A Day on Burgazada
|Pied piper of cats|
I stay overnight and in the morning, I walk down the hill towards to dock to catch the 7am ferry. It rained overnight and the air feels almost tropical- humid and fragrant. The crows caw and the seagulls release their squawks, sounds like laughter on the brink of hysteria or the squeaky honking from New Year's party horns- they are late night revelers continuing the celebration through to dawn. Plants are bursting with flowers- pinks, purples, and yellows, snails leave their trails on the road. The light is soft and muted. It is nice to see the island at this time, when most are still asleep.
I make the ferry with ample time, one of the few groggy-eyed people who has gotten up to make its early morning departure. It is the polar opposite of the noon ferry from the day before- empty and cloaked in silence- no musicians and no simit vendors marketing their ring-shaped bread- and I resist the urge to spread myself on one of its empty benches and doze back into unfinished sleep.
|Ferry ride home|