From Alara to Alanya on the Old Seljuk Road

(Atop Alara Castle. All photos by Mary Hunter)

It was a very Seljuk weekend, with healthy doses of Byzantines and Romans for good measure. On Friday we trekked to Alara to see the old castle, and the nearby bridge over the Alara River, both prized locations for the Seljuk Empire of the 13th century.

Kenan Bey, principal of a local middle school, had generously offered to take our group hiking. 

When Kenan Bey said it would be a fairly strenuous trek, I don't think anyone took him quite seriously enough. Alara castle is perched on 500 ft peak as steep and crumbling as a loaf of french bread stood on end. The first pitch climbs a 180-step stone tunnel staircase carved into the side of the hill. Many of the stairs are eroded to a fragment, and the others are covered with centuries of loose rocks and boulders that have fallen down the tunnel, so it more of a scramble than a staircase climb.

Coming out of the tunnel, you pass through the old fortress walls, and then wind around the hill, following the sheer rock face. Through one more short tunnel and then out to the top, to a crumbling Byzantine chapel.

Kenan Bey set a steady but brisk pace, with a few of the Hoyas pushing him along. Booker, Seamus and Dexter scampered to the front of the pack and were at the peak while we were still huffing away on the flanks. By the time I reached the peak, several of the Hoyas had already scaled the walls of the chapel and were standing on the remains of its arched roof, looking over the cliffside drop on the other side, to the Alara River winding far below. Dexter had joined them and Seamus was doing his best to hoist himself up the walls when I looked around and noticed that Kenan Bey was on level ground off to the side, looking in another direction out to the distant sea. I hauled Seamus back down, reminding him that we only go where the guide goes. Dexter made his way down in dextrous fashion soon afterwards and we breathed a sigh of relief.

The Christians of the Byzantine Empire loved to build chapels in the most remote places possible, the better to induce a sense of simultaneous penance and vertigo. When the Seljuks seized the area from the Byzantines, they turned the hill into a fortification, to defend the caravanserai below. If under attack from Arab raiders, the camel-caravan merchants in the caravanserai could take shelter in the castle and hold out indefinitely. The castle is pretty much impenetrable without major artillery.

We made our way gingerly down the hill, and soon afterwards took off an another hike, following one of the old caravan trails to a Seljuk bridge. There was less of an elevation change on this one, but it was still a brisk walk of four miles or so over rocky terrain. That just made the payoff sweeter. It was one of the more majestic settings I have ever seen. Pine forests plunge down steep hillsides on either side of the valley, with the emerald-green Alara River winding between them. The bridge is an austere stone arch about forty feet above the river. Only the fear of Seamus slipping off the edge kept it from being utterly transporting.

The next day Sean, Minou, Dexter and the four of us rented a van and drove to Anamur, two hours south of Alanya. This is the southernmost point in Anatolia, and you can just barely make out the shadowy outline of the mountains of northern Cyprus twenty-five miles in the distance. First stop, Mamure Castle, one of the best preserved Seljuk castles. To be fair, there was some kind of fortification there long before the Seljuks, including a Crusader occupation in the 12th century. But to my knowledge, it was the Seljuks who built up most of the castle that remains, a fairy-tale complex of crenellated walls and grand towers, overlooking the brilliant mediterranean on three sides.

Upon arrival we learned that the castle is officially closed for renovation. And sure enough, men hard at work had already rebuilt some of the walls, more or less faithful to Seljuk construction methods (facilitated by a few power drills here and there). But it didn't even require much sweet talk to persuade the foreman that anyone who drove the precipitous, winding coastal route from Alanya deserved a quick visit.

We stretched it to ninety minutes, slowly touring the green courtyards and crumbling walls, with many heart-stopping moments of young children scrambling up high battlements.

From there, we got a quick kebap in Anamur, at a restaurant where the waiters wore sweatshirts that read Boston Dil Okulları, Boston Language School, with an incongruous picture of the Statue of Liberty below the name. The electricity was out, but the kebap was savory. I tried şalgam suyu, fermented carrot and radish juice, for the first time, and did not entirely regret it.

After lunch, we toured the Roman ruins of Anemurium, just north of current Anamur. Just above a pristine beach, the ancient city climbs a verdant hillside. The Odeon is marvelously preserved, its stone benches and sturdy walls framing an intimate stage. The huge public baths lay to one side, the palestra gymnasium to the other, with the aqueduct farther up the hill. Excellent work, Romans. And well done to you, also, Seljuks.