One of the earliest moments I remember was in Antalya, Türkiye. As a three and something year-old in a central square, listening to the melodic wail of the local mosque’s call to prayer. Or rather, I remember whining about it as an irritable toddler. This time round it seemed familiar, somewhat comforting and likewise entrancing.
I remember my father getting his hair cut in the street, and the Turkish barber insisting on lighting a match in his ears (he’s had profusely hairy ears since then).
These formative moments have stayed with me ever since, and I remember Antalya every time I hear the muezzin, whether that be in Marrakesh, Calcutta or Whitechapel.
Likewise, I don’t expect I will forget this sun-kissed week with my friend Suzanne , spent revisiting and rediscovering this most idyllic region of the Mediterranean. More adventures from the Turkish riviera to come….
Comments