Cesme

I’ve always found transit an ideal time for reflection. In life, the stillness of place sometimes hides our momentum through the world—the feeling that, because we stay in one place, we’re not on a journey. Of course, we always are. I am fortunate that my life has been filled with moments of movement and meditation.

I journey from Cesme (pronounced Cheshme) to Istanbul by bus, and enjoy watching the Turkish cities and countryside swim by in the form of clean white houses, fields of corn and orchards of olive trees, and occasionally a delicate-looking minaret or two.

Cesme was quite beautiful. I arrived on Saturday evening after missing my flight from Istanbul to Izmir after torrential rains grounded flights and breathed chaos into the functions of the crowded airport. I arrived in Izmir at about 10:30. My bags did not.

My host greeted me at the airport, good humor unaffected by the wait, and carried me to the resort town of Cesme, right next to the startlingly cerulean Aegean Sea. His sister was kind enough to let me borrow her clothes—ones admittedly much nicer than mine. Fortunately, I didn’t have to impose on her for too long; my bags arrived the next evening, and my host and his sister took me to fetch them.

The days I spent in Cesme with my host and his remarkably hospitable and generous family were eye-opening and delightful: my host took me out to a beautiful sea-side restaurant, gave me a tour of the lovely houses and harbors of Cesme, and took me out to the sea, where I enjoyed swimming in the warm waters.

Compared to Mongolia, Cesme is a place of overwhelming color and diversity—the deep greens of the trees, the brilliant blue of the sea, the demur whites and playful pinks of the flowers… I have always felt the environments around me transforming my inner landscape; Cesme has bloomed that landscape into a myriad of color.

More than anything, though, I enjoyed spending time with my hosts—losing myself in conversation as we lost our way through cobblestone streets in labyrinth-like districts, ensorcelled by quaint cafes and darling shops—spending evenings in the fading light of day surrounded by gardens and the harmony of the rushing sea and the rustling leaves and purring cicades. … All the places where words find fertile ground to grow and bloom.

 I owe my host and his family a debt of gratitude for these last several days in paradise.

And now, Istanbul awaits me.