The old man pushes the tea at you; not like he’s a tout trying to sell his wares, which he is, but like you really need to try it, which you do. So you do, because you’re thinking of the Bosphorus and the fog of history that settles on it like a mist settles over the water in the stillness of morning.
You’re thinking of the Byzantines and their Constantinople, and the Ottoman Turks–of the collision of continents and cultures. Of the glitter and bustle of the Dervish House, and the possibility for excess. Time stretches away and drops; you’re at the confluence of centuries and you can see it all spreading out like ripples in a pond.
Here, a palace on the shore–regal and stained by the passage of time. There, a cafe sheltering artists and intellectuals, who sip their coffee and murmur softly. A fishing boat bobs in the wake of another ferry, which chugs away towards Kadikoy laden with others savoring tea and staring back at you, as if into a mirror.
Screeching sounds from the gulls, which wheel overhead as the waves crash and the engine growls. You drink your tea, both cubes of sugar added and stirred in, and you decide that there’s no place you’d rather be.
In case you can’t tell, I took a few day vacation from blogging in Turkey. Even so, I couldn’t resist writing this while sitting on one of the ferries crossing from the Asian to the European side of the city. Tune in to the next post for a return to some proper trip updates!