Ayvalik

Last night, delving into my previous diary, i found some things that i wrote. Here's one:

"Abla siz yeni misiniz?"
-the little dirty local boy we saw at the little dusty bakkal

It's kinda funny how the locals look at us, since hardly anyone in the warmth of their homes would consider this reasonable what we're doing, traveling off-season. But here we are, freezing in our room at night, sleeping head and torso under three blankets, sight-walking the streets people normally use as the way home. Having a simit-olives-almonds-dried apricots on a bench by the sea. Finding the perfect place to have dinner after desperately wandering the dark and windy streets, and again, freezing in our room that used to be an office space for the French Consulate once upon a time when there had been a French Consulate in Ayvalik, for whatever that was.
I'm enjoying the place and I feel like the seablue is feeding me, I feel liberated somehow, but I keep comparing it to Fethiye and keep missing it, wishing maybe I was there now. I know it's just the difference between the familiar and the unknown. The memorized and the just discovered. Some even call it love.

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