salaam, oman

I've just returned this morning from six days in stunning, sunny Oman, where I delighted in summery weather and plenty of its perfect complement, minted lemonade. The blue skies, pinkish ochres of the desert, gleaming white dishdashas, and brilliant splashes of crimson, fuchsia and emerald on the scarves and dresses of some women (others were head to toe in inky black)— was nearly too much to bear for a colour-starved girl coming from a dismal, wintry Istanbul.

We arrived in Muscat around six in the morning on a Saturday. It was already warm, and my wool coat was beginning to itch. Blinking in the sun, a bit dizzy from our red-eye flight, we waited for our friend Gil, who generously offered us a home during our stay. Once we dropped off our bags and changed into something more appropriate for the increasing heat, Pedro and I headed down to a little nearby beach in search of Sooty Gulls and whatever else we might find.



Sooties we found, casually strolling in the sun, competing with House Crows for dismembered crabs. I kicked off my shoes and dreamily followed them to the shore, where the Arabian Sea spit out shells of all colours mixed with chunks of sanded green glass. I was six again, brown-skinned and curious, my toes coated in fine pebbles and glittering with nacre— my mother collecting shards of coral and cowries nearby. This little beach was so much like the beaches from my early childhood in Dubai, before it was Dubai. A desert sweeping into the sea— the waves and laughter of gulls, its only sounds.



Salaam means peace in Arabic.
Oman was beginning to feel so very good.

from the edge of the deep green sea

was one of my favourite songs as a teenager— funny how one can forget these things. 

the invasion

On my parents' deck at their house this autumn, a plan was concocted between my dad and his friend. Both men would take their families to Vietnam for the holidays, and it would be incredible. When this plan was hatched, I was in disbelief, as my parents often discuss flying to some far-off land as a family for the holidays, and until I found myself riding a bus to the airport, I hadn't actually taken them seriously. Suddenly, there we were: aboard a 12 hour flight to Ho Chi Minh City, my parents and sister at the front of the plane, and me in the back, with a German woman's feet dangerously close to my tray table. My other sister Natasha was flying in from Dubai with her boyfriend to join us in the next few days, and my dad's friend and his family were arriving about the same time we were. In total, we were ten, and it seemed like our loud, jovial group took over the beach, jungle, and restaurant of the resort where we stayed.



It was quite fun!

the sound of the sea

After rescuing my bag from a near solo-trip to Finland, I came home to Istanbul this frigid morning to discover my apartment had transformed itself into an icebox. No electricity, no heat, no hot water. I decided to visit my mum— she's got coffee and a hot shower, which I so desperately need. Having travelled for thirteen or fourteen hours, and after fiercely negotiating with an apathetic man muttering into a walkie-talkie, to please just have one more look for my missing bag, I am ready to crawl into a bed. My body is sore and my mind is dull, but I have these lovely pictures to remind me of pretty days in the warmth, when the sound of the sea washed away worry, and the act of getting from Ho Chi Minh City to Istanbul was a very distant thought.



I'll write more when I locate my brain, which I suspect is somewhere over Pakistan.

pacific

yesterday
I walked on the edge
of a continent.

aegean

Last weekend I went on a spontaneous trip to a town called Bodrum, which is on the Aegean coast of Turkey. Bodrum is an hour and a half flight from Istanbul and the perfect place to relax in the sun, swim in the sea and have a few cocktails. I can't think of anything I enjoy more than swimming in the sea— I was in that clear, clear water the second I could jump in. Since it was the beginning of the season, the weather was a bit chillier than I had hoped, but still quite lovely.



Bodrum is a massive tourist attraction in the summertime, but it was relatively empty this weekend. Being one of the few young females around, I had to put up with a lot of staring. Many tourists and foreigners living in Turkey are bothered by the staring, since we are brought up with the notion that it's rude— here, on the other hand, staring is quite a normal thing. Both men and women will stare, and I have found that it doesn't really mean anything. You just have to ignore it. I am actually happy to be in a culture that is open to staring—I can be as indiscreet as I want to be when drawing people in public.