are Jo.Si.To, with its camping, bungalows, nourishment and beverages. The Climbers Garden is also a great option—it also offers camping, bungalows, and food and drink. I didn’t eat much at these places, but the steak at the Climbers Garden restaurant was exceptional.
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In Geyikbayiri, bands of limestone are in no short supply. They range from clean faces, to sweeping caves, to clumpy, funky, globular formations that require stemming and stink-bugging and other 3-D climbing techniques to navigate. Here, the view from the Trebenna crag, just a 10-minute walk from Rido’s Camp (which you can see it in the lower left hand corner of this picture).
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The climbing at Geyikbayiri is quite good, and also plentiful. A variety of rock types and difficulties can be found there, all detailed with excellent pictures and topos (many of which will have to be updated thanks to the RocTrip sending spree) in Öztürk Kayıkçı’s new guidebook. Here’s a list of spots to get the guide: http://bit.ly/turkeyclimbingguide.
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While here, we checked out a super-crag called Çidtibi, which was bolted almost entirely for the Petzl RocTrip. The routes here range from 60 feet to 500 feet in length and feature limestone tufas of many shapes and sizes, along with your other, more typical holds. Climbing these formations is really a full-body experience, which some climbers referred to as “going to the rodeo.” Here, Heather Weidner at the rodeo.
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Plentiful in the region are fruits, most famously pomegranates. Vendors at Geyikbayiri’s local market will kindly sell you a liter of freshly squeezed, deep-red pomegranate juice in an old water bottle for just a few bucks. Way cheaper than that Pom stuff they sell at Whole Foods.
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Some ladies in Geyikbayiri crankin’ out the gözleme, a tasty Turkish pastry typically filled with cheese, spinach, potatoes, meat, or some combination thereof. Gözleme shops in this area and in Olympos can be found every couple of doors, and while I’m sure some are better than others, I know not how to make a determination. If I stayed here for long, I might make it my mission to try each one.
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After a few days, the Petzl RocTrip caravan headed to the town of Olympos, down on the coast. Most folks stayed in a funky, touristy spot called Kadir’s Treehouse, which actually used to offer accommodations in elevated tree houses, but I was told they burned down. Now you just stay in roughly made wooden structures that are vaguely tree-house-ish, tightly packed, and with almost no protection against the transmission of sound waves. Wild cats, dogs, and chickens roam the grounds, along with German tourists.
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The three most striking feature of Olympos are the history, made visible in the form of ruins dating back to the Hellenistic period, the stony mountains, and the clear blue sea. Here, two of the three are visible. The freshwater flowing in the foreground actually drains into the Mediterranean, just five minutes down the road.
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There’s a bunch of cool sport climbing within walking distance of the accommodations in Olympos, but the most interesting experience overall was the deep water soloing, accessed by a 45-minute boat ride. I’m not sure if this is something the average person can arrange, or if it was specially orchestrated for RocTrip, but just cruising out along the mountainous coast was reason enough to head to the DWS section. Chances are, if there’s money to be made taking climbers out on such excursions, someone will make a business of it.
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The climbing at the Olympos DWS area was described by those who experienced it as “sharp,” “slippery,” and “scary” … however these same climbers proclaimed the experience to be absolutely amazing and not to be missed. The cliffs were up to 25 meters high, but have no fear: the water at the base is far deeper than the wall is tall. It’s important to have a good boat driver who will swing over and pull you out of the water after a hard landing.
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When the sun sets on the ruins of ancient Olympos, the energy of a thousand generations resonates in the air. This land is a palimpsest of human activity, and the climbers visiting for RocTrip were just another brush stroke on the canvas. If you’re in search of a new climbing experience and looking to travel, and provided political relations remains stable, I suggest adding Turkey to your short list.

 

Photo Friday: Three From China

I’ve been taking pictures since I was a wee lad. My parents got me a basic film SLR when I was in high school, and I shot as much as I could afford to develop (ah, the good ol’ film days!). Starting in college, I began to work my way up the digital ranks. An early Sony point and shoot, then a D70, D80, D700, and I just put in a pre-order on the D800.

These days, I live in scenic Salt Lake City. Well, the surrounding mountains are scenic, at least… when they’re not shrouded in lung-searing smog. I also travel a lot for work and for pleasure. Both things offer plenty of great photo opportunities. Recently, I went to China for the Petzl RocTrip. I managed to grab a few nice shots, three of which comprise my first “Photo Friday” post. If you like them, keep your eye out for my travel report from RocTrip China, coming soon. In the meantime, Andrew Bisharat, on his blog eveningsends.com, has posted on the same topic, here and here.

A Farmer Plowing in the Getu River Valley, China
A farmer plowing his rice field in the Getu River Valley, China
Climbing on the Rim of the Great Arch
Climbers on the outer rim of the Great Arch, a limestone formation so large that Chinese fighter jets once flew through its mouth, or so I've read.
Two Climbing Couples Being Wed in the Village of Getu He
Two climbing couples getting married in the village of Getu He, just before a big dance party started. A moment later, climbing legend Lynn Hill came out and helped perform the ceremony. It was a surreal moment, at least for the Westerners in the audience.