the 33rd intercontinental eurasian marathon

Twelve degrees and wet— not optimal for the 33rd Intercontinental Eurasian Marathon, in which runners and walkers have the unique opportunity to cross the Bosphorus bridge, from Asia to Europe. Buses on the European side picked excited participants up in Europe at around 7:10, and drove us to Asia, where we huddled together to wait for the start. Not being a runner (only if my life depends on it!), I took part in the 8k Fun Run, which began at 9:30.



I was lucky to come across this lovely scene on the bridge— fortunately, she said yes.
Proposing on a bridge may not be the wisest decision if you are rejected!



A European welcome.



I sketched while I walked, until the rain got so bad that I had to put away my sketchbook and pens. Red-nosed, with numb fingers, I walked the rest of the way home from the finish line. Walking and sketching from Asia to Europe only took me about an hour and a half; which surprised me. When I got home, I immediately peeled off my soaked clothes, ate a baked potato and crawled into my nice, warm bed for a nap.

Stay tuned for more pictures and the sketches.
Speaking of sketches, don't forget to enter the Win a Sketch competition!

win a sketch!

With a massive sigh of some sort of sadness but no regret, I'm going with my gut and passing on Cairo. But! Being the travel-hungry girl that I am, I've already booked a ticket and room elsewhere. This city could not be further from Cairo in culture, climate, and cuisine.

I've decided to try something new here. I'm going to have a contest. Guess where I'm off to next, and you could win an original sketch from my little adventure. When I think of this city, I inevitably see images of violins, harpsichords, and powdered wigs in my mind. I've somehow never been to this fine nation, though I've been to five of the seven countries which surround it— two of which I have blogged about on Harika. I'll be needing a very warm coat, a hat, a scarf and gloves, as November there is quite cold. Thankfully, the plane ride is merely a hop from Istanbul.

If you can correctly guess the city where I am headed to in about two weeks, comment on this post with your answer and I'll put your name in one of my stylish hats, along with the names of other correct guessers. On November 9th, I'll draw the winner's name.

Good luck!

summer in sketches, part three

plan b

Hello, friends.

Well it looks as though my plans to zip off to Cairo in early November will not come to fruition. I am wary of what seems to be an escalating violence in Cairo, and though I have a ticket bought and paid for, I am seriously considering flying off to a calmer city, elsewhere. I was really excited to return to one of my former homes, to smell the Sahara and see the tips of those pyramids rising above the curved blue spine of the Nile. I spent the last three years of high school in Egypt and have not been back since I left, a skinny, awkward seventeen year old girl. Memories hang in the acacia, the jacaranda, and blow in the dust, which finely coats the city. Cairo has long held a piece of my heart, and I have ached to revisit it.

Another time.

Meanwhile, I've got to think of another place to discover.

summer in sketches, part two

Part two of my summer sketchbook:
Namo Buddha, Kathmandu, Changu Narayan, Bhaktapur, Boudha

summer in sketches, part one

Part one of my summer sketchbook:
Brussels, Kathmandu and Dhulikhel.

tea and ruin

...in Fethiye.

mediterranean flowers

In the blistering, Mediterranean sun, these ladies were shucking and drying corn for chicken feed.
I love the combination of floral patterns in their clothing— when I think of traditionally-dressed Nepali women, I remember their wild, adventurous exploration of colour. Turkish villagers may not wear flowing scarves of cerulean and magenta, but they do have an appreciation for everything floral. I have noticed a shift in my wardrobe since moving overseas— there are flowers growing in my closet, and I find myself more often in chartreuse, electric pink and turquoise.

The cheerfulness with which these ladies were working was inspiring.
The warmth with which they greeted me was beautiful.

abandoned

In 1923 the Turkish and Greek governments agreed to a mutual population exchange— Christian Turks of Greek origin living in Turkey were forced to relocate to Greece, and Muslim Greeks of Turkish descent were expelled to Turkey. Families and communities were divided as people were driven out of their homes by their governments to countries they had no ties or connections to, other than ancestry and a common religion. Languages had to be learned, and lives dismantled, had to be reconstructed.

Kayaköy, a village about eight kilometres south of Fethiye, crumbles into the soil; the ruins of a Greek community forced to abandon their homes for a foreign land. Hundreds of stone houses and two churches haunt the hillside, remnants of a massive trauma. Most of the houses remained uninhabited once their owners left— Muslim Turkish neighbours would not move into the empty homes, and an earthquake in 1957 damaged many of the structures.



I am deeply touched by the evidence of human hands, the evidence of lives lived and uprooted. The blue paint on so many interiors, the smooth stones arranged in patterns, the blackened wall from where a stove once provided warmth. It aches to imagine their suffering.

still

on the farm

I just returned from four days on an organic farm in Fethiye, acting the chaperone to 45 twelve year-olds. It was great fun, and such a beautiful place. Just before evening, the valley turned golden, deepening the intensity of the red earth. Pomegranate trees, chillies curling in the sun, wailing roosters and Mediterranean warmth— it was lovely. The kids seemed to have a good time, gathering algae in a nearby river, weeding an orchard, and shucking corn. Silly little creatures who make me smile.