Aşkım

Sallarina found her sultan, hidden in the dark alley of Utku sokak. White as a ghost he had been running for miles trying to escape the demands of hundreds of harem hooligans. As Sallarina stepped out from a shadow hidden behind the disguise of the White Witch from Wangaratta, she whispered closely into the sultan's ear "come my pretty, i will protect you with my evil eye". Behind the closed doors of the Safronbolu stables she unleashed her true self. Despite premature ageing and post-teen pimples, she was the most lovely women he had seen that day. So, he thought to himself "desperate times call for desperate measures" and he whisked her away to the valley of sweet coffee and hazelnut cigarettes. They built a home made of roasted chestnuts and furnished it with ikea candy. They lived happily ever after knowing that one day the harem would soon become a refuge for soulless sultans who lost their way after not listening to the white witch hiding in the sokak of Safronbolu.

Happy Valentines Day canım benim, seni çok seviyorum.

Crossing Continents

As i wait for my Beşiktaş ferry i breath in the crisp, fresh sea water air. The sky is dark but not black. Intervals of light cascade through the sky as if fighting for the last dance of the day. It has been raining so the water is calm, and the seagulls use the opportunity to glide effortlessly through the air without the usual boisterous Bosphorus breeze to slow them down.

To catch a ferry on the Bosphorus is a daily escape from the city's chaos. It has an intrepid flare, with a continent to cross and rough winds to endure, some days i wonder if i'll even reach the other side. My wonder never reaches the height of worry as i gaze at the landscapes that have remained the ambassador image of this mysterious city for years. As the ferry stretches along the opening of the Marmara sea, the cusp of land that proudly display's its historic gems; the blue Mosque, Hagia Sofia and Topkapı Palace, aim to impress and impress they do. The shape of the mosque with its pillars swimming in the clouds is graceful and euphoric. The combination of gloomy winter skies and eary Islamic landscapes transfixes me into a film fantasy, where i, the exotic princess Sallarina from far away lands has travelled the seas in search for my Sultan. Something like prince Ali in Aladdin, only I'm the heroine and i must rescue my sultan from the evils of the Harem (where sultans once kept their copious amounts of women).
The five minute fantasy fades as my ipod song changes from the dreamy massive attack tunes to a Ministry of Sound heart skipping, ear thumping trance. A sign for silence i think to myself, well at least the silence that the wind chooses and the seagulls define.

As the ferry turns and gives a wink to the golden horn i gaze at the Galata bridge where the hussle and bustle of fishermen and finger food go hand in hand. From there my eyes follow up the hill to Galata tower, standing there staking it's claim in the once Genovese district, looking lonely although it will never dare to admit it. My eyes stretch along the shore front of Beyoğlu where i notice the familiar color scheme that seems so popular in and around the city. A back drop of mostly white apartment buildings elevate the also common reds, yellows and orangy pinks that give warmth to the city in the long dark winter. The odd high rise unwelcomely pops out of the pastel picture and i imagine my secret laser eyeball to disintegrate them into thin air, or thick air rather, in this part of town.

The Bosphorus straights are like Hoddle st on a Friday evening, or Sydney at, well... at anytime of day. Cargo boats sit at the tip of the Marmara sea for what seems like a week at a time, waiting to get a green light to pass through the systematic straights. They look like ancient battle ships wanting to challenge and conquer, itching to break the boundary of the red light district. In the green light district, the ferries drift by merrily in their Thomas the Tank Engine manor teasing the tankers with a cheeky smile. The dozens of seagulls that tail them tantalise the outdoor passengers with cheesy biscuits in their pockets to spare. As old and young stretch out their arms and sprinkle and spray their cheesy biscuit remains into the air, the seagulls use their beaks as basketball rings to fight for the last bite.

I rest my head back as the ferry draws near to the crowded shores. I take a deep breath in and exhale and let go of my 'Sallarina the Sultan savior' fantasy and prepare myself for my 'Sally the surreal surroundings saver' reality. I don't mind the reality really, yeah quite like it actually, not bad at all.