Grand tours: Scents, simplicity and solitude

Adventures in literature: Irfan Orga searches for the Yuruks of southern Turkey

An officer in the Turkish army with a post-war appointment in England, Irfan Orga found fame as much for his illicit marriage to an English woman as for his writings detailing life in 1950s Turkey. The seventh of nine books spanning the transition between the last of the Ottoman sultans and the first decades of Kemal Ataturk's rule, 'The Caravan Moves On' was penned as Orga "resigned" from the army and set out for southern Turkey's high Taurus mountains in search of the Yuruks, an ancient and elusive tribe of nomads.

The day before we left, I went out into the country alone. A mood of solitude had descended upon me, as dark and soft as a moth's wings. On every horizon mountains unfolded in a series of undulating curves. The sun beat down with all its force on the rocky peaks which rose up against an exhausted sky. The brilliance of the light dazzled and blurred the vision. The day was still as eternity and only the grass, dotted with the wild flowers of the upland summer, whispered in the small breeze of my passing. Away in the distance, like a voice out of nowhere, a tinkle of sheep bells could be heard. The road sloped into a valley, and here too the rays of sun were beating down with merciless force.

Down by the small stream a heron fished, a solemn pale-grey bird with the surprised eyes of a virgin caught at her toilet. Beyond the valley I came out on a dusty road, full of afternoon shadows and slanting light. There was the rich solitude of the trees and the scents of the country – as if incense had been scattered on the air. There was a wooden bridge with no handrails over a river and, beyond, a village of mud huts where heavy plane trees hung out over the water. A few children played in a dusty clearing; a woman was washing clothes at the river's edge, beating them against a stone. The blue smoke of camel dung rose waveringly against a paler sky. The village lay sheltered by the woodland hills, asleep; the young men and girls worked in the orchard on the other side of the valley. A grove of trees stood with their heads together, in the centre of them a dead grey skeleton that at some time past had been struck by lightning. The trees looked old, their bright green heads' sly semblance of youth only a deception, for their roots curled in and out of the cracked earth around them like serpents. They were hard, primitive roots in sunburned earth, enormously old.

I leaned against an ancient tree watching the murmur of life around me, and it seemed as if the whole glowing landscape might at any moment dissolve, leaving me looking down through layer after layer of mist into the transparencies of time. The whole valley, enveloped in mosses and lichens, looked old beyond time. The ticking watch went by unheeded here. It was as unheeded as the sun, the wind and the rain, and more temporal. In such a setting it seemed absurd to pay too much attention to the things that were still engulfed in time, the conferences and speeches of little men still taking place beyond this timeless valley. Here, in this scorched village, life went on in slow motion, in a pattern of brilliant simplicity, subtly renouncing the world and surrounding with stillness like a mirror, close – but unapproachable – and I knew that the longing return, to be engulfed in this primitive consciousness, would remain with me for ever.

The woman beside the river finished beating out her clothes, the children caught sight of me and ran into a hut, whence presently a dog issued barking. I turned back up the valley to where, crowning the summit above me, high up in the sparkling sunlight, were two quiet groves of olive trees. They were alive and radiant, growing with the quiet mystery that has passed even beyond time itself and is lost in the womb of the world.

'And the Caravan Moves on' by Irfan Orga is published by Eland at £9.99, available to 'Independent on Sunday' readers for £9 (including P&P within the UK). Call 020-7833 0762 and quote Independent on Sunday.

Follow in the footsteps

Dervish whirling

Mt Karadag in Karaman is surrounded by 1,001 churches of the Roman and Byzantine era. The area is known for its natural beauty as well as its history, and is ideal for exploration on foot.

The Kesit Tourism and Travel Agency, in Antalya, organises a 14-day tour, with seven days trekking and time for recuperation. The trek goes through villages and across the Taurus mountains to Mt Karadag (2,288 metres) and includes a tour ofthe ancient city of Karaman. Trekkers can swim in lakes, traverse canyons and investigate ancient cave settlements along the way. The trip also offers a chance to see the famous whirling dervishes in Konya.

The tour runs frequently from May to October and costs €370 (£230) per person – excluding flights but including all other transport, hotel accommodation and food. You will have to bring your own tent, however.

Getting there

Return flights from London Heathrow to Antalya via Istanbul in October cost around £279 with Turkish Airlines (020-7766 9300).

Find out more through www.kesit.com/uk or by calling Kesit Tourism direct (00 90 242 322 4440), which also offers day trips to villages in the Taurus Mountains as well as shorter hikes or canyon expeditions.

Seasoned trekkers

For more experienced and adventurous hikers, a 21-day trek is held twice a year, in May and October, from the coast across the Taurus mountains to the desert of the Anatolian plateau. The price (€200) excludes flights.

On wheels

The Karaman region is also accessible to those unwilling to walk: Mt Karadag's peak can be reached by car. Points of interest include Derbe, an early Christian settlement where St Paul preached, and Alahan, the remains of a Byzantine monastery. To explore this area independently fly to Konya via Istanbul. Flights from London to Konya start from £279 on Turkish Airlines.