The mysterious cities of the dead carved into the sides of cliffs

Lycian rock-cut tombs above Fethiye in Turkiye (Ron Watts/The Image Bank RF/Getty Images via CNN Newsource)

The ancient Lycians knew a thing or two about democracy. Two thousand years ago, the one-time rulers of modern-day Turkiye’s southwestern corner had a fully functioning democratic federation that centuries later inspired America’s political structure.

While democracies everywhere might be facing turbulent times, another Lycian legacy remains steadfastly present in the Mediterranean region they used to call home. And this one is focused almost entirely around death.

Drive around the coast of this beautiful region and you’ll never be too far from a spectacular city of the dead – elaborate tombs carved by Lycians into the sides of cliffs overlooking towns, valleys and shorelines.

That’s not all. Scattered throughout the countryside and towns are imposing sarcophagi that likely once held the remains of high and mighty denizens of Lycia. Indeed, they’re such a familiar sight that they’re often casually included as part of urban landscapes.

For visitors, especially those interested in history, tracking them down is an adventure all on its own.

While some are preserved in ticketed archaeological sites, others are free to explore — but can require Indiana Jones-level exploration skills, clambering up vertiginous hillsides, riding boats and delving into the undergrowth to find.

A good starting place is Fethiye, a low-key port city that’s a useful jumping-off point for great beaches and attractions all along Turkiye’s so-called Turquoise Coast riviera. After a day of swimming in those glorious waters, it’s worth a sunset trek to the overlooking cliffs.

Here, way up above the city — known as Telmessos in Lycian times — and with a commanding view as the last golden moments of the day melt into the Aegean, are the Aminthas Rock Tombs, a honeycomb of carved portals dating from the 4th century BCE.

Pay the three-euro (just over US$3) entrance fee and you can climb the steps to the main tomb fronted by Greek-style columns. The tomb is empty, looted centuries ago, but the view and the chance to get up close to such an ancient monument are treasures enough.

Obsessed with death?

It is, of course, a popular selfie spot — with some hardcore snappers sitting it out until closing time to get a prized shot of themselves with no other tourists in the picture. But being a little off the beaten trail, it’s not overwhelmed with visitors, even at magic hour.

Other than the fact that tomb occupant Aminthas was the “son of Hermapias,” little is known about it, or any of the death rites performed by the Lycians. Did these elevated resting places signify being closer to the heavens or further from the underworld?

Local legend, according to Önder Uğuz, a guide based in the region, claims the Lycians placed their dead in cliff crevices or beach tombs so that a winged siren-like creature could carry them to the afterlife.

There’s no archaeological evidence to support this, however.

It’s a mystery, says Catherine Draycott, an associate professor of archaeology at the U.K.’s Durham University, who has studied Lycian cliff tombs, as well as sarcophagi and another rarer variation — sarcophagi placed atop pillars.

It is known that Lycians lived in the region for centuries, developing their monuments to death from the fifth century BCE onward during times when it was variously controlled or influenced by Greeks, Romans and Persians. Tombs seem to be among the few surviving physical reminders of the Lycian presence.

Draycott says that some speculate that Lycians were obsessed with death, but much of our understanding of their beliefs is pure speculation.

“We can guess there might be some kind of economic status difference between the people who made those tombs, but that’s not known. Visibility is clearly important… not just being on a road but being able to be seen from a distance is obviously important.

“Do we know why? No.”

Myth creation

More impressive rock-cut tombs can be seen northwest of Fethiye, near the city of Dalyan, and several more sites south and east, not least at the ancient city of Myra (entry fee 13 euros), near what is now the Turkish town of Demre.

Here the cliffside necropolis stands above what later became a prosperous Roman city with a theater, the ruins of which survive today. It’s possible to enter ground-level tombs, but those higher up, some bearing elaborate carvings, are out of reach.

What these cliff tombs have in common with the unusual pillar tombs, found at the inland Lycian site of Xanthos (entry fee 3 euros), are the elevation of human remains toward the sky. Again, the significance of this can only be speculated, says Draycott.

“We can’t say whether there is a link between Lycian beliefs and sky gods,” she says, pointing out that ancient death traditions emerging from the Mediterranean Levant region tended more toward so-called Chthonic spirits believed to dwell beneath the ground.

“The tombs certainly imply that there is a desire not to be buried below ground and a desire to be high up — but it’s not clear whether the people buried higher up had an advantage over others, although you could say that the status, would’ve been greater in terms of tomb competition, because they would’ve somehow had to get their masons up there.”

She theorizes that tombs such as those on pillars could’ve simply been exercises in community building — perhaps using ancestor worship to create myths and genealogical loyalty to foster a more cohesive society in times of turmoil.

While, as Draycott points out, many of the main Lycian burial sites are designed to be very visible parts of cityscapes, there are so many dotted around this part of the world that some have simply become part of the landscape.

Which is why you find cars blithely driving past a sarcophagus in the middle of the road at Fethiye, or stuck in a traffic circle in the coastal resort town of Kaş. Or why there’s a rock-carved tomb, seemingly ignored, next to a capsicum farm miles from anywhere.

Tombs with a view

Kaş, another Turquoise Coast gem, is the kind of tourist town where pleasant evenings are to be spent wandering around lanes of boutique shops (and tombs) and hopping between open-air bars and restaurants alongside the bustling harbor.

Anyone up for an adventure before they change into their fancy linen outfit should head up to the hill behind Lykia Cadesi, a road of residences and guest houses. There, almost hidden by flowering shrubs is a “Lycian rock tombs” sign pointing up a steep staircase.

The steps lead to one tomb, but there are more further up the cliff if you’re prepared to scramble up sometimes scarily vertiginous rock faces. You don’t need to be an expert climber, but strong nerves and a head for heights are useful.

It’s another spectacular place to be at sunset, with epic panoramas over Kaş and the Aegean beyond. Just don’t let it get too dark before climbing back down.

There are plenty of less extreme Lycian tomb raids to enjoy in this corner of Turkiye. Along the coast between Kaş and Demre is the village of Kaleüçağız, where regular boat tours depart to see the nearby ruins of a sunken ancient Greek city, but also call in on a Lycian tomb standing in water.

But Kaleüçağız has other Lycian treats up its sleeve. A short walk along a rugged track heading east out of the village leads to Theimussa Ancient City, a collection of gigantic sarcophagi standing amid gigantic boulders and overlooking the nearby bay.

The size of such stone tombs and their heavy lids is, says archaeologist Draycott, an indication of the status of those who would’ve occupied them. “It would’ve been a real performance,” to inter people’s remains, she says. “Those lids weigh tons.”

Despite the rich history to be explored at Theimussa, it’s another quiet spot. There’s a good chance you’ll be here alone, with most visitors heading for the sunken city. Bring a towel and you can have a quiet solo swim here to admire the tombs from offshore.

Back in Kaleüçağız, there are more tombs sitting unceremoniously in parking lots. Astounding though this wealth of history can be for the visitor, for locals these indomitable relics of a long-vanished civilization can sometimes just be part of the wallpaper.

“I don’t really care about the historical things,” says Yusuf Mazili, a young man waiting tables in the family-owned Gönül Cafe on the edge of the village. “I prefer nature.”