Şirince

21 Nisan 2007

Where to begin? Showing the views of Cihangir to my visiting friend, Anya? the visit to Burgazada (the island) with her?

Walking around with the unredeemably bitchy and alcoholic Ash through Balat, negotiating for Anya in my very limited Turkish, then sending her off on her own adventure here? To stay at the Buyuk Londra, once a haven for eccentric artsy types, with coughing parrot and a vast collection of ceramic coal stoves; now an attraction of same for the bourgeoisie who would like to appear more adventurous than they really are— ? One must have one's own adventure, or experience, here; but if anyone should stay, it should be she.

The unfolding melodrama of the mediocre people who reign in the academic realm where I teach and tutor, with no relation to either skills or training?

The visit of one of my oldest friends, David—a sleepy arrival, an extraordinarily early flight, with minor glitches we drive off in a rental car to a tiny village in the mountains

an "old Greek village" whose history it might be sad to know, but whose setting is so soothingly beautiful—stone paved roads, stone houses and outdoor divans with soft cushions, a wild figure on horseback riding through the village like a warrior separated from his cohorts,

...a crowd of goats momentarily engulfing me, then heading stubbornly home?