9-10-13. Altinkaya, Turkey
The road to Selge was exhausting, even for this part of Turkey. After turning off the main highway, thirty kilometers of twisting and climbing road brought me to a dusty construction zone. Beyond, a rusted sign pointed down a one-lane road hugging the wall of a canyon. This road led over a Roman bridge, suspended more than a hundred feet above a rushing stream. Since the bridge was only seven feet wide, however, I was rather too preoccupied to enjoy the view. Thirteen kilometers of switchbacks followed. Through occasional gaps in the pines, the mountain peaks grew gradually closer; and then, suddenly, the little village of Altinkaya appeared, a hundred or so stone cottages surrounded by brown pastureland. Above the fields and houses rose the Roman theater of Selge, framed by a panorama of distant peaks.
But between me and the theater lay one more stretch of broken road. Crawling along a dirt road no wider than my car, I had nearly reached the village when I was stopped dead by a Roman column drum jutting up in the middle of the road. Just as I had decided to reverse and walk to the ruins, a moped came buzzing up. It stopped beside me in a cloud of dust, and the driver, a stocky young man, asked if I needed help. I indicated the column. He made an exasperated noise, pulled in front of me, and directed me to hug the boulders which formed one side of the road. I navigated the passage successfully, and parked where the man indicated, opposite the theater and next to a hand-painted sign advertising the “Selge market.”
The moped operator –Suleyman – introduced himself in fluent German as a local guide, owner of the market, and the mayor of Altinkaya. When I told him that I had come to investigate the ruins, he immediately volunteered to show me around. In the event, though the experience stretched my German to its limits, he proved an excellent guide. He certainly had experience on mountain paths, practically bounding up rubble-covered slopes and tumbled columns which left me panting. We began in the theater, an impressive structure capable of seating ten thousand. Selge, my guide told me, had a population of twenty thousand people; the present village has less than a thousand (“all old”).
The remaining villagers are nearly all farmers; we cut through a cow pasture (graced with several Roman sarcophagi) en route to a hook-shaped ridge covered with ruins. Near the tumbled columns of a substantial temple, a large gate – once graced with a relief of an eagle in flight – led to the remains of a colonnaded avenue, punctuated by leaning statue bases. My companion bounded into a space paved with large flagstones, the ancient upper agora, and pointed out the earthquake-shattered remains of a bouleuterion.
At the end of the ridge, overlooking the rest of the ancient city, stood a relatively well-preserved late antique basilica. I admired the wonderful scenery – the theater and village below, the pine-covered foothills and surrounding peaks – and snapped a few photos of my guide, who insisted on posing atop the apse.
On the way back down, we passed a large bath complex, now used to pen cows, and the remains of a stadium, repurposed as a farmyard. I thanked Suleyman profusely – in pleasant contrast to my previous experience with guides, he refused to take any money – and went to take a few more pictures of the theater. When I returned to my car, meaning to at least buy something from his market, I found Suleyman gone, replaced by an old woman who laid jewelry on my hood and tried very aggressively to sell me some evil eye beads.