give me your lokma

This is a post about having some lokma in Ayancik. Oh, and I decided to sort through my stuff and mail some of it to Istanbul.

There was a time in my life when I believed I was smart. That time is long gone. But there is something good about this. For with the realization of my own dumbness comes a sense of freedom.

Does it make sense to say: I think, therefore I am? Sure. But I also think in stupid ways. And yet I exist.

That’s right. Me.

a diet for the Caboose

Why am I talking about this? Well, because I’d been lugging around a ton of useless stuff in the depths of the Caboose. Did I really need a hammock this time of the year? You get the idea.

So I decided to mail some of my stuff to my Kantian friend in Istanbul.

It turned out to be a bit difficult when the people at the post office insisted that I must have a Turkish ID. Luckily, the gentleman who was waiting in line behind me spoke German, and he offered to help. We ended up using his ID.

no diet for me

Then I went and bought a box of presumably sweet things that looked nice. I sat on the beach promenade for a while. The sweet things, I learned later, were called lokma, and they were fuckin A.

I don’t know about lokma in general, but the ones I had were deep-fried and bathed in honey. They also had a honey filling. The whole thing was just so delightful, with the Black Sea and the seagulls and the cats and the afternoon sun and lokma after lokma disappearing into my mouth.

A day well spent.

pictures

Mirror selfie with stuff to mail:

Post office in Ayancik:

Central Ayancik:

Beach promenade in the afternoon:

Lokma in Ayancik:

Afternoon scene: