It has been an ambition of mine to visit Istanbul for a very long time. Sadly, recent events rendered it a risky trip for Clementine and I. We dealt with a torrent of worries from our (rightly) concerned families, but we went ahead with it anyway. It seriously crossed our minds that we shouldn't go, but neither of us could reason our way out of it with enough conviction. Perhaps, due to the 'war on terror' now having gone on for a third of our lives, we are a little less sensitive to the idea of it than our parents - if such a thing is possible. We both kept coming back to the fact that if one isn't safe in London or Paris or any of the other places where these attacks have happened, then where ARE we safe? A weak argument perhaps, but we agreed to avoid touristy areas and keep our wits about us. Of course it's really just about luck. The recent attack at Istanbul's Ataturk airport proves that its nothing to do with 'keeping your wits about you'.
I'll be forever grateful that we went, as 'stupid' as it might have been. I don't get to see Clem very often, because she lives in Kenya. I'll be going there in September though, for a second African adventure with the girl at the centre of my life.
Staying on Buyukada island was an interesting experience, not least because the only methods of transport are limited to the three age old options of a) bicycle, b) your own two feet, and c) HORSE AND CART. Or, to be more precise, phaeton and cart. It was mint.