Miletus (Greek, Μίλητος, Miletos; Latin, Miletus) was one the oldest and most important cities of ancient Ionia. When its harbour silted up, as at Ephesus and Priene, the ancient Greeks and Romans abandoned the place and went off somewhere else to seek their fortunes.

Unbothered by humans for centuries, plants and animals reconquered the decaying cities. Most of the animals make themselves scarce during daylight hours to avoid being eaten by the others or trampled upon by tourists visiting the archaeological sites. The dedicated nature lover will discover many creatures in the fields and woods and lurking among the rocks and undergrowths of the Ionian countryside. On this page you can see a few we found without really trying.

The starred agama lizard has a reputation for being shy, but this one did not seem overly concerned about being stared at as he basked in the spring sunshine on the marble seating of Miletus' huge theatre; in fact, it was clearly observing me with what one could imagine to be curiosity. Agamas are also said to be able to change colour according to mood and environment, though not quite in the spectacular way chameleons can. This, then, is an agama in its theatrical costume.

A row of tiny green toads (Bufo viridis) sat and hopped, sat and hopped along the diazoma, between the tiers of seating of the theatre of Miletus. They were only playing leapfrog, but didn't let me as close to them as the lizards.

They are only about 6 cm or less in length, and their camouflaged bodies and sudden quick movements make them really difficult to get in focus. Filmstars and other VIPs could do worse than to emulate the toads in order to evade the lenses of the paparazzi; the Bufo Look would cause quite a stir at next season's fashion shows as skinny models hop along the catwalks.

The toad above looks as though it is wearing make-up, with blue and gold touches around the eyes and the painstakingly applied scarlet dots along its warty side. Must take ages to get ready in the morning.

Turkey's Central Aegean coast is on the migration path of several bird species, including pelicans, storks, herons, cranes, falcons, geese, ducks and swallows, which in spring move en masse from winter quarters in Africa to their summer residences in western Asia and Europe.

Pelicans also frequently move around in groups to follow the fish. These are just three of a large group of pelicans flying over Miletus in May. No, I didn't count them, and have no idea where they were heading.

A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His bill will hold more than his belican,
He can take in his beak
Food enough for a week,
But I'm damned if I see how the helican.

As mentioned in Ionian Spring part 2, the Maeander River silted up the once grand harbours and bays of ancient Miletus, turning the place into a marsh, waterlogged for much of the year.

Although you can get an overview of the city's remains from the Byzantine fort above the theatre, once you get down into the marshy land the lines of sight are blocked by hillocks and vegetation, and orientation along the paths between the various ruins can become confusing. The city's famous grid system of streets, designed by Hippodamos of Miletus, has disappeared, signposting is rudimentary and there is no yellow brick road.

Cattle are grazed here to keep the archaeological site from becoming totally overgrown. But its no easy life for the animals since it is soggy underfoot, there are so many sharp, spiny plants such as giant thistles (see part 2), and they are plagued by millions of flies and other insects.

This lonesome cowboy, in charge of the cattle at Miletus, is quite a character in his quiet way. He has taken on the job of unofficial and unpaid tourist guide here. He happily shows visitors the way to the famous marble lions that lend their name to the "Lion Bay", which are under water and hidden among thick vegetation.

It is practically impossible to find the lions without the smiling cowhand's help. Trouble is, once you have walked along the dyke which keeps the water of the Maeander flood plain out of the site, and without which the place would be completely submerged, and scrambled through the bushes, the lions are a disappointment: all that remains of them are the bases and a little of their lower halves. Never mind, it's the thought that counts.

Like other farm workers in the region, he rides his typical chestnut pony without a saddle or stirrups; just a blanket or jacket thrown over the animal's back.

Topographically, Priene (Greek, Πριήνη; today near the village of Güllübahçe) was quite a different city to its southern neighbour Miletus. The grid of streets was laid out on the steep southeastern slope of Mount Mykale (Greek, Μυκάλη), today known as Samsun Daği. Much of this grid still exists, and this and the slope make it much easier to navigate around the melancholy ruins, though the gradient is steep.

A number of snake-eyed lizards (Ophisops elegans) skitter around the stones, eying up the tourists before disappearing into some impossibly narrow crevice. The sheen and patterns of their scales and their golden backs make them look as if they are made of metal, and the way their black eyes move up and down make it evident that they are inspecting you.

This lizard, in the Upper Gymnasium, had recently lost its tail. When threatened, many lizards present their tail to an enemy, and as the attacker grabs it the small reptile simply detaches itself from its rear appendage and escapes. Strange but true.

What kind of creature ended up with the tail between its teeth is anybody's guess. The lizards also fight among themselves: I was surprised by a pair of them in close combat leaping into the air above some tall grass. Real action heroes. Or was it a mating ritual?

Another Snake-eyed lizard at Priene's Upper Gymnasium. This one also appears to have dispensed with its tail at some point. Lost lizard tails grow back within about three months, but not to the great length or scaly beauty of the original: the replacement is much shorter, stiffer and rougher and supported by cartilage rather than more flexible vertebrae.

Some 80 kilometres south of Kuşadası, the village of Didim, near the site of ancient Didyma, presents a different aspect of Turkish rural life. It is late Friday afternoon, the sun has come out, the tour buses have chugged off to take weary sightseers back to their cruise ships and hotels, and many of the villagers are at their prayers inside this mosque.

It is suddenly very quiet outside and the only sound is the screeching of swallows going about their spring business. The metal bars which support the arches of this former Greek Orthodox church provide a great perch for the avian migrants. They sit in rows chirping their swallow gibberish and watch the humans go by. Their banter sounds something between twittering and squabbling; let's call it squibbling.

When I came out of the mosque again, there was just one lone bird squibbbling to him/herself. They can't touch you for it, so I've been told. He/she seemed happy enough, and not at all bothered by a cat with a camera.

Tourists don't come to Didyma in the huge numbers which swamp Ephesus and Pergamon. Partly it's because of the distance from the main tourist zones, and partly because the sole attraction here is the enormous unfinished Hellenistic Temple of Apollo and its ancient oracle.

A cat sits in the shade of an ancient marble lion in the Apollo Sanctuary of Didyma. Yes, you are quite right: a far too obvious juxtaposition. Nobody's forcing you to read this stuff, you know.

I have just seen another photo of this lion, taken over a year ago, with what looks like the very same cat sitting below it. Cats definitely have their favourite perches and haunts, and relish a good scrap to defend them. This one bares the scars to prove that it has survived several such territorial battles.

White storks (Ciconia ciconia), like many other animal species, choose to live near humans. Perhaps, being creatures of habit, they just keep returning every spring to places they always did, before homo sapiens arrived; perhaps it's because people provide structures ideal for nest perches.

People generally not only tolerate storks but welcome them and even assist their nesting activities: the leggy birds do not compete with us for food and their diet includes rodents, snakes and other creatures we consider pests, making them unwitting allies of farmers. In recent times towns and villages have also realized that storks are great tourist attractions and help lend an open, hospitable, eco-friendly image to a place.

Until the 20th century the area around the abandoned ancient city of Ephesus had been sparsely populated for hundreds of years, and the Byzantine aqueduct running through Selçuk had long been derelict. As at other ruined cities, nature reclaimed the landscape. The fertile, marshy plain is an ideal hunting ground for storks which colonized it and built their nests atop the ruins.

Over the last three decades the human population of Selçuk has more than doubled to over 30,000. Space has become scarcer and the increase in human activity is a growing challenge to the natural environment. Still the storks return, and the people of the town have even constructed metal bases to support the often unstable nests (see photos above and below).

The Temple of Artemis, or Artemision (Greek, Ἀρτεμίσιον), of Ephesus was the largest temple in the ancient Graeco-Roman world and one of its famous Seven Wonders, the list of man-made marvels compiled by Antipater of Sidon in the 2nd century AD (see Selçuk gallery 1, pages 3-4).

All that remains of the enormous edifice today is this reconstructed column and a few blocks of stone rising above the submerged foundations on the side of the road between Selçuk and Ephesus. John Turtle Wood, the British archaeologist who excavated the temple 1869, had to dig out over 6 metres of silt to uncover the ruins, leaving the deep depression known locally as "the English hole", which is waterlogged for much of the year.

The place may be a soggy disappointment for history lovers, but it is an oasis for plants and animals. Literally crowning the lone column, the stork's nest provides a poignant comment on human endeavours.

The open horse-drawn carriages which whisk tourists around Ephesus are known here as faytons, after Phaeton (or Phaethon, Φαέθων, the Shining One), son of the sun god Helios (or son of Apollo), who nearly set the world in flames when he lost control of his father's chariot of the sun. Zeus prevented the disaster by stopping the chariot with one of his thunderbolts which also killed Phaeton. The moral of the story: never borrow your dad's chariot.

Two faytons in the bus and car park immediately in front of the lower entrance to the Ephesus archaeological site. They can also be found at the upper entrance and in the nearby town of Selçuk.

Fayton drivers tout for business at several key places around Selçuk and Ephesus, and will offer visitors a tour around the Ephesus countryside, including a visit to the nearby Cave of the Seven Sleepers, located along a small farm road between the two entrances. Tour options also include the Meryemana (House of the Virgin Mary, entrance 15 Turkish Lira, around 7 Euros), on a wooded hill 5 km south of Ephesus (see Ionian spring part 1).

Two cats were engaged in a mysterious feline status interaction on a high embankment along the "Marble Street", next to the Great Theatre of Ephesus. Their caterwaul attracted the attention of passing tourists. A young Turkish man thought it would be fun to throw a large chunk of ancient marble at them; it hit the tabby in the ribs with a sickening thud. The man laughed at his lucky strike and looked around him for approval, but the other people, including his wife and children, were definitely not amused, though nobody raised a murmur of protest agianst the callous act.

The tabby, for its part, seemed too hypnotized by the confrontation it was engaged in to react. No doubt it felt the pain later, and perhaps the injury affected its combat readiness.

Suddenly the two cats sprang at each other and fell as one from the 3 metre high embankment down to street level. There followed a long head-to-head stand-off with Chinese catsong and the occasional burst of wrestling. Ginger definitely seemed to be gaining the upper paw and Tabby began to cower in submission...

The sleepy village of Akköy, 5 km south of Miletus, is where passengers change buses for the local villages, archaeological sites and beach resorts.

On a slow spring afternoon the place seemed to be inhabited solely by dogs who moved around in a dozy dream. The white dog walked up the main street to the junction with the Didyma to Priene road and then stopped, as if it couldn't remember why it had come there. After a while looking around for guidance or some sort of sign, it gave up and plodded back down the street whence it came.

Visit the My Favourite Planet Group on Facebook.