journal

Saint John is buried up the hill. This is the Saint John Hotel. Saint John, not of the forearm, was the youngest apostle, son of Zebedee and Salome, who looked after Jesus’ mum and accompanied her to Ephesus, where he last was at; as I said, up the hill. Under

Party-goers returning home in the night. Roosters all through the morning. J caught some more sleep. And then kahvaltı by the pool. Delicious omelet, cheese, fresh tomato and cucumber and a homemade harissa, nutty and çok güzel. We set off for Kaunos, on foot, a now familiar route (and, isn’

Wars are never the result of just one man. … Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has been indicted on multiple criminal charges of bribery, fraud, and breach of trust. These charges were not handed down by the Palestinians, by Hamas in Gaza, by Hezbollah in Lebanon, or by the Houthis in Yemen.

Honey semolina cake, extreme left. Omelet to come. Note the strip of tablecloth, exactly as used over the knees by the sultan being fed breakfast, Topkapı Palace. Behind J, another of the ‘rooms’ at  Oda 3, as it had that morning been vacated, she would go off and explore with

Awake at 2am, voices outside the dire hotel in conversation, business-like, but it wasn’t yet morning. Awake at 6.20am, ready to prepare to leave. An hour later we were out, onto the still stanky streets, to Clio, with fresh simmel buns, choco for J and olive for me.

In the Otel of books (Hich, heejhh) after dreams of VR start-ups, curiously detailed as they all have been recently, awakening to our light-filled room. The best kind. Like that in Stockholm some years ago where I finished writing a paper for the conference, the light streaming in. J’s