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Respite for the Weary in Istanbul

Ah, so many miles have I roamed — and, as yet, still finding myself neither here nor there. I find myself pausing for a few days respite in Istanbbul, Turkey to sort out some technical and equipment failures; but above all, to allow this weary-worn body to some much needed rest at this junction of East and West.

This proverbial road is long and winding; every bend leads to further vistas, prompting the adventurous spirit to seek further the unknown and untried. The folly in this, if there be any, is that the tried experiences become increasingly less interesting and one tends to seek out more daring and precarious adventures, unique cultures, and less ventured paths. For good or ill, such is the predicament and I welcome the unknown journeys without reservation.

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Ode to the Bulgarian Rose

In a distance valley, hidden by hills and shrouded in mist, there lies a mystical rose. In a vast valley of common flowers, legend speaks of one eternal amarinthine with spellbinding fragrance. It’s existence is much rumored, but seldom, if ever confirmed. At most, passing travelers occasionally claim to have sighted it at a far distance, or caught a waft of its scent. For centuries, poets have spoken only of it in verse as some fanciful legend; and in time, this legend, too, faded to myth.

I wandered through a valley in a distant land; and there in a most unexpectant of circumstances, chanced upon this most enchantingly recherche beauty. Well-hidden below the prosaic blooms, it bares no distinctive tincture nor distinguishing mark; indeed, one can easily pass and not notice its presence. Yet, it emitted an exquisite fragrance that is at once alluring, entrancing, enthralling. Oh, did its fragrance enchant the vastly fields between heaven and earth.

I thank fortune and fate for the breeze that chance to blow my way; for never could I have imagined a bloom so rare nor scent so sublime. For long did I linger enchanted by its beauty and inebriated by its fragrance. And though I much admired its rarity, a wild rose it is, and none for the keeping; for this wild beauty belongs in the verdant fields under the sun, moon, and stars with no names. Sweet