FRIG YOLU Sabuncupınar-Salihler-Döğer-Kayıhan (10-13 Haziran 2022)

Imagine you are working in your office – preparing lessons if you are a teacher like me, or writing computer code, or translating, or going over accounts, whatever – and all of the sudden out of the blue in wanders an unknown person, dressed very differently from you in your office clothes, greeting you with a smile. You smile back, say hello, are maybe a little bit annoyed at this interruption if you are in the middle of a strenuous task. You ask what she or he is looking for, you wonder about the purpose of this visit – maybe he or she has lost his or her way, is trying to locate another office, another employee, even though the clothes and the big backpack indicate that the person is unlikely to be there for professional reasons? But she or he just keeps smiling and replies that no, there is no specific purpose to the visit, she isn’t looking for anything in particular, he isn’t lost… just sauntering through the office building, taking in the views from the fifth floor, smelling the office air, looking at the coffee machine. You shake your head, bid goodbye, go on with your interrupted work, not knowing whether to be irritated or amused; or if it is just the time for your coffee break you might even offer him or her a cup, chatting away inconsequentially for a moment, answering some ludicrously stupid questions about your work. The person has clearly no clue about what you are doing, and you still have no clue about what she is actually doing in your office space, but her intentions are innocent, so much at least is clear.
Did you imagine the scene? Can you now, reversing it, better imagine Muhammed’s point of view?
Muhammed is a shepherd from Döğer, who spends the summer months with his donkey, dog and sheep in a hovel built around an existing rock-cut chamber which might well go back to antiquity. It sits dramatically on a rocky outcrop above the valley which links Urumkuş Yaylası with the Memeç kayalıkları, famous (apparently) from the movie A.R.O.G. Muhammed’s summer home is extremely picturesque from far away, but must be a shit-infested sorry little hut from close-by. I will never know, however, since I declined his offer to drink tea and camp up there, preferring instead, foolishly, the garbage-infested holes of the A.R.O.G rock – pretty awful as a camping space, but at least it provides adequate protection in case of rain and thunder. What I did to Muhammed, materializing out of the blue – or rather out of the grey, the grey of the approaching rain and thunder – is exactly what the curious intruder does in my little office parable. Or not exactly “exactly”: I only materialized upon being discovered by Muhammed’s five fierce dogs, the spiky-collared rearguard of the ranks of sheep. Muhammed came to see what all the noisy upheaval was about, found me wandering about in what we can metaphorically call his office space, and continued his work of tending to the bleating scurrying masses – did you know that sheep are far more difficult to shepherd than goats? – while chatting with me, both of us going down the valley. The usual series questions, but one stood out, the one which you would also ask the unexpected visitor in your office, and which Muhammed repeated several times: what’s the purpose (amaç) of this seemingly aimless wandering about? what are you looking for?
It's not the first time on my wanderings in Turkey that people assume, as I understood him to do (bir şey arıyor musun?), that I am hunting for hidden treasures. It’s the first question, about the amaç, the goal or purpose of my being there, which continues to resonate and which I wanted to share (rather than practical information – consult the guidebook, stock your backpack, check transportation on internet, be off; beware of the weather forecast). For two reasons: because it is, on the one hand, a question I often ask myself, and it is, on the other hand, a necessary reminder of the fact that the whole universe of Wikilocky leisure activities which seems so natural to you and me is a complete absurdity in other eyes, as the little office parable is meant to illustrate. Muhammed had never noticed the red-and-white (“ah, like the colors of the Turkish flag!”) way-marks – they are, truth to be told, rather scarce on this hike, with some exceptions; following a track is essential – and had clearly never come across a hiker. For me, this is a very precious experience; it is a memory I will cherish in all my future hikes, and I urge you also to hear Mu-hammed’s voice in your next ramble: what is your purpose?
Truth to be told, I had similar en-counters three years ago on the Phrygian Way, but they were more diffident, more hostile, no smiling friendliness involved, and therefore less easy to accept, or to interpret in this eye-opening way. Muhammed is doing his job; this valley is his terrain – not only are the ancient rock chambers still massively in use, I also found fresh cart tracks and donkey hooves on the ancient cart tracks, carved deep in the soft rocks, which are so numerous on the Phrygian Way. We are completely, utterly out-of-place, if not out of depth. Let’s not forget.
So, what is your purpose? As for me, I mumbled the usual platitudes to Muhammed: the need for fresh air and nature after life in stressful overflowing concrete-cast Istanbul; but this is, in my case at least, utter bullshit. Conceptually and linguistically, he and I are on too different planets for me to explain that walking is, ideally, an art – in the original Greek sense of the word, techne – of attention, focus and memory, as powerful in its aftermath as on the moment itself; a relinquish-ing of all social masks; a reduction of life to essentials – food when hungry, rest when sleepy, everything on the rhythm of the step-by-step. Self-reliance. Rain and thunder, but preferably sun, with which to rise at dawn and sink down at dusk.

Two brief footnotes:
- a shoutout of thankfulness to the extremely friendly muhtar of Salihler, who let me pass a rainy thundery night in the sosyal tesisleri of the village’s cem evi, no questions – not one! – asked. I hope he didn’t lay out breakfast for me, as I was on my way long before the village awoke.
- and a practical one, after all: I discovered by accident that Kayıhan is a useful end or start-ing point, since it has a frequent minibus service to and from Afyon (https://www.facebook.com/315624371876472/posts/2759823427456542/). I intended originally to go all the way to Seydiler, in the footsteps of 3 years ago, but had to shorten the hike for meteorological and other reasons. The last 3 kilometers of this track are thus not part of the original Phrygian Way, which deflects to the highway, after passing the small reservoir.

Heure de départ: 11:51 10 juin 2022
Heure d'arrivée: 15:33 13 juin 2022
Distance: 118,1 km (38:13)
Temps déplacement: 32:01
Vitesse moyenne: 3,09 km/h
Vitesse moyenne mouv.: 3,69 km/h
Vitesse Max.: 44,2 km/h
Altitude minimale: 937 m
Altitude maximale: 1439 m
Vitesse de montée: 141,5 m/h
Vitesse de descente: -153,1 m/h
Gain d'altitude: 2809 m
Perte d'altitude: -2690 m
Temps de montée: 19:51
Temps de descente: 17:34