I have always been drawn to ancient history. Greek, Roman, prehistoric, you name it. From the Great Pyramids of Giza to Stonehenge, there has always been something compelling about standing in places that have outlasted everything around them. A few years ago, we went on a road trip through the Peloponnese. Names that had once lived only in books, Corinth, Mycenae, Olympia, and Delphi, became real in a way that is hard to replicate anywhere else. It was the kind of trip that stayed with me long after we came home, and I knew I wanted to continue that exploration.
This time, we looked east. Across the Aegean, western Anatolia holds just as much history, layered across landscapes that feel far less visited. As I started mapping out the route, it quickly became clear that this would not just be about ruins. There were lakes, mountains, and national parks woven between the ancient cities, and it felt important to balance both. To see the past, but also the landscapes that shaped it.
Somewhere along the way, I also began assigning each day a figure from mythology. Doing this was like weaving a quiet thread to connect the places back to the stories that first drew me to them.
Into Turkey’s Lake District
We flew into Antalya Airport, picked up a rental car, and drove north toward Turkey’s Lake District, a region stretching across Burdur and Isparta, defined by quiet roads, scattered villages, and a chain of lakes set against the Taurus Mountains.
Our base for the next few days was Ağlasun, a small town sitting just below the ancient city of Sagalassos. The journey inland took just under two hours, gradually leaving behind the coast and giving way to something slower and more rural.
Arrival in Ağlasun
By the time we reached Ağlasun, it was already evening, and the shift in pace from the coast was immediate. The town itself is quiet, almost understated, but Sagalassos Lodge & Spa Hotel stood out straight away. Set slightly apart and looking out toward the mountains, it had a calm, unpolished charm that made it easy to settle in quickly.
We decided to stay in for dinner that night, which turned out to be one of the better decisions of the trip. The meal began, as so many in Turkey do, with meze, a selection of small shared dishes, followed by a fresh salad of tomatoes, cucumber, greens, and walnuts. Victor ordered köfte, grilled minced meat skewers, and we finished by sharing a portion of sütlaç, a creamy baked rice pudding with a lightly caramelised top.
The next morning, breakfast at the hotel set the tone for what would become a pattern throughout the trip. The table filled quickly with small plates, vegetables, cheeses, olives, pastries, and preserves, alongside freshly cooked eggs. It was generous without feeling heavy, and it made it easy to take our time before heading out.
Canyons and Lakes
We started the day by driving south into the mountains toward Yazılı Canyon, where the landscape narrowed into forested slopes and a river-cut gorge. A path runs alongside the water, crossing small bridges and moving in and out of shaded sections, with the sound of the river never far away.
Not long after we started walking, we were joined by an unexpected companion. A dog appeared along the path and, without much hesitation, seemed to decide to guide us for the rest of the visit. He moved ahead when the trail opened up, waited when we slowed down, and stayed with us the entire way through the canyon and back again.
Somewhere along the walk, I found myself thinking about the figure for the day. If there was a place for Artemis, it was here, in the forests and along the river, in a landscape that still felt largely untouched. Whether the dog was her companion or simply a very dedicated guide, it was easy to imagine him as part of the setting.
After the canyon, we drove north toward Lake Eğirdir, where the landscape opened out into wide, expansive views across the water. Surrounded by mountains and dotted with small villages, the lake felt calm and almost untouched, a striking contrast to the rugged canyon we had just left behind.
As we approached the shoreline, the colour of the water shifted with the light, soft blues and silvery tones stretching into the distance, giving the whole area a quiet, almost serene atmosphere.
We stopped for lunch at a lakeside fish restaurant, beginning once again with meze before moving on to a salad of greens, pickled red onions, beets, corn, and orange. This combination felt unexpectedly fresh and distinct.
For the main course, we ordered small fried sardines and sea bass from the lake, simple dishes that suited the setting perfectly. It was the kind of meal that did not try to stand out, but stayed with you anyway.
That evening, we returned to Ağlasun and went into town for dinner. It is not a place that feels particularly busy, especially after dark, but we found a small pide restaurant and settled in. I ordered a simple cheese pide, a Turkish flatbread baked with toppings, while Victor went for an Adana version, topped with spiced minced meat.
Sagalassos: A City in the Mountains
If the first two days were about understanding the landscape, the third was about understanding why this place mattered.
Sagalassos sits high in the Taurus Mountains above Ağlasun, built along steep, south-facing slopes and carefully adapted to the terrain through a series of terraces. At its height, it became the principal city of Pisidia under Roman rule, supported by fertile land, agricultural surplus, and a thriving ceramics industry that exported fine tableware across the eastern Mediterranean.
Entering the City
Arriving early in the morning, the site was empty. As we entered, we seemed to acquire another guide, this time a cat with markings that gave it the look of a small cheetah, weaving in and out of the ruins as we moved through the site.
We began near the lower entrance, first passing the remains of an urban mansion, a reminder that even here, high in the mountains, there was once a wealthy and structured urban life. Nearby, the vast Imperial Baths of Sagalassos hinted at the scale and ambition of the city, built not just for necessity, but as statements of Roman engineering and civic pride.
As we began to climb, the structure of Sagalassos started to reveal itself. We moved upward toward the Macellum, the city’s marketplace, before reaching the Upper Agora, the monumental heart of the city. Here, the scale becomes immediately apparent. The terraces, carved into the mountainside, create a dramatic setting where architecture and landscape feel inseparable.
Dionysus and the City of Water
At the centre of it all stands the Antonine Nymphaeum, one of the most striking features of the site. Water still flows down its reconstructed façade, just as it would have in antiquity. This is where Dionysus came into focus.
The Antonine Nymphaeum was dedicated to Dionysus, the god of wine, theatre, and celebration, but also of transformation, nature, and the more instinctive, untamed aspects of life.
In a city like Sagalassos, this connection makes sense. Water was not just practical; it was symbolic. Flowing water brought life to the city, just as Dionysus represented vitality, renewal, and abundance. Standing there, with water still cascading over stone, the ruins felt less static. There was movement, sound, and a sense that the city had not entirely lost its energy.
Monuments of Power and Memory
From the Upper Agora, we continued exploring the surrounding structures, including the bouleuterion, where civic decisions were made, and the Doric Temple, reflecting earlier architectural traditions.
Nearby, the Northwest Heroon stood as a monument to memory and honour, blending local traditions with Roman influence. Each structure added another layer, political, religious, and social, revealing how the city functioned as a whole.
Higher Still
Continuing upward, we reached the theatre, perched high on the mountainside. From here, the view stretches out across the valley below, reinforcing just how strategically positioned Sagalassos was. The setting is dramatic, almost improbable, a city built not despite the mountains, but because of them.
The Neon Library
One of the more unexpected moments came at the Neon Library. From the outside, it would have been easy to pass by, but as we approached, a staff member unlocked the door and allowed us inside. The space felt immediately different from the rest of the site, smaller, enclosed, and more intimate.
The floor mosaics, still remarkably well preserved, drew all the attention, their patterns offering a quieter, more detailed view of the past.
Descending Through the City
From there, we began to make our way back down through the city, passing the Hellenistic Fountain House and moving toward the lower levels. We continued past the Odeon, another space for gathering and performance, and the Late Hadrianic and Severan nymphaea, each reflecting the city’s continued investment in water, architecture, and public life.
Further down, the Lower Agora opened up, followed by the Tiberian Gate, which once marked a key entrance into the city. From here, the Grand Collonaded Street stretched out, forming the backbone of urban movement, connecting the different levels of the city into a coherent whole.
A City That Endures
What makes Sagalassos stand out is not just its preservation, but the kind of story it tells. It is often compared to Pompeii, but the comparison only goes so far. Pompeii captures a single moment in time, frozen by disaster. Sagalassos tells a much longer story, shaped over centuries of continuous occupation, adaptation, and gradual decline.
After being largely forgotten, the site was rediscovered in the late twentieth century. Today, ongoing research and conservation, led by the Sagalassos Archaeological Research Project in collaboration with KU Leuven and supported by the Global Heritage Fund, continue to uncover and restore parts of the city.
Now on the UNESCO World Heritage Tentative List, Sagalassos remains one of the best-preserved ancient cities in the Mediterranean, not because it was frozen in time, but because it was allowed to evolve, endure, and eventually return to the landscape that once sustained it.
Leaving the Mountains
After leaving Sagalassos, we drove down toward Burdur for lunch, stopping at Toros Lokantası. The meal began, as expected, with meze, but quickly became something more memorable. We ordered the Toros pide, topped with nigella seeds, walnuts, village cheese, and butter, while Victor went for the local speciality, Burdur şiş, a simple lamb skewer the city is known for. Alongside it, we had Mercimek Çorbası, a smooth, comforting lentil soup that turned out to be one of the highlights of the meal.
As the meal came to an end, tea arrived without asking, along with small touches that felt quietly generous, sweets, toothpicks, and cloves. We learned that cloves are sometimes chewed after a meal to aid digestion, a small detail that stayed with me as much as the food itself.
We continued on to the Burdur Museum, where many of the finds from Sagalassos are displayed. Among them was a large marble figure of Dionysus, a quiet continuation of the thread from earlier in the day.
Before leaving town, we stopped for baklava and picked up some local strawberries, small additions that felt in keeping with the rhythm of the day.
From there, we drove on toward Lake Salda, where the landscape shifted once again. The pale shoreline and deep blue water gave the lake an almost unreal quality. We walked along the edge and stopped for tea at a café overlooking the water, letting the day settle before continuing on.
By the time we left, the mountains of Sagalassos already felt distant. The journey was beginning to turn westward, toward the next stage of the trip.
After days of lakes and mountain cities, our next stop is the terraces of Pamukkale and the epic site of Hierapolis. How will it compare?
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