51. TIP TOE THROUGH THE TULIPS

I am back in Istanbul

I am deliriously happy.  I am surrounded by beauty.  I'm warm.  The sun is shining like has a point to make.  It is 29 degrees!  Purple tulips tremble amongst pansies and waterfalls of wisteria that tumble over ancient crumbling walls. Ferries churn the Marmara sea which I watch with delight from across a breakfast of olives, eggs, dolmades and pomegranate juice. The minarets on the many mosques glitter and every tree bursts with new leaves and flowers in early spring.  Children bounce along with bouquets of balloons. The sock knitter has had a really bad day. Men play chequers on the footpath. The icecream vendors are getting rsi.  The last chestnuts of the season roast side by side with crisp corn, a girl carries a rose, there is a lot of uncovered pink skin.  My new room (with bathroom, floors, windows and doors renovated since I booked it two weeks ago) at Hotel Star Holiday faces right onto the Blue Mosque and I'd try spitting on it just to test my ability if I didn't fear a religious reprisal.  There's a WARM breeze!   I truly, madly, deeply, love this city. 

I left countryside Kent at 2am, waiting for the taxi in Steve's driveway under a big bleary moon.  I wondered briefly why I hadn't done more country walks but then I reminded myself that most of my days there were spent wrapped up in every blanket I could find and I couldn't face the cold. 

On the long Highway drive to Heathrow, my driver talked non stop about Coronation Street, MG rallies, chocolate, accidents, big trucks, his children, Americans, French, Eurovision ... trying to keep himself awake, I am sure, as we followed the trucks driving to Poland, Bordeaux, Spain, Morocco. I was sad to leave England - it's always been another home to me, and more so now that my family ties are greatly strengthened.  We flew low, over the Channel, over green France, into green Zurich with its pitched rooftops that touch the ground, where we landed in what looked like a paddock:  curious sheep gazing upwards as we almost grazed their backs.  Then back up again, right across Europe straddling the snowy Alps, across Italy, across Croatia, across Poland.  

Musing on the skies, I started doing some maths about how much actual luggage weight I have carted with me since I became a professional journeyer. 20 kg minimum, each leg. 20 years travel. On average eight trips a year, plus return.  Tons, to be sure. I'll do the stats on this one when I'm finally home. I don't want to spoil the magic with math.

And so to Istanbul, where I was met on time, assisted, and brought out into the sunshine, blinking and dazed with delight.  Pomegranate juice and it's power kick awaits.  I think I'm going to make some adventures.  Hot air ballooning in Cappadocia, anyone?

Here's some more maths:  what I'm doing is far, far cheaper than what I was doing in Sydney: running my car, insurance, public liability, mortgage, electricity, phones, decent clothes, makeup, doctors bills.  Golf fees though I don't play golf.  Paying for other people's children. Paying off credit cards I didn't run up.  I'm living light.  And I feel light.  Earth with a bump will call out soon.  Meanwhile ... 


Stay tuned for sunny photographs!  My camera has missed me.