I am 27 and this is the highlight of my life
I am sitting on a small wooden deck, built by the owners of the restaurant that is only accessible by the sea. There are no roads here, no cars, no small, hidden paths. Only the sea that decides who remains here, and who leaves. The bay opens up to the blue effortlessly through an outburst of pine trees. And there is nothing else. Just the blue against the sky and this thick, mysterious forest, hiding whispers that the wind carries away to the ears of lost travelers.
The sea is calm and forgetful. I can see it shimmering below me, between the wooden stakes that somebody, someday put together, carelessly, hoping to attract some clients. The food is good here in the restaurant ran by a family. They appear and disappear every day, just like the endless string of white sailing boats that happen to be on that part of the planet during this summer of 2009.
I left my job to start a new life in a new country. I packed my stuff away and I sold the rest. I said my goodbyes to my beloved Istanbul. I am, for the moment, enjoying the summer, my favorite season, without a worry in the world, with money saved in the bank and only dreams about what will come to be my life in a couple of weeks. So unknown, so unknowable. Like the first sentence of a book.
My head is heavy from last night’s drinking. To drink is happier under the summer sky, and the stars that don’t hide away behind the inexhaustible city lights. They are so many here, so generous.
It is early in the morning; I am sitting on a wooden desk in the south of Aegean, built by the owners of a restaurant that is only accessible by the sea. Several boats are tied to the deck, gently, almost unnoticeably moving above the small waves, straining and releasing the ropes, tirelessly but without ever being too demanding.
It is early in the morning and I am sitting on a wooden desk in the Southern Aegean surrendered by sailing boats brought here by strangers who are somehow made familiar in this moment, by sharing this forgotten, spared corner of the world.
And I am thinking ‘I am 27 and this is the highlight of my life.’
An older man appears on the deck of one of the boats. He must be in his 60s. Easily. My eyes run through the boat, looking for the flag: they are French. Then I see the woman, sitting, with a book in her hand. She has beautiful, almost gray hair and a thick, tan skin that you see only on these brothers and sisters who chose to spend less time on the land.
The man turns to her and says ‘je vais chercher du ekmek’, in a cheerful, playing manner. I catch the Turkish word that means bread. I smile, he smiles, she smiles back. She lowers her eyes to the book in front of her. The man gets on the wooden deck, says ‘bonjour’ passing me by.
I look at the boat. What space does it take in this universe? 15 square meters? And I think about this space, so small, but so familiar to these two people who can stand each other so well that they are not scared by the idea of spending months in its smallness. They must be so good friends; I think to myself. Kind of friends that you know only once in your life. The kind of friends who come without notice, so naturally, gently.
Then I think about the hardship they must have endured, through life, its ups and downs, and through bad surprises and good ones. Small, unnoticeable moments that only reveal themselves in retrospect. They are good friends, sailing a beautiful boat from France to Turkey and then God knows where. Among the blue and the outburst of green and the stars at night. Here they are, two of them, making jokes and buying ekmeks in the Southern Aegean on an early, but already very hot July morning.
In their tired, wrinkled skin ravaged by the sun, in their blue eyes looking for each other in the crowds and finding each other in tenderness and fury, because love is furious as it is tender.
And I think, this is the highlight of their life.