Life in ruins - a feature article by Ciaran Sneddon

When you're walking through a deserted ruin of an ancient city, you don't expect to see much life. Which is why, when I'm walking along what remains of a Roman street high in the Turkish hills, being faced by a trio of donkeys is more than a little surprising. I am in Kaunos, a Lycian-turned-Roman harbour city situated along the west coast of Turkey. My guidebook tells me that I'm on one of the main roads of Kaunos; you certainly wouldn't be able to tell by the uneven cobbles that remain, forming a treacherous path down the side of the hill.
The street I'm on is reaching its end and merges into a meadow area, covered in an assortment of grass, wild flowers and orange trees, complete with their sweet-smelling blossom.
Kaunos appears to grow from the ground itself, hardly surprising given how long it has been here. It begins at the brow of the hill above and stretches into the near distance. It looks out over a meandering river and marshland, although this was all once the sea. On some of the surrounding mountainsides you can still see the remains of the harbour walls, sticking out of the slopes like artificial outcrops.
Kaunos is not a big city, but was once a strong and prosperous place that exported large quantities of salt, fish and resin to the surrounding communities. It is now in a worn and ruined-state, although an amphitheatre, church and Roman bath all hold much of their original, impressive structure.

The donkeys move on, apparently uninterested in posing for a photograph, and head towards shelter from the burning sun. It's just after noon and the temperature is breaking 30 degrees. The donkeys choose to rest in the shade of a nearby orange tree and as they do a small pair of ears emerge from the undergrowth. Seconds later, the ears become a head and body as a foal precariously wobbles to its feet. Camera at the ready, I move forward to capture an image as it slowly trots over to its mother, but as I do one of the rocks by my feet moves. While I'll accept that donkeys living here is unlikely but possible, I'm not quite ready to believe that there are rocks living here too.
Of course, it isn't a moving rock but a moving shell. A tortoise is slowly ambling across the surface of the dusty, dry path towards a tuft of grass that looks particularly luscious.
Its face is old and wrinkly and the shell is faded with age, but it's camouflage is still incredible. Had it not moved, I doubt I'd have seen it at all. As it moves off, I see more "rocks" that have also sprouted legs and heads and they're racing, in a characteristically slow fashion, towards shelter and food.
I too move on and cross an overgrown patch that used to be a lane and walk through the base of an archway that dates back thousands of years.

The quality of remains at Kaunos is remarkable. Many of the larger stones across the site are inscribed with a mixture of Greek and Roman lettering, and a number of original columns remain across the city. Back in Britain, I can imagine these discoveries, found as part of various archeological digs in the area, would be carted away to be put in glass cases in museums across the country. The actual site would be rid of all character and visitors would be restricted by endless "Keep off the monument" and "Look don't touch" signs. Here, there are no rules or barriers and once you have paid your 8 lira entry fee (around £3) you are free to roam the ruins. I think it's because of this that the city feels like, well just that, a city. In the amphitheatre you feel like part of a Roman crowd, as you walk through a grand tunnel into the arena. In the temple, whilst all that remains is a central altar feature, there is a serene feeling. This isn't so much a tourist attraction as a walk through a city, where you just happen to be a few thousand years too late.
The city was abandoned in the 15^th century, when a marsh grew between Kaunos and the sea, ruining the prominent trading industry that had once made it such a prosperous place. A malaria epidemic ruined any chance of the city surviving as a place for human prosperity. Since then, nature has continued to take a grip of the city and it now plays host to a larger community than it ever did before; with the noticeable exception of humans.
The sun is beating down, so I head towards the shade of a nearby tree. The call to prayer from a mosque the other side of the hills has begun, and the haunting call from the top of the minaret echoes as it rolls across the mountains.
The sun dips behind one of the few clouds in the sky so I decide to walk to one of the older baths in the city. It is a large structure that drops into the ground like a swimming pool, but it has fallen victim to the clutches of a tangle of thorn bushes that now cling to its edge. It lies dry, covered in cracked mud. Once the centre of social activity in Kaunos, the bath now plays host to fleets of tiny frogs, no bigger than your thumbnail, jumping and clambering their way along its base and up some rubble to the grass beyond. They have recently emerged from a nearby fountain that is now full of algae-green water and a swarm of tadpoles.
It's fascinating to see how life has evolved in Kaunos; generations of animals have settled here since humans last called this place home. All around, nature is making use of its surroundings. A herd of goats is looking down from the top of a tall pile of rubble, searching for food. A conga line of ants dance their way across the cobbles carrying the seeds of the grass that pushes its way through the cracks in the rock. Three lizards bathe in the sun as it shines down in the amphitheatre. A snake launches itself under a column as I pass. There's even a crab enjoying the view from the top of the hill. Every so often a step in the grass causes an eruption of flies, enjoying the latest deposit from the lone cow that wanders the empty streets.
Life is abundant here, far from the deadly claws of the pollution and destruction of modern civilisation. 
This is a city that continues to be as prosperous and vibrant as it was thousands of years before and whilst one part of it remains cloaked in history, it is also a place for the future. As long as there is life here, Kaunos will never truly be a dead city.