on the way to the aquarium

then, it snowed

I woke up this morning to the news that school had been cancelled. The joy of a snow day is equally felt by both teacher and student, and like a kid, I lounged about in my pajamas until about two o'clock. I made a feast of eggs and sausage for breakfast, and sipped on coffee while luxuriously grading student work in my living room. It was marvellous.

Then I just had to go outside.

Pedro wanted to check on the gulls at the Mimar Sinan Bridge, and needing a break, I agreed that this was a fine idea. The scene was very bleak outside the kitchen window; yellow-grey skies and bouts of whirling snowdust. We bundled up and climbed into the car, now dubbed "Atilla the Krill Mobile" (which I will explain later), and carefully made our way towards the bridge.



Among the huddled groups of fluffed feathers, we spied some pink Slender-billed Gulls and this fine Pallas's Gull— which excited me, as I had only previously seen Pallas's Gulls in Oman. Somewhere in the snow, we spotted the shapes of those three flamingos who seem reluctant to leave Büyükçekmece Lake.



The snow came in waves, and during a pocket of dryness as the light was fading, we jumped into Atilla to head back to town for a certain fish soup and a plate of fried anchovies.



The best part of winter is coming in from the cold— the defrosting of limbs is quite euphoric!

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.

sketching by the galata bridge

While I huddle beneath my yak wool blanket and sip masala chai in an attempt to cure the nasty cough I've acquired, I thought I'd show you the last sketch I drew. Ten days ago, when I felt peachy keen, the sun was making a thrilling appearance. In celebration, I took a stroll down to the Galata Bridge for a fish sandwich and a little drawing. The light shifted between blue and a cool yellow, giving the Golden Horn a metallic sheen. Gulls competed for scraps of food, while silver headed cormorants slipped silently into water in search of fish.



As soon as I put down my pencil, the inevitable happened. A huge splat of green and white landed on my left arm— thankfully nowhere near my sketchbook or çay. I'm not sure why people consider it lucky to be mistaken for an avian feces receptacle, but hey. It's better than getting upset over the nastiness on your sleeve, isn't it? 

of the ocean

menekşe

Back in Istanbul, the temperature has brought out my mittens and scarves, yak wool blankets and endless cups of tea. The mud, freezing rain and greyness of the city has a certain poetry to it; and when you take a moment amid the city's chaos to consider where you are, you realise how lucky you are. There truly is no place like Istanbul, and though my nomadic heart tells me that I'll have to move on at some point, I'm happy to be here right now.

However, it's sometimes necessary to get out for a bit and see something different than the endless maze of construction and rivers of people in dark coats. We wanted to see gulls by the Marmara, and when looking at the satellite imagery of the city on Google Maps, a town near the airport called Menekşe looked intriguing. We headed to Sirkeci Garı, once the last stop of the famed Orient Express, and learned from an evasive information center guide that there was only one inner city rail line, and it passed right through Menekşe— the very train we were looking at.



It felt like we had left Istanbul for somewhere else, somewhere far away— the sea, the quiet and slow pace of Menekşe was so relaxing. We ate fish sandwiches for dinner, and saw our first Caspian gull.

a winged escort

on last month's trip to Büyükada.