I take a sip of çay and look out across the bay to the pier.
The muezzin just finished the afternoon call to prayer, and a dozen seagulls bob peacefully on the water — digesting the gevrek thrown to them by commuters, and waiting to greet the next ferry.
A siren wails in the distance. This city is never quiet long.
There's a boat docked next to me and by the colors and insignia I assume it's the coast guard. No fewer than nine men are gathered on deck peeking over the edge at a piece of equipment that looks like a giant rope ladder, rolled up and mounted against the side of the boat. I try to guess what it's for, but my imagination runs dry.
The sun beats down, but the breeze off the water carries a chill. I slink out of my wool jacket, then pull it back around my shoulders. I always think of Audrey Hepburn when I wear my jacket that way. I smile and imagine this moment as if it were a black and white postcard.
The bottom of my empty teacup glares up at me. I consider ordering lunch, but my pocket dictionary doesn't have the word for menu, and I don't feel like pantomime.
The tiny biscuit that came with my çay will have to do for now. I bite into it and my tastebuds shoot off fireworks. What is this flavor? It's sharp and strong and warm. Anise, maybe? Cardamom? If I've tasted it before I can't place it.
I'm not sure if I like it, but I take another bite.
A Romani woman approaches my table. She says something in Turkish and I nod no. She sets an odd shaped bean on my table. Or is it a nut? I'm curious, but I know not to touch it.
She asks me if I understand Turkish, but I pretend I don't know what she says. This ain't my first rodeo, lady. Finally she snatches up her nut/bean thing and walks away, cursing me.
The sun has slipped low in the sky, silhouetting the hills that flank Izmir. I see those same hills from my balcony, and I wonder where my house lies on the horizon.
The market will close soon. I debate going or staying. I don't need anything, just looking for an adventure.
The wind picks up and the water laps against the stone wall that surrounds the bay, holding the city in as much as the water out.
The coast guard men have moved inside — all nine of them crowded into the boat's small cabin. The ladder contraption is wrapped in an orange tarp. They either fixed it or gave up.
I catch the waiter's eye and gesture for the check.
The muezzin just finished the afternoon call to prayer, and a dozen seagulls bob peacefully on the water — digesting the gevrek thrown to them by commuters, and waiting to greet the next ferry.
A siren wails in the distance. This city is never quiet long.
There's a boat docked next to me and by the colors and insignia I assume it's the coast guard. No fewer than nine men are gathered on deck peeking over the edge at a piece of equipment that looks like a giant rope ladder, rolled up and mounted against the side of the boat. I try to guess what it's for, but my imagination runs dry.
The sun beats down, but the breeze off the water carries a chill. I slink out of my wool jacket, then pull it back around my shoulders. I always think of Audrey Hepburn when I wear my jacket that way. I smile and imagine this moment as if it were a black and white postcard.
The bottom of my empty teacup glares up at me. I consider ordering lunch, but my pocket dictionary doesn't have the word for menu, and I don't feel like pantomime.
The tiny biscuit that came with my çay will have to do for now. I bite into it and my tastebuds shoot off fireworks. What is this flavor? It's sharp and strong and warm. Anise, maybe? Cardamom? If I've tasted it before I can't place it.
I'm not sure if I like it, but I take another bite.
A Romani woman approaches my table. She says something in Turkish and I nod no. She sets an odd shaped bean on my table. Or is it a nut? I'm curious, but I know not to touch it.
She asks me if I understand Turkish, but I pretend I don't know what she says. This ain't my first rodeo, lady. Finally she snatches up her nut/bean thing and walks away, cursing me.
The sun has slipped low in the sky, silhouetting the hills that flank Izmir. I see those same hills from my balcony, and I wonder where my house lies on the horizon.
The market will close soon. I debate going or staying. I don't need anything, just looking for an adventure.
The wind picks up and the water laps against the stone wall that surrounds the bay, holding the city in as much as the water out.
The coast guard men have moved inside — all nine of them crowded into the boat's small cabin. The ladder contraption is wrapped in an orange tarp. They either fixed it or gave up.
I catch the waiter's eye and gesture for the check.