Finally, a small family-owned guesthouse! I found it last night with the help of the owners of the restaurant where I was having dinner. It was on the fourth floor of an apartment building, and the owners lived two floors down from it. It was simple and clean.
I wake up feeling refreshed. I really enjoy staying in places like these, where people are renting out rooms in their own houses. It feels less boring than staying at a hotel, but more comfortable and safe than camping. And you don’t have to rely on people’s kindness for it. The sad thing is that so far in Turkey, I haven’t had much luck finding these small guesthouses.
I lay in bed for a while, then I do some exercises for my feet and my back. When I go downstairs, the owner calls me to come in and have breakfast. His daughter has made spinach-filled pancakes, and they are delicious. I have tea with her husband and her dad while she is busy taming their two daughters Yagmur (Rain) and Bahar (Spring). The two little girls, who have been playing happily until my arrival, are terrified of my looks. Bahar even breaks out in tears.
It’s late when I finally start moving. And I don’t get very far, because I go straight back to the restaurant from the night before. I have tea and pahlava, and it makes my heart ache for Tashkent and my friend Rafael’s pahlava, the best I’ve ever had.
I walk a little more, I run into a dude I’ve met before, I take a selfie with flowers in my hair, I meet a well-dressed gentleman, I get a ton of fruits from a friendly couple, and then I arrive in Yakakent, a seafront village that reminds me of Gonio.
And I think it’s a bit sad that I don’t have a picture with the two little girls who were so terrified of me. My beard and my hair, Bob Ross and Marv the Wet Bandit, my hair and my beard, Jesus and that guy from Castaway. Forever liked by some kids and feared by others.