The Island
Kinali
A twenty minute sea bus ride across the Bosphorus (an hour by ferry) brings visitors to the first island in a string of four small islands where Istanbul residents have kept homes and escaped the summer heat of the city for centuries. Before we left Greenville I was walking through the fiction section at Barnes and Noble and saw a spine that read The Sultan's Seal. Of the thousand books on the shelf my eye found the one that happened to take place in Istanbul. This murder mystery set in the late 1800's at the end of the Ottoman Empire reaches its climax in a water front villa, a summer home much like the villas that line the islands. The large homes have been divided into flats over the years but there are many century old wooden structures still standing, similar in architecture to the row homes in Charleston.
On the walk from the ferry to Mihran's house we passed a group of restaurants built around a series of oaks that predate most of the living structures. A short walk up the hill we heard familiar music from a balcony and found Octay reading on his porch. I met Octay the year before on a winter trip to the city but a few days on the island napping on his couch, listening to Emmylou Harris, following the familiar routes that he takes to feed the island cats each day showed me that Octay is a creature of this island. He can also read coffee like no other and people travel from far away to sit on his porch and have him guide their future - and tell them about their past.
Octay feeds a thousand cats each year but this one has taken up
residence in the street in front of his house. He greets visitors
(as we walked to Mihran's house from the ferry I couldn't take a step
without him winding around my legs) and spends the day slipping into the
flats behind people.
Island Lord of the Cats
The big island uses horse carts for taxis. The chestnut on the
left is an Arab ex-racer.
Mihran's cousins and Octay for afternoon coffee. Octay predicts
that we will travel to South America.
After planes, boats and Vatican highways Kim doesn't appreciate the
thought of more travel. Octay reminds her that she will complete a
novel. Eventually.
Mihran eventually makes it up the hill to the old monastery and comes to
Octay's aid.
All these gorgeous sunsets. It's as if the sea stores colors and
puts them all together in the evening. Mountains slip colors
slowly as the sun goes down. The sea drowns me with every shade at
once.
The Monastery
Kinali, the name of the island, literally translates to henna - a
wonderful deep shade of red. I thought this hillside resembled
southern red mud. If grey horses roll in it I'm going to say they
are kinalied from this point forward (much better than what I usually
say).
Of the few places I have visited in Turkey I must admit that the island is my favorite. Europe stretched to my left as I stood at the harbor, Asia to my right. I was literally in the juncture of east and west. Even if they just stepped off the ferry from the city, island people have a different expression on their faces. They walked more slowly, they laughed more easily. Istanbul smog hovered in the distance, but the island seemed to stand outside of time.
Octay named this dog Body. Body has a daughter, his smaller
double, named Somebody. Taking a late night stroll along the
water, the two dogs materialized by Octay's side and tried to follow us
into a snazzy club as we went in search of tea. Octay says that
many people mistakenly believe that the dogs belong to him - but they're
strays that he happens to feed. The dogs follow him around the
island like body guards, which is just fine until they view someone as a
threat. "Does your dog bite?" "No." Unfortunately
they're not his dogs.
We really went to Mexico.