düşler ve görüşler
şiirler, düz ve eğri yazılar, ingilizce-türkçe ukalalıklar, seyahat algılamaları karmaşası.
a messy mixture of memorabilia: poetry, poetic prose, fiction, fictionesque travel notes, and such.
This poem applies to many travelers who travel the net before they travel the rest:
The Solipsist’s Travels
T’is a world of mirrors, Not one of horrors. When you with yourself travel, Non of that, “ where shall we dine?" drivel.
You see mostly aspects of you. And, every time the mirror shows a smiling you, You say, “Why, thank you!” “How do you do?”
What a surprise it is when the aspect is not you, But a strange illusion, always called ‘Who?’ Which keeps creeping up on you, On the earth, the mountains, the beaches and the blue.
It appear in lobbies, And tiny cubbies. Even on the front seats of taxi cabbies, And transmits thoughts of things like rabies.
Still…., I like traveling with myself, My one and only existential self. And when they, the illusions ask: “How do you enjoy the sun and the bask?” I say, “You’re so right! When you are a crowd, t’is no mean task.”
Another impromptu trip took us to Mengen for some unfortunately mediocre food, Devrek, for beautiful canes made of cherry wood, to Bartin of wooden houses haunted by the dead and/or the living.
On this rainy, cool mid-April day we cotinued to drive down to Amasra to get a better feel of the cold rain and the pnemoniac wind, some intresting views from a vantage point and more from a less advantageous perspective, drove back up and down again to Inkum for our motel.
There was a nice sunset, a peaceful walk on the empty promenade and, this time, a less than mediocre set meal, with a bottle of wine which may have been uncorked at the end of the previous tourist season.
There were some couples in the motel and one very large family trying to fit into one or two rooms, definitely with great difficulty, in view of what we surmised to be cries of anguish. The couples were very secretive, so I cannot write anything about them, except that they never smiled and were deeply involved in the seriousness of whatever they thought they were doing.
The next day, unbright but less wet, we went up to Bartin to remedy Eser's forgetfulness. The travelers collection of her cosmetics, skin care, hair brushes, nail blushes, cotton, and of course the case to carry it all, made a well stocked shop of these items delirious with joy. The only thing that she did which almost erased the stupid stuporous smile on my face was the fact that she sneered at many of the "not such a good quality" which she bought with great gusto and abandon. I figured that she was preparing her answer to me for when I see her giving away the whole batch upon her return to Istanbul.
After driving 15-20 k towards Ulus, I remembered that we should have filled up at a Shell station which had a vehicle recognition system, and we may not find another one on the country roads. So we drove back into the city, searching for the petrol station which had managed to move during the last half hour.
This was all to the good, because, it gave us a chance to stop across the street from a wedding store and take photographs to send to our daughter in Chicago, as part of our recommended portfolio, in order to drive her crazy before her marriage so that her husband will not be disappointed with what happens after the marriage.
By the time we left Bartin it was noon according to that garbage can God saw fit to place in the middle of my abdomen. I think that the name of the restaurant was "Sakli Bahce". The cuisine was Southeastern and possibly the Western Black Sea version of this cuisine is better than at most restaurants in Gaziantep or Urfa. The pistacchio kebap on a bed of diced onions and tomatoes instead of pita bread was the best we had ever tasted.
The waiter was good and friendly, but the curious feline visitor was not. She did not accept our offer of cat food from the large bag of such that we carry in our car wherever we go. Heartbroken and disoriented, we left the area in search of other cats.