You’re probably going to find out about it anyway.
So here is a little pre emptive truth-telling.
There are no happy endings.
I think the Turkish all secretly know this much better than the rest of us.
There exists and end-of-empire melancholy throughout Istanbul.
This deep sense of loss over something once larger than life.
An understanding that all good things really do come to an end.
But until we all find our own miserable ending, we can drink tea and eat baklava.
We can take long walks along the Bosphorus in the rain.
We can stand at the water’s edge and fish for hours.
We can lose ourselves in stories.
We can make music.
And we can talk to one another.
We can sit outside our favourite bakeries and talk forever, because “To see my does not necessarily mean to see my face. To understand my thoughts is to have seen me.” ~ Mustafa Kemal Atatürk
I like cities.
There is a movement to cities that feels as though it relies on your personally to make possible.
Cities make you feel connected, like you’re part of something bigger than yourself.
But the more time you spend in a place like beautiful, old Istanbul, you can’t help but wonder:
“Is it worse to be some place awful when you’re by yourself, or some place really nice?” ~ Anthony Bourdain
