After a whirlwind week soaking up the color, chaos, and coastal charm of Antalya, I craved something quieter—something slower. So, I packed my worn canvas backpack, grabbed a simit for the road, and hopped on a bus heading southwest. Destination: Demre.
I’ll be honest—I didn’t know much about it before coming. Just that it was small, historical, kissed by the sea, and far from the tourist stampede. That was enough.
Day 1: A Room with Sea Breezes and Stone Stories
The bus wound through mountain roads lined with olive trees and sleepy farms, finally rolling into Demre just after lunch. The town felt like a dream slowly waking up—quiet streets, the scent of citrus in the air, and old men sipping tea outside corner shops. I checked into a small family-run pansiyon tucked between greenhouses and orange groves. Simple room. A balcony. Birds and mountain views. Perfect.
After a quick unpack and a glass of cold ayran offered by the host (bless Turkish hospitality), I wandered straight to Ancient Myra. I’ve seen my fair share of ruins, but these? They felt different. Maybe it was the way the Lycian tombs were carved high into the rock face like forgotten temples, or the way the afternoon sun lit up the Roman theater, empty and grand and humming with echoes. It wasn’t crowded—just me, a cat, and a few curious lizards.
That night, I grabbed grilled fish and salad at a tiny local spot, the kind with plastic chairs and the best food you’ll eat all month. I fell asleep early with the windows open, the sound of distant waves and frogs from the nearby creek lulling me into a deep, sea-scented sleep.
Day 2: Sunken Cities and Salt on My Skin
If Day 1 was for ruins, Day 2 was for the sea.
I joined a boat tour from Çayağzı Harbour, just 15 minutes from town, to explore Kekova and its sunken city. Sailing over ancient stone walls submerged in crystal-clear turquoise water felt like gliding over a forgotten world. No loud music. No crowds. Just wind, salt, and history beneath the waves.
We stopped in Kaleköy, a little village where the ruins of Simena Castle look out over a bay so blue it made my heart ache. I climbed to the top barefoot and sat in the ruins with my journal, jotting notes and feeling wonderfully, deliciously alone.
Back in Demre that evening, I found a quiet corner café and sipped tea under hanging vines, reading a few chapters of the book I’ve been neglecting for too long. Life slowed. My shoulders dropped. I breathed.
Day 3: Markets, Tomatoes, and a Beach All to Myself
It was Friday, which meant market day in Demre! Locals filled the square with stalls overflowing with tomatoes, herbs, cheeses, handmade goods, and the sweetest oranges I’ve ever tasted. I bought a straw hat I didn’t need, a bag of dried figs I absolutely did, and chatted (with hand gestures and smiles) to the vendors who seemed both amused and delighted by my excitement.
In the afternoon, I biked down to Tasdibi Beach—just me, a towel, and the wide open Mediterranean. No music. No vendors. Just soft sand, warm sun, and the occasional seagull. I read. I swam. I wrote a postcard. I thought about absolutely nothing.
Three days in, and Demre has already seeped under my skin.
It’s the kind of place that doesn’t try to impress you—it just exists quietly, beautifully, waiting for you to slow down enough to notice. I came looking for stillness, sun, and stories—and found them all in a seaside town that most people pass by.
Their loss.
I’ll be staying a little longer.
