Review: Alternative Escapes at Fethiye and Kabak, Turkey

Here be Faeries: Adventures in the Gardens of the Neo-Hip

We thought we'd spend a few nights at Butterfly Valley, a canyon near Fethiye that Lonely Planet described as a "paradise found".

Well. It's been found alright. The skipper of our incoming boat had to yell at the swimming hordes of oblivious daytrippers to avoid adding blood to the opalescent films of sunscreen and tanning oils that played on the last remaining strip of water between the flocking hulls of tour boats.

"Welcome to our beautiful paradise!"

The greeting, pretty much the only friendly gesture extended by the valley's inhabitants, was quickly followed by the confiscation of our passports, a brief orientation chat and a short walk to a bungalow behind the crowded beachfront.

Perhaps "bungalow" was a tad hyperbolic. They were cute and comfortable enough, but they were also ridiculously expensive. A palm thatched, timber clad platform with a mattress, our bed and two meals cost a lot more than the airconditioned room (breakfast included) with ensuite and free wireless internet that we'd just vacated in Fethiye. The nearby communal toilets and shower stalls were bereft of toilet paper before mid-afternoon and hadn't been replenished by the time we left the next day. Perhaps it was a creative variant of "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle". Perhaps we were supposed to recycle from the heaped drifts of used paper surrounding the toilets' unemptied bins.

We were astounded at the flagrant commercialising of what was once no doubt a potential paradise. Maybe I should've said "pure profiteering". Five lira to visit the waterfall...

C'mon peeps! If you're going to charge the prices you do, you could at least ensure the bare minimum of services. A commitment to sustainable practices would be good too. Wind and solar generating systems with inverters instead of diesel generators for one. There was water and good soil aplenty to provide fresh organic produce in exchange for a little manual labour - what's with importation of all the food and bottled water? And if the love was there, it sure wasn't ours for the feeling.

I dunno - perhaps I should audition for Grumpy Old Men, but all that plus dirty kitchens, smoking cooks and "Butterfly Money" which was supposed to make things cheaper (but didn't) proved a tad difficult to take.

We were over it by morning, but the best was saved for last. I headed for the office to pay for our stay. Inside I found a young couple in conversation. My cheery hello and indication that I was happy to wait went unacknowledged. Jeez - even my Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judea emblazoned Rasta scarf made no difference!

The guy left, the girl followed, sparing me a brief look as she made for the door. I was left standing like the unwelcome male plant at a dope harvest. OK. That made me mad. It occured to me to get even by leaving without paying, but karma (and the fact Chickiebabe still had our passports) suggested that was an impulse not worth acting on. Outside, Chickiebabe was seated at a table eating. I collared a passing male member of this difficult clique and asked how I could pay. He walked over to Chickiebabe, who seemed miffed at being so rudely interrupted.

"Oh, sorry. I forget you" she said as she walked past me again. No shit. Even though you looked right at me.

I followed her back to the office where she took my cash and immediately made to leave.

"Um - our passports?"

"Oh - we have your passports?"

She opened a safe and eventually located the passports, taking the time to flick through them as she brought them over.

Suddenly, amazingly, incredibly, she graced me with a beaming smile. "Ooh - you have been to Uzbekistan?" She spied visas for Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Georgia. She quizzed me about our experiences in those places, giving smiling eye contact as she waited for my responses. We were best mates! I was in! Social acceptance! But I still didn't feel the love...

What is it with neo-hippies? I used to love the hippy style - I'm still closer in sensibility to the (obviously old-school) hippy mindset than any other. Alas. My hair's now way past the stage where it would sustain a crop of dreadlocks, although my nostril hair has distinct Rasta tendencies when left untended! Perhaps I blew my cred by never electing to brand myself with ink or metal. I don't carry fire-twirling paraphernalia.

Sigh... I guess it's no wonder the neo-hip reckon I'm undeserving of post-modern peace and love.

Oh well - if I get desperate, it looks like I could take to wearing my passport on my sleeve.

At the other end of the neo-hip spectrum lies Shambala. Shambala's at Kabak, which the aforementioned Lonely Planet says is a 25 minute walk from the village of Faralya.

Lonely Planet. There's a pile of fuel for ranting contained in those guides. Inaccurate maps, conflicting advice and just plain wrong information. LP's fallen a long way from when its authors had the time and resources to actually visit the places they wrote about. Anyway - that's a different rant. I just bring it up because I wonder how anyone can walk eight kilometres in 25 minutes. Especially in 40^oC heat.

Faralya sits at the head of Butterfly Valley and Amber and I fancied taking the view and the alleged short walk from there to Shambala, where we'd elected to splurge a bit. The walk was hot and long, but worth it even though it convinced the nice folks at Shambala that we were crazy.

Shambala is seriously neo-hip, but offers accommodation far removed from that at Butterfly Valley. For roughly three times the Butterfly Valley price, we were offered a beautiful villa with spectacular sea views. Clean, supremely comfortable and with a spotless kitchen serving truly great food, we'd recommend you blow off Butterfly Valley in favour of Kabak anytime. Kabak is beautiful and secluded and the mountain, valley and ocean views from Shambala are divine.

Neo-hip cred? Shambala's full of it. Climbing the office stairs to check in, Amber was welcomed by a tightly (leopard print speedo) wrapped bulgefest belonging to the mohawked, inked and metalled nudieman who was descending. Talk about in your face. Poor Amber didn't know where to look. Given the staircase nature of the encounter, there wasn't really anywhere else to look!

Shambala is expensive, but good value - you can ponder the supreme mysteries of life in peace and comfort there:

Which natural therapy is more effective, more attuned to the true you: Shambala's Shamanic Healing or Butterfly Valley's Quantum Touch?

What is the significance of a forty minute mosquito net hanging ceremony that results in a small net hanging diagonally (uselessly) across a large bed and which consciousness-enhancing medium is required to perfectly administer such a rite?

Which philosophical conundrum is intriguingly alluded to by the conjunction of satellite signal receiver with 42in CRT(!) television in trine with a villa lacking sufficient voltage to bring them to life?

Be sure to let us know if you solve them - they're doing our heads in!