I didn’t plan this trip. It found me on its own. Turkey became my salvation, my breath of fresh air after long days in the chemical laboratory of a Moscow jewelry factory. There, dust and acid fumes burned my mucous membranes and lungs, and pneumonia laid me up in the hospital for a month and a half. When I came out, life demanded change, and I left. I went to Kemer.
There, at the foot of the Taurus Mountains, I found my sea. The sea that called to me. I climbed aboard a ship where the captain, with blue eyes and a snow-white smile, showcased his acrobatic talents. He was unlike other Turks — blonde, tall, with a voice that sounded like the song of the wind. He danced on the deck, performed tricks, and brewed coffee that he claimed was the best in Turkey. His hookah was just as he said — the best. But I didn’t care. I only looked at the sea.
The sea changed before my eyes. The Mediterranean became the Aegean. Deep blue melted into azure. We ate fish and seafood, drank juice made from ripe fruits that smelled of sunshine. But that wasn’t the main thing. The main thing was the extraordinary blue lagoon around us. It called to me.
We sailed to Phaselis. The ruins of the ancient city stood silently, as if they remembered everything: the noise of markets, the shouts of merchants, the creaking of ship masts. Life once thrived here. Now only stones and silence remained. I walked among these stones and thought: how much fades away with time? How much remains? Phaselis knew the answers.
On the way back, I looked at the sea again. It was endless, like life itself. Every day in Kemer began with the sun and ended with stars. I went to the hammam, breathed air filled with salt and floral scents. Here, birds sang louder than in Moscow. Everything was brighter here.
I will not forget this journey. It gave me what I was seeking — a sweet silence within myself and a pleasant noise around me.
