Too much time in the Middle East has frayed my nerves to the breaking point. Nine were killed in terrorist attacks yesterday. Two of those attacks were in Istanbul. On my way to Kabataş Ferry this morning, I heard a bang and dove to the concrete; a truck had driven over a bottle behind me. On a good day, Istanbul feels like a high stakes game of Frogger, but on the Adalar, cars are banned and kids bike the streets without fear.
To spend the day drinking çay on the balcony of a Kınalıada apartment, or to follow the horse-drawn buggies down the roads of Burgazada, one might almost forget that Istanbul—with its noise and traffic and crowded public targets—is a mere hour’s ferry ride away. The Adalar—or Prince Islands—just off the coast in the Sea of Marmara, offer a welcome respite from the din of the city. Here are beaches and seaside cafés, streets lined with acacia trees, houses bedecked with flowers.
Tomorrow, I will reconsider my travels across Turkey. Today, I am content to sit—far from the chaos mentally if not geographically—and to enjoy the breeze, the view of the water, the smell of flowers in the air.
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