Ekinacea-Take One Everyday

In order to get to Symi from Datca we took a boat with 6 other passengers. As there are no official ferries between the two cities, the only way to get to the actually very close Greek island is by a shared boat- that means you are at the mercy of the captain to find 6 others who would like to share the costs of the trip. In our case, the rest of the passengers consist of a group of retirees (not surprising in Datca), 4 of whom were British (again not surprising in Datca as it is a major hub for retired Brits to purchase summer homes)one was a French man named Claude and another a Belgian/Italy lady who lives in Istanbul. The British group of retirees were talking amongst themselves. There is always something imposing about the British tourists, particularly of the retirement age. The countless films that take British retirees in different "exotic" locations journey to late-life self-discovery is not far from truth- neither their depiction of this age group. This will be a another post. In the middle of the journey to Symi- mid-way- the very-friendly Claude from France, who was a lovely figure- a young soul shackled into his retired body, still probably ready to indulge in whatever life has to offer, took out a guitar- hooked up to the sound system of the boat and started singing for us tunes from his young days, mainly Yven Montand and Gilbert Becaud classics. Claude, to give you a better picture, was wearing a T-shirt that said " I am not Normal" coupled with a necklace made out of beads of letters that made up his name.

A true bon vivant, whilst listening to Claude's songs, I remembered the Sunday trips that my parents and I would take in company of the songs that he was singing. This must have been the early to mid 1990s. Early days of my teenage days that seem to coincide with parents most zealous years of working. In between work and my school, very little time left to spend with each other, we cherished Sundays as both a day of eating and family. Woken up from my deep sleep that I hoped to last forever, I got ready quickly initially unenthusiastically as I would be still too woozy to remember the prospects of food. Those who of us who grew up on the Asian side of Istanbul, it was also a treat to go to the European side. Our destination of choice was the neighborhood my father grew up in: Ortakoy- a quaint neighborhood located underneath the bridge that connects two continents- with pedestrian streets filled with then exciting now in retrospect unnecessary touristic items of charms, chains, and other jewelry -the neighborhood is defined by the big mosque on the water. 

For us the trip was to visit one of the cafes close proximity to water for Sunday breakfast, followed by quick stroll and the final treat (to be revealed at the end of the post) Another treat was also the car-ride. Even for those who spend a lifetime in Istanbul, the view looking under the bridge whilst passing is breathtaking. The ships passing by, with the waters that gave the color that defines its name (tourquioise that is) and the background music. At the time I was into gluttonous eating. I wanted to eat as much as I can- which resulted with my mother having to hide foods that I loved as I had no control over how much I would consume. (more than once I ate 2-3 pounds of bananas my mother bought in one day) I was also a gluttonous music-lover. By that I mean, the day did not have enough hours for me to listen to music. I was that anti-social kids whose best friend were her headphones. Back then, for some reason, tastes were not dictated by pop and top 40s- those were also present. But young music lovers of the day were more indulgent - perhaps due to the scarcity of the music resources, we consumed everything that we could get our hands on. At the time, a compilation CD of best of 60s  I listened to a number of times a day. Radio also was a thing us young music-lovers followed. Much like the TRT3 still today, different days and times had different music programs that we would wait for enthusiastically. 

On the way to Ortakoy on Sundays, it was a tradition to listen to Kiss FM 90.3. That day was a list of old French-Italian-60s songs that would fill the airwaves. A time for memory for my parents and forever the background of the memories of those Sundays for me. The soundtrack of these tunes made already the exciting food journey more delightful. Upon arrival to Ortakoy, we headed for our brunch in one of the popular breakfast spots (some still exist). Omlettes, a spread of feta and kasher cheeses, jams, boreks, olives would fill our table. I would quickly eat as I still had another treat that was waiting for me. The breakfast was followed by a quick trip to the waterfront and my tireless efforts to convince my parents to buy me useless nicknacks. The quick stroll would qualify me for more eating (or so I thought). On the way to our care, I would convince my parents to buy me a gozleme. There is no longer the abundance of gozleme sales-people who would try to lure you in to their stand. Given, there was  no difference between their products. A turkish thin dough (yufka), store-bought probably, filled with fillings of choice from potatoes, to cheese to spinach. I remember always wanting to buy my gozleme from a stand that was not as popular to give business to all salesman. Perhaps deep down inside I wanted to make sure that they remained there every Sunday for our weekly visits. I often visited the stand of a young woman who wore too much blush. I wanted my gozlemes with potato and kasher cheese. The gozleme smells great as the dough on the hot tandori like oven crisps up. When you bite into it, when warm the melted cheese explodes into one's mouth. I also love the combination of carb on carb (in this case potato and dough) I would try to resist the temptation to not the eat the whole thing until we got back to the car. But that I often could not do. The 3 hour radio-show on Kiss Fm would be on its last hour when we would get back into the car and we would continue listening to a similar soundtrack that brought us to Ortakoy. 

As Claude finished his singing Symi was visible from the boat. My first time to Greece - the excitement of a first-visit was overtaken by a desire for gozleme, unattainable in this location. Slowly- the boat pulled to the Symi coast and we sat down to have a cold coffee, frappe Greek style.