We live in an age of casual miracles.
Yesterday I woke up in Hasankeyf, and
went to bed in Diyarbakir. Tonight I will sleep in Istanbul, and
tomorrow I will travel to Tel Aviv, flying at an incomprehensible 500
miles per hour through the air, among people who won't even bother to
look at the clouds anymore.
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| The Tomb of Amynthus above Fethiye |
Perhaps humans are meant to wander, or
perhaps to till the soil of a single valley their entire life, but my
last three weeks have spanned from the cave houses of the world's
first empire to the skeezy waiters in a cruise ship town. I've walked
up to the 4th century BC Tomb of Amynthus in Fethiye, down the hill of Mardin
towards the plains where Babylon rose and fell, and around the
ancient fortification walls of Diyarbakir, which stretch for six
kilometers, built of history and covered in garbage.
And tonight I walk the ancient streets
of Constantinople and the modern ones of Istanbul, and all the
millennia are irrelevant in a place utterly defined by the absence of
one woman.
With one night in this unique city, I
had a daunting array of choices available, the tyranny of choice that
humans think they want but drives them mad. What to do? Whatever I
want, so long as I enjoy it and don't think “Maybe I should have
done something else.”
So I had a glass of çai
next to Kadiköy harbor, where the ferry traffic between continents
never stops, and everyone has someplace urgent to go but me. The sun
was getting tired in the sky, and the Hagia Sophia stood a graceful
statement in slanting sunlight across the Bosphorus.
The
prospect of returning to that side, where she and I walked together,
was too much. So I hid on the Asian shore, where a single day's
passage had left less reminders.
I
wandered, camera close at hand and a specific bittersweet song stuck in my head,
and found myself taking pictures of things I thought she'd like.
Walking away each time, I struggled to balance the urge to banish the
tears with the importance of feeling the emotion. It's a path I find
difficult.
One last Turkish dinner, yet another
new type of kebab to try (food posts to follow...someday), and back
to the hotel where I was so vigilant against bed bugs while making my
decision that I didn't notice the rat traps in the hallway, or the
odd tube that emerges from the wall to drain into my shower. I sure
know how to pick 'em.
Anything else for my last night in
Turkey? I think a baklava and one more çai
should do the trick, though I suspect the sight of her favorite
dessert will be stronger than even my epicurean tendencies.
Thank
you, Turkey. It has been a rewarding few weeks and my memory is full
with your details, but your streets are too full with my memory.
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