PRIVATE – Antalya Explorer | 7 days

The first breath of Antalya is warm and alive — sea salt, pine, and sun-soaked stone. Your driver greets you with an easy smile, and as the Mercedes glides past orange trees and bougainvillea, the Mediterranean opens like a welcome embrace.
At your boutique hotel above the old harbor, time softens. A short evening walk introduces you to the city’s rhythm — locals sipping tea by the sea, the scent of grilled fish curling through the air. Tonight’s dinner is simple and heartfelt, in a family-run restaurant where the owner’s mother still cooks. You don’t just arrive — you belong.

Morning sunlight washes over the marble streets of Perge, a city where St. Paul once preached and Roman generals dreamed of glory. The air feels charged — as though the columns remember their stories. You pause to watch an old man selling pomegranates by the gate, his family tending this land as their ancestors did for centuries.
In Aspendos, the theatre rises like a hymn to perfection. Built in honor of Emperor Marcus Aurelius by the architect Zeno in the 2nd century, it still stands flawless — sound carrying effortlessly across its stone tiers. You whisper, and your voice returns as if the Romans themselves answered. Lunch follows in a riverside village, where trout grills over wood fire and homemade bread arrives still warm.

The scent of pine thickens as the road curves toward Phaselis, where Alexander the Great once moored his fleet. Here, ruins lie gently among wildflowers, waves folding over ancient harbors. You wander freely — no crowds, just the rhythm of cicadas and the sea.
In Olympos, ivy swallows stone and myths cling to every path. Locals share stories of pirates, gods, and forbidden love while serving you fresh orange juice from their garden. Later, at Çıralı Beach, you dine with your feet in the sand as the sun sets. There’s laughter, candlelight, and the easy silence of belonging.

A winding road climbs into the Taurus Mountains, where Sagalassos appears among clouds — a lost city beloved by Emperor Hadrian. Marble columns pierce the mist, and water still trickles through the Antonine Fountain, flowing as it did two millennia ago.
Nearby, a village welcomes you for lunch. You’re invited into a courtyard shaded by grapevines; homemade gözleme is served with ayran and pride. The family speaks little English, but gestures, laughter, and kindness are fluent. You realize you’re not observing life here — you’re part of it.

In Demre, inside the Church of St. Nicholas, soft candlelight flickers on Byzantine frescoes. The air smells of incense and time. Outside, fishermen mend their nets — life still anchored to the same rhythm it held centuries ago.
A private wooden boat takes you across the calm waters of Kekova, where an ancient Lycian city sleeps beneath the sea. The captain serves tea brewed on deck and tells stories passed down from his grandfather. When you swim, the ruins shimmer below — an underwater echo of civilizations that never truly vanished.

Back in Antalya, you explore it through local eyes. At Hadrian’s Gate, built in AD 130 to honor the Emperor’s visit, marble lions still guard the entrance. In Kaleiçi, you chat with artisans carving olive wood, sip Turkish coffee with the locals, and lose track of time in a spice-scented bazaar.
Your farewell dinner unfolds in a private courtyard where music drifts from a nearby oud player. Plates arrive slowly — meze after meze — each with a story. By the end of the night, you’re not saying goodbye to a destination, but to friends.

The morning is calm; seagulls circle above the harbor. You take one last sip of strong Turkish tea, watching the city stir awake. The driver smiles knowingly — everyone leaves, but no one truly goes. Antalya lingers, soft as sun on your skin, waiting for your return.