Mark & Jen's 'Around the World' Travel & Photography Blog

When you walk, you experience life at the pace of a Turkish tortoise. Without a bus, without a boat, without a car, or without a plane, the world slows down—and you cannot help but slow down with it.

When you walk, you see the fuzzy buds on the spring tree, the tiniest flower that grows out of the crag of a rock, the spotted lizard that scurries away to his hideout “just in time”–as if his greatest fear of the day is the threat of your presence. Down below the cliff in the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea, you pause to watch transfixedly as two sea turtles chase each other along the translucent surface. The placed waters barely lap upon the rocks. Above, you hear the loud whir of the bees in the flowering tree tops pollinating for the coming season. A donkey brays his concerns in the distance. The frenzied flap of the pheasant is a little bit louder, a little more sudden, and a little more surprising when you walk.

Lycian Way: Poppy, Mediterranean, Mediterranean & more Med….

On your feet, you notice the details of a man’s life. The limestone fence that lines the side of the trail must have taken months of muscle-aching labor. The stones fit together like the interlocking pieces of a puzzle, meticulous in their design. And in its wake, the field is cleared.

An old woman bends over the greens of her garden. Her patterned scarf hides the wispy hairs of her head. She looks up, smiles a hello, and then bends over again.

When you walk, you cannot avoid the old shepherd passing time in the grassy fields. Cigarette in hand and the only company his sheep, he eagerly moves in a limping gait toward our approaching figures. “Merhaba”–”hello”–we exchange greetings back and forth. He points to Mark’s camera: “Picture?” “Okay,” we say hesitantly, not wanting to be intrusive. The man grins broadly; he immediately throws his arm over my shoulder, takes my hat off, and poses like a dignitary for his photo. Mark laughs, takes the shot, and then shows the shepherd. The man pinches his fingers together in an “O” of pleasure and presses them to his heart. He is delighted. He takes our hands and leads us to the opening in the fence where the trail continues. “Good-bye,” we wave. “Gule gule,” he calls back, “may you go with a smile.”

Shepherd / Sunsets: Mediterranean, Clothes & Mist, and a Hammock

An older man and his wife sit outside their stone home, basking in the shade of the sunny day. A small wooden sign advertising a pension hangs above their door. We pass and they wave a hello. We are sweaty and hot, so stop for a moment to buy some water. “Deutsch?” the man questions? “Ah, no,” we answer. “English.” He looks a little disappointed. “Guten tag!” Mark says enthusiastically. The man’s face lights up in recognition. “Ich liebe dich,” I try in the only German I know. The couple emits a roar of laughter at the absurdity of my humble “I love you.” They wave us to sit down as the man scurries inside to bring us a cool bottle of water. The woman rocks back and forth. Her flower-printed pants flutter around her legs in the slight breeze. The man pantomimes a question of our marriage, pointing to our ring fingers and then back to his and his wife’s own hands. We smile and nod an assent, and then inquire with similar charades whether they have any children. Two, his fingers indicate. He points to us. No, we shake our heads, and then motion—next year. He laughs and slaps Mark on the back. We finish our water, pay our single lira, and wave good-bye. They both return our gesture. The man takes our glasses inside. The woman continues to rock slowly back and forth.

When you walk, the subtleties of life creep slowly through the needles of the pine trees until you cannot help but—stop.