Olympos and the Chimaera Flames

Two sites, a few kilometres apart, that make very little sense next to each other and are far better for it. One is a Lycian city that the forest has half swallowed. The other is a hillside where fire comes out of the ground and has done so, without pause, for as long as anyone has recorded it.

Olympos lies in a narrow river valley that opens onto a pebble beach. There is no cleared archaeological park here in the usual sense — you follow a stream bed past sarcophagi standing among oleander, a Roman bath with its brickwork exposed, a theatre losing an argument with tree roots, and a fortified bluff above the cove. Ruins appear between fig trees rather than behind ropes. It is one of the more atmospheric ancient sites on this coast precisely because it has not been tidied.

Above the village of Cirali, methane seeping through fissures in the rock burns in open flame on a bare hillside. A stepped stone path climbs to the vents. The flames are permanent — they cannot be blown out for long and relight themselves — and the smallest of them can be steadied with a hand nearby, which is the moment most visitors realise the phenomenon is entirely real.

Ancient sailors navigated by this fire and built a story around it: the Chimaera, a fire-breathing hybrid pinned beneath the mountain by Bellerophon on the winged horse Pegasus. Whether the myth explains the flames or the flames invented the myth is an argument that will outlast all of us.

Hotel pickup and drop-off in an air-conditioned Mercedes, a guide, entrance fees, lunch at a local restaurant, bottled water and insurance are all included in the booking.

The path to the flames is loose stone and steps, and the ground at Olympos is uneven riverbed and roots. Closed shoes with grip make both sites straightforward; sandals make both a nuisance.