Turkish Delight.

 Istanbul
Istanbool

Black lines on maps mark separation.
I can only see a muddy smear, just lapping up against the edge of this coffee sludge shore.

Through a wall of sandbags, Berlín flooded ínto Prague, Budapest, Bratislava...
Slovakian soup began spelling in Romanian and then a flick of the toungue, Bulgarian.
Cyrillic fades to Arabic,
Herds of sheep cloud ínto waves of exhaust.
Dirt roads now lead from palace to palace.
Istanbul.

Unledgible language, sweeter sweets, less hostile glares, more conversation in general,
more prominent noses, less babas, more head scarves, you know, little things.

Filter coffee is back in the picture frame! Only now it's a concious half Lire more than a filled-to-the-brim pinkies up cup of Turkish sludge; comes with a side of bells, gongs, and low lit lamps.

A puff of hookah then a slippery step down a pseudo abandoned cobble-y street, plunging from smudgy daylight ínto dark this is Istanbul.

I have to remind myself.

Rainy damp Berlin has muddled into a wet desert postcard. And I am doing the exact same thing.

 

facing east

facing west

lunchtime/teatime in the field...this farm was a toughie but lunch with the workers (think homemade turkish dishes eaten utensil-less) made the workday fade away pretty fast.

walking home : ) 5:00 is also when the sheep come home from kindergarten.

 

last sunset in kas! we had an early xmas celebration with a bottle of wine on the rocks : )