Twelve-hour bus to Cappadocia tonight. Bus to Ankara this weekend before a Tuesday flight to Sofia, Bulgaria. Having a hard time believing I’ve been in Europe for two weeks, though half the time the thought is “already” and the other half it’s “only.” Either way, all positive thoughts.
Every once in awhile, I forget I’m wearing my sunglasses. They’ve become a wardrobe staple- a way to ward off headaches. A way to look where I want without giving away what has caught my attention. A way to avoid eye contact.
And so I find myself walking along the Bosporus, watching men fish as their young sons, an assumption, swim in only their briefs (though one wears jeans). Waves of the high water crash up against the wall, showering the fisherman, the children unaffected. A stray dog lays along the sidewalk as the street food vendors heat their grills. Count their change, chop their vegetables, shape the meat in their hands. All with the same gloves.
And I think it’s beautiful, this Wednesday afternoon, this last afternoon in Istanbul.
And then I remember I’m wearing my sunglasses. I take them off and immediately all is more colorful. The water bluer. The tomatoes on the street carts redder than those in the organic section at home. The grass the dog lays beside greener, fuller. The day warmer, the daylight less seemingly near its end.
And as you stroll along the Bosporus, you have a lot of time to think. And so you think about sunglasses as you think about life.
And really, isn’t it just a fact of living, of being human- though you risk creating a headache, a little eye contact, awkward sometimes, is always worth the brighter view.
And, sometimes, it creates a new lens to see through entirely.