The rest of our car ride to hell was fairly eventless and if anything, a little slow. Because of this we were all the more eager to get to the beach and jump into the rolling waves that kiss the golden sands of Patara beach.
The last leg of this journey is a 6km single track road that passes through small rugged mountains, a village that nestles into the hills and lastly an array of roman ruins spread out in the narrow valley floor that leads to the beach. At the end of the road is a rough car park with bushes sitting in random places conveniently placed to give shade to the lucky few.
We parked our car on the outskirts of the car park and find enough of a bush to get the front windscreen covered. Having loaded up each person with enough bags to imitate a family of refugees we make our way to the beach and perhaps more importantly to the cafe that sits close to the water’s edge.
The last leg of this journey is a 6km single track road that passes through small rugged mountains, a village that nestles into the hills and lastly an array of roman ruins spread out in the narrow valley floor that leads to the beach. At the end of the road is a rough car park with bushes sitting in random places conveniently placed to give shade to the lucky few.
We parked our car on the outskirts of the car park and find enough of a bush to get the front windscreen covered. Having loaded up each person with enough bags to imitate a family of refugees we make our way to the beach and perhaps more importantly to the cafe that sits close to the water’s edge.
It was unfortunate but not altogether surprising that our time on the beach was short lived. An unusually strong southerly wind started to blow across the bay. it picks up into such gale proportions that bathers were sand blasted off the beach in to the comparative safety of the grass huts that made up the bar and cafe. I however decided to try and build our own huts with chairs towels and an abandoned boat. This was in the end a completely useless exercise but because of my pride I wouldn't abandon the plan until it had utterly failed. Meantime the entire family had been peppered with gritty golden sand so that not a nook or cranny or orifice was left unaffected.
While people ran for cover I looked up into the sky to see what at first appeared to be heavy storm clouds looming over the tree covered hills. It was with some shock when I realized that they were clouds of smoke from a forest fire which had surrounded the village of Patara and was racing toward the beach car park. At first there seemed to be confusion and doubt in the minds of my fellow tourists but when it became apparent this was a serious incident hundreds ran from the beach to save their cars. This was in my mind completely stupid as the fire was in the same direction as the road one needed to drive on to escape. We watched in disbelief as cars and coaches all tried to leave only to get stuck and return with their passengers choking from the smoke and fumes.
We spent the next 2 hours sipping lemon ice tea as we watch flames preceded by huge billowing clouds of black smoke roll toward us. Foxes and other wild life tore off the hill side and onto the beach caring little about human proximity. Their concern was much more dire than to worry about potential predators.
Meanwhile I was mildly amused at the prospect of my hire car being blown to pieces in a forest fire. It seemed the perfect end to such a dramatic day. However It was in this moment of contemplation a thought occurred to me that I will never be able to answer. The fire must have started only moments after we had driven through the village and onto the beach. Was my car which was covered in petrol fumes at all responsible....? Ah well, I shrug my shoulders, makes for a great story
