Below are photos and selected passages from my notebook during my travels to Türkiye…

6/16

On the flight into Istanbul from the west, the mountains and speckled islands of Greece give way to a dry landscape shrouded by a dusty mist — a dry mist broken when it reaches the sea. The hills are lined with buildings, windows lit and lights flashing. Large prideful flags and homages to politicians new and old. The cab driver takes winding streets and routes that would piss me off if we were in the US. The US perfected the highway. Turkey perfected the backstreet — the alleyway.

6/17

I’ve come to discover I look Turkish. People frequently great me with ‘merhaba’ and then many words I do not know. English can only get you so far on the Bodrum peninsula. Upon arrival, I walked down the road from my hostel to a restaurant — quite literally lured in by the smell like Mickey Mouse. I ate tandoori lamb, an eggplant tomato yogurt dish, stuffed cabbage rolls, and a salad. I drank a glass of raki and a Turkish tea for dessert.

I’m lonely here. The scenery is beautiful. The culture is new and infinitely complex. Catamarans and Greek islands populate the horizon. Minarets and sailboats stick out along a sea of white angular homes built into the hillside.

6/18-6/19

Spent the day in Gümüşlük with Mustafa, Arda, and Hooman. Man the Turks smoke like chimneys. They only let nearly five minutes pass before lighting another cigarette.

We walked down the beach to a shady spot by the water for dinner. I ordered a sardine sandwich. Mustafa ordered Turkish dumplings — small nickel-sized dumplings in yogurt sauce — and told the cook to make it how his mother does. He asked for a second spoon and had me finish the plate for him.

The buses here have been quite reliable. The bus went over the hill affording a gorgeous view of the coast and the white concrete houses — stacked like the sugar cubes I have been putting in my tea. Tell me why repetition here spells beauty, but in the US spells monotony? Perhaps the difference is quality, but I would be doing some intuitive plumbing about the quality of homes here.

I listened to Jim Croce and other songs that reminded me of Isabel.