Perhaps I’ve always been attracted to that allure of the dangerous, the wild bordering on reckless foolishness. I like finding myself (and thus, putting myself) in bewildering circumstances where I have no choice but to magic. Aka survive. There’s always a way. That way is sometimes the people - friends, strangers, sometimes the land, the earth, sometimes only your own willpower and wit and laughter. And sometimes the way is absolutely bizarre, terrifying, awesome, insane, and it would never have been conjured if we had not played our hand with a little abandon.

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I was really moved by how welcoming the caretakers of the mosque were when we politely and carefully tread into the awing, majestic, mesmerizing space. Not knowing the customs and rules of respect is always daunting as an outsider. But they showed us that we were allowed to take the stairs to the upper levels, and the silence of the dome shaped place of prayer, honour, and rest, with its soft velvet carpet beneath our bare feet - all the formidability and grandeur of the colossal columns, the dazzling colours and infinitely repeating, unfolding, kaleidoscopic patterns of the mosaics, the spaciousness and intense awareness and calm - everything morphed together to create a spiritual space unlike any other I’ve experienced before.

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12 days. 4 cities. Countless moments of kindness from strangers, monumental or minute, recorded on camera or only briefly in passing. Musicians or bus drivers or grocery store cashiers. Sounds of different instruments we’ve only heard on YouTube. Familiar melodies we’ve imitated thousands of times on cello and piano now sung live by locals called together by the sound of a saz playing Âşık Veysel’s “Uzun İnce Bir Yoldayım”, crescendoing into a melancholic yet celebratory chorus as people gather to chant, laugh, and dance.

“Everyone knows these songs.
You could begin the melody anywhere, and even a baby will know it and join in.”

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