Lately the crossing of bridges seems to have become a recurring theme in my life. In the past five weeks, I've walked across the Bosphorus Bridge, crossed Budapest's green Szabadság híd three times, Széchenyi lánchíd once, the Margit Bridge once, Árpád híd once, and the Galata bridge twice. There's something wonderful about walking over water, passing from one land to the other.
I love bridges, I always have. I was deeply in love with San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge, and had crossed it too many times to count. I was even once proposed to in the middle of its orange span. Here's a fact that few people are aware of— the Golden Gate, which is the opening of San Francisco's Bay to the Pacific, was named after Istanbul's Golden Horn. Yesterday, I spent a few hours on both sides of the Golden Horn, both above the Galata Bridge and beneath it. There are a number of fish restaurants under the bridge, most cater to tourists and are priced so, but for a cup of tea, some börek and a sketch, you can easily spend ten lira for a beautiful hour.
I think I'm going to do a life-sized pencil drawing of the man selling simit— I'm really happy with how the photograph turned out and would love to draw his face.