I rang Johnny ‘Mad Dog’ McClane (As he’s known by the locals in the village) this morning, to ask him if he wanted to visit Patara, its unbearably hot here in summer so most people tend to stay indoors, but then after a few weeks ”Cabin fever” takes over, and you need to go out.
We arranged to meet up at the Patara amphitheatre, both John and I have been to Patara many times, but like to look at the new discoveries the archaeologists un-Earth ever year.



I stopped at my usual place for a ciggie break, it takes about two hours to reach Patara from where I live.

After an hour on the road I badly needed to drink some water, so I stopped at a water fountain that serves up chilled water.


With a bloated belly full of water, plus a spare bottle, I carried on to meet John in Patara. Under normal circumstances, and temperatures, a two hour ride is nothing, but when its as hot here as the Devils BBQ, two hours in the saddle feels like ten, its so draining !!

We both arrived at Patara at the same time, precision planning !


The entrance arch to the ruined city of Patara, about 2,000 years old, then we rode a little way up a dirt track to the remains of an early Christian Church.




After exploring the Church, we stood in the shade for a while where both of us finished the last of our water, bad planning.

We rode to the amphitheatre and was greeted with a dreadful sight, they have started to dismantle and re-assemble Patara. Now in Egypt and Italy they take care over their antiquities and renovation is done sympathetically, not here, cheap and slap dash is how most restoration work is carried out, only the few UNESCO sites in Turkey are re-constructed properly, such a shame.



The height of the amphitheatre and forum walls have been reduced, you could not slip a piece of paper between the stone blocks laid over 2,000 years ago. Below is an example of the joint quality of a newly re-constructed wall.

Just dreadful !!
Anyway, moan over, we first walked over to what used to be the main street thousands of years ago.


On the photo below, of a discarded piece of stone, I noticed the Crusaders emblem, John said it was the mark of The Knights Templar, looks like they passed this way on their way to/from the Holy Lands.

Next we walked over to the amphitheatre, which is now in poor condition after renovation.



The view from the top.



In the photo below you can just make out John, climbing over fallen stone blocks.

And yours truly.

We decided to ride along the dirt track to last years discovery of the Worlds oldest light house, built by Emperor Nero.


Most of the photos I took of John and I riding the few Kilometers along the sandy dirt track did not turn out because I could not keep the camera steady enough, its bloody hard riding on dirt tracks, one handed trying to take photos lol.




The sea used to be right here Milleniea ago, but is now about two Kilometers further away over the sand dunes, neither of us fancied either walking or riding over sand dunes, too hot.




Riding back, we stopped at the columns for some last photos.




Heading back to town now, to find bottles of water, my throat is so dry I can hardly talk in a normal voice.


We stood in the shade, smoked two fags each and I consumed all of the 1.5 litre bottle of water, have I mentioned it’s hot!!


We said our good byes at the road junction, me turning left and John right.


Whilst heading home I caught sight of the road sign for Xanthos, so I had a little detour to have a look.


Xanthos is a very ancient city, mentioned in Homer’s Iliad, I’ve been here a few times before, but though I would have a quick look.



The sight is still in poor condition, I rode on to the bridge and river that I had seen from up on the hill.

Heading back I came across this entrance arch, neglected on a hill side.


Heading home.




A nice day out, that will keep the Cabin Fever at bay for another week or two.
MAD DOGS AND ENGLISHMEN was written by Noel Coward, a small section below for those who are not familiar with the song.
Mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.
The toughest Burmese bandit
Can never understand it.
In Rangoon the heat of noon
Is just what the natives shun.
They put their Scotch or Rye down
And lie down.
In a jungle town
Where the sun beats down
To the rage of man and beast
The English garb
Of the English sahib
Merely gets a bit more creased.
In Bangkok
At twelve o’clock
They foam at the mouth and run,
But mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.
.