turkish d-lite, as easy as abc

ataturk, the founder of the modern turkish republic, whose photo is hanging out apartment windows, adorning street lamps and boats all over the country

baklava (almost worth being obese for) and backgammon

cay (tea) served in dainty little glasses

doner kebabs at every turn and driving a scooter around the moon-esque landscape of cappadocia

eating home-cooked-by-mama 5 course meals in hostels and samples of everything in the egyptian bazaar

flames that inexplicably rise out of the rocks at olimpos and fishermen on the galata bridge in istanbul

gentle and wonderful turkish women, when i could find them (mobility isn’t exactly fundamental here)
hiking along the aegean sea

istanbul. one city two continents and a lot of awesome food, museums, byzantine art, churches, history, architecture, istiklal caddesi (a pedestrian street with a trolley that runs its length) and culture

just the most intense patriotism ever

kilims—traditional turkish rugs

lots of stray cats instead of the requisite stray dogs of the developing world. somehow it gives the world an air of mystery rather than an air of well, dog shit

mountains that rise out of the sea

norda, the brawny turkish woman who scrubbed my naked body clean as i lay on the smooth marble of a hamam (bath house)

old men drinking cay, gossipping and playing backgammon all day

produce like i’ve never seen. olives, oranges, apples, tangerines, melon, grapes, cherries, cheese, everything! that tastes like the freshness incarnate. oh, and food in general. obviously


quaint cities neighborhoods villages hostels

republic day fireworks over the bosphorous

starbucks (sorry). swimming in the mediterranean isn’t half bad, either. nor is sleeping in a treehouse

the call to prayer echoing all over town and turkish coffee, both of which really grow on you

unnervingly awesome and other-worldly cappadocian landscape


very lovely turkish porchsitting women who invited me for turkish coffee
wine tasting in a greek village. who knew melon and pomegranate wine were so freakin’ delicious

xylophone is like the only word that begins with an x. and i haven't seen a xylophone since africa

you whoever you are who dropped everything to give me directions or walk me to my destination

ze nargileh (waterpipe/ hookah)