TE16 Turkish Delight

Altay Öktem looked lost the whole time, in visible despair. He wasn’t lying. He truly couldn’t get most of what I told him. His fluent English must have been all memorized then, for handling reception, explaining the attractions around and giving directions. I changed my approach and used simple words to ask if he knew anyonewhocoulddothe translation. I added that itwas important to me, and that I could pay. He got me this time, and stopped to think for a second. Then he said: “Ah, yes. Rıza. He has very good English. He will come to the hotel in the evening. I tell you when he comes.” I asked for a not so strong tea and sat on the comfy sofas in the lobby. Again, I didn’t take any sugar with it, but I made sure to stick with the ritual and stirred it with the metal spoon, loud. It worked, for real. I was less stressed. I laid back and slowly sipped my tea. With every sip, I felt my eyelids weighing heavier. The clock hanging at the wall across said it was 2:35. Between the hour hand and the minute hand there was a deep blue sky, with an image of the Galata Tower right in the center. For some reason I wanted to be there, at the top of the Galata Tower and watch the Bosporus. It was after all, my first time in Istanbul. Drinking tea at a hotel lobby was alright, but it was also a waste of precious time. I regretted turning back and not getting across the bridge. The image inside the clock started to fade away, and my thoughts raced in my head. Each of my thoughts traveled at great speeds but without colliding, in the curves of my brain, or that’s what I imagined them doing:


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