I sift through memories and longings and try to discern my intentions for Turkey.

What do I hope to see and do and feel?  Not enough time to fully explore and discover.  I try to send my spirit ahead on this journey so that it will be waiting for me when I arrive.

Leander swimming the Hellespont, Achilles fighting at Troy, Alexander’s armies crossing the Phrygian plain, Artemis holding court at her temple, Crusaders besieging castles, Christians hiding in Cappadoccia, and Rumi teaching in Konya.  Antony and Cleopatra at Selcuk, and Paul preaching to the Ephesians.

This magic land, criss-crossed by the paths of invaders and traders.  Home of long-forgotten peoples and kingdoms, with only fragments of myths and stories surviving.  A turquoise sea and barren landscapes.

I uncover a few words and symbols, but intentions lie hidden behind the mist and fog of longing for now.  Protected beneath layers of yearning.  They will be revealed in due course.  And I will arrive when I arrive.

– with love for the journey.

Visual Journal page by Lou Ann Granger

My heart sings as I contemplate a return.  Istanbul or Constantinople or Byzantium,  this beautiful city straddling the Bosphorus at the crossroads between Europe and Asia has called to me for many years.

Such an aura of mystery and intrigue, a blending of exotic and known.  At this gateway to the unknown, I come again, and ready for another adventure.

It has been eight years, and I saw so little the first time.  Even this next time, in September, it is only a few days, and as part of a larger trip including Kusadasi, Konya and Cappadoccia.

I set forth with intention, to be open to the spirit of this ancient city, and the lingering essence of the many travelers who have passed this way before me.

– with love for the journey

Photo and postprocessing by Lou Ann Granger

Somewhere at the crossroads, one finds the Wanderlust Cafe.  A meeting place, a place of respite, a  place to have some exotic tea or a stiff drink, eat fruits and simple food, a place to stow your pack in a safe corner, or lay out a few trade goods for sale.  Listen to foreign tongues, write or sketch in your journal, argue philosophy, send postcards and file dispatches, or just sit and dream.  Send some emails (though we can’t guarantee the internet is working, shrug).

There’s spies and smugglers and adventurers and artists and all other sorts of low-lifes.   Fortunetellers.  Bards.  Poets.  Pilgrims.  Gods and goddesses in disguise.  One never knows.

Where is it?  Along the Silk Road, off the Barbary Coast, on a Greek island somewhere near Delphi or Shangri-La.  Hard to find, hard to miss.  Under the shade of a centuries-old mango tree.  Adorned by long-limbed descendants of Egyptian temple cats.  A place to tie up the camels and the horses and dust off your fedora.  Swap some stories, or some lies.  Hatch a conspiracy.  Dance if you wish.  Scream if you need to.  Love if you dare.

Welcome!

- with love for the journey

Visual Journal page by Lou Ann Granger