Behind the porthole is night, 6 degrees above zero and rain and wind piercing to the strings. I inhale the icy air, fasten the windbreaker and briskly walk down the ramp. Literally two steps from the ladder to the bus, my brand new moccasins, in which I was going to hang out here for a day, turn into a wet something.
Hello Istanbul and winter after so many months of ongoing summer.
For a person who has not seen winter for several years, this is a shock. I remember right away that I had never loved her and during all this time I had never been bored.
Our trip began two days ago, on January 26, when once again the Airasia plane dispersed along a strip along the ocean and broke away from the blessed Balinese land, sending us into the unknown.
But here, in Asia, everything is simple and close, so after some 4 hours we are already running around Kuala Lumpur, trying all sorts of strange things in Chine town, eating our favorite soup with wontons and lying on the grass in the park, looking at the Petronas.
Every time I am surprised how different KL is - you wander through the streets among the jungle of glass and concrete, look into chic shopping centers, wander thoughtfully in the realm of brands and material values, suddenly turn around the corner - and there are almost vintage two-story colored houses of the last century with hieroglyphs instead inscriptions, you look into the Chinese temple, where a lonely grandfather spiritually lights a candle, exhale, go on.
After a couple of tens of meters, the Indian temple is already there, the air is saturated with incense, and in the eyes it is ruffled by the color palette of wreaths for offerings. It feels like I'm back in incredible India;)
So, Istanbul. I have it in the category of cities in which I could stay to live, well, or at least in which I want to rent an apartment for at least a month and try to feel not as a tourist, but an expat and adapt to local realities. So far, only Bangkok is in the same list of major cities. For some reason, recently, arriving in another new city, you unconsciously begin to try it on yourself like dresses in a store, you think if it fits the category 'my city' -..., and already in the first days you try to answer the question “but I could would I stay here? "
I was here for the first time three years ago, before all my travels. It was only 5 days, but there were enough of them so that the dream of returning once would not let me sleep peacefully. Then there was Orhan Pamuk and his books, reading which you just feel the salty spray of the Bosphorus on your lips, wander through the narrow streets of Chukurdzhuma and hear the cries of gulls in the morning.
And here we are again here, already together, and we share each other's feelings for this city. And again, the Bosphorus ferries, fishermen on the Galata bridge, Eminenu Square, always in motion and bustle, moored ships and fishermen skillfully preparing balik ekmek.
We only have a day here.
We chew simil bagels and look at the Galata tower on the other side, and then, in the incessant rain, we run to a cafe to comfortably settle down with a tiny cup of Turkish coffee near the battery (the word seems to be from a different reality, but we appreciated;)
At 6 p.m. we are already just falling off our feet, and waking up at 4 a.m., we are looking forward to dawn, and the first ferry beeps that can be heard even in the room and with the window closed.
We have the last couple of hours before the plane and as a goodbye gift - a cloudless blue sky and bright sun.
I promise myself that we will definitely be back. At least a week, but better still a month. Why not? Did someone say that you should always live in one place? Today your house is here, and tomorrow in another beautiful place.
In the meantime, Amsterdam awaits us - and a sleepless night at the airport, which we steadfastly carry on the sofa in the cafe. And then the first 12-hour flight across the Atlantic in my life and now we are in Brazilian Sao Paulo.
I was always surprised by people running around the waiting room on their flight, because I personally arrive stably in two hours. And here you go - our plane is several hours late and we are flying crazy along the long corridors of the terminals, because the thought of another night at the airport is terrifying.
The last spurt, another three hours separates us from Argentina. And again, the airport, an incomprehensible language, a new stamp in the passport, luggage left somewhere in the Brazilian expanses - and finally we look out of the taxi window and look at an unfamiliar night city. A little scary, but at the same time attracting with its temperament and mix of cultures.
Hi Buenos Aires, I have been looking forward to seeing you for so long