Holidays

I know, this is no excuse for not writing for so long. But yet, there were holidays. Istanbul is like Pamuk says it is. It truly was a Turkish delight to read his book and his love and hate relation with the city, while discovering the origins of that relation - in places and people.

Whilst drinking tea in a terrace bar in the 4^th floor of a building in Istanbul, I have copied a few lines from his book into my black book with a view to write them later here in estrujido. That’s right, I did remember my blog.

“The pursuit mattered no less than the attainment, the asking as important as the views we saw through the windows of the car, the house, the ferry. With time, life – like music, art and stories – would rise and fall, eventually to end, but even years later, those lives are with us still in the city views that flow before our eyes, like memories blucked from dreams.”

Orhan Pamuk
Istanbul: Memories of a City

The photo is mine.