Stalking barefooted in the warm shallow waters incessantly spilling over the rims of the shel-formed travertines of Pamukkale reminds me of an old poem of an abandoned English nobleman. Fleeting images of joy. Relaxed youth dazzled by the red-orange crown of the sun sinking way back there behind the bluish grays of nameless mountains into sunsets to remember for ever. Under their barren feet the soothing caress of the thermal waters and the fables, the legends and the many histories of real antiquity in the air.
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