yakamoz

The Bosphorus is a majestic body of water. Not only does it divide two continents, but it is the place for international maritime traffic. It is a representation of history dating back to the 5th century BC. Emperors and Kings have crossed it, fighting for land, and now countries using it for trade, are governed by treaties. On a clear day, the Bosphorus is a harmonious blend of cobalt and cerulean blue mixed with turquoise creating an almost teal blue which depicts perfect serenity in this city that never sleeps.  Sitting on the big brown and grey rocks weathered by the waves crashing against them, by the pier in kadikoy, I'm not admiring the Bosphorus' shades of blue but the sunset filling the sky with gold, amber and honey. The light reflected in the water in front of me looks like a sea of melted copper. Flowing from Europe to Asia.

I find myself thinking about Yakamoz. This is what Turks describe as the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the water. On this warm night as the sky gets darker, the skyline of Topkapi Palace, Aya Sophia and the Blue Mosque are off in the distance, with glittering lights. The moon is patiently waiting for the sun to set. The water between me and there is sparkling. It is simply magical. I sit sipping hot Nescafe I just bought off the guy carrying paper cups and a large thermos. His once black t-shirt is now a dull grey and the hem of his pants are frayed. The shoes on his feet have seen better days. The brown leather is covered in black blotches and the heels are worn thin from use. He has kind eyes and happily pours my drink for 2 Liras. As he walks away calling out to other prospective customers, I think about his life. How must he survive on the money he makes doing this? Does he have a home to go to every night, a bed to rest on, after walking up and down the coast? Does he have a family to support? These thoughts put my life and troubles into perspective. How trivial must my problems be compared to his? I take a sip of my coffee and hope that however he lives, he is happy.

I can feel the breeze get cooler and stronger. A sudden gust of wind crashes against me and breaks my train of thought. I notice the lack of Yakamoz. The water is darker and I can see it getting choppy. The sun has set and I can barely make out where the sky ends and the water begins. The waves are violently slamming into the rocks, the rage is almost palpable, and traces of white froth from the waves are left behind. I can feel the water on my toes and it feels almost icy. How did it get so cold in July? The weather in Istanbul truly is as unpredictable as the people that come in and out of our lives. Most recently for me, a series of arbitrary decisions imposed on my life have left me troubled and aching, quite similar to the Bosphorus this evening. Having been unable to unravel the knot of emotions I am feeling in my heart, I let the rage from the Strait bind me.