TRAVELLIVE 04-2016
Istanbul, the first days of spring… I’m warming myself in the sun on a café’s balcony in the Old Town. The sunbeams are as stunning as the fine strands of newly reeled silk. Meanwhile the old oak trees give their morning greeting to the glossy stone road as their red-brown leaves gently fall. The Old Town is still half-asleep, like a lazy girl who’s turned off her alarm after ringing the first time. Sunlight visits each street, dancing happily on passers-by’s shoulders, making the atmosphere more intimate to me – the traveler’s first time here. I feel more amorous in Istanbul. I’m enchanted by everything, from sweet lokum to the light sour ice-cream with ground ice on top, or from the gorgeous domes of hundreds of mosques and palaces to their uniquely designed windows, and from the discreet eyes of Muslim girls to the multitude of boards and posters with the images of Besiktas – the city’s legendary football team. I have fallen in love with Bosphorus Bay since the first time seeing the seagulls hovering in the open sky, creating invisible strings that connect the two continents – Asia and Europe. The clear blue sky is reflected on the deep blue sea, giving me tranquility. I drop my last Lira into the water of the Bosphorus, not to make a wish, but in hopes that they will preserve my memories here. And somehow, the water currents might bring them somewhere else to be found by me again, or might accidentally be stumbled upon by a boy who is playing with sand on a sunny beach. Tomorrow, I will go to Grand Bazzar, buy some postcards, and write something to leave beneath the sun near a mosque before sending them to some friends of mine. I do hope that these postcards, together with the coins, will inspire and attract more visitors to this land. Uhm… will you come there?
Istanbul, the first days of spring…
I’m warming myself in the sun on a café’s balcony in the Old Town. The sunbeams are as stunning as the fine strands of newly reeled silk. Meanwhile the old oak trees give their morning greeting to the glossy stone road as their red-brown leaves gently fall. The Old Town is still half-asleep, like a lazy girl who’s turned off her alarm after ringing the first time. Sunlight visits each street, dancing happily on passers-by’s shoulders, making the atmosphere more intimate to me – the traveler’s first time here.
I feel more amorous in Istanbul. I’m enchanted by everything, from sweet lokum to the light sour ice-cream with ground ice on top, or from the gorgeous domes of hundreds of mosques and palaces to their uniquely designed windows, and from the discreet eyes of Muslim girls to the multitude of boards and posters with the images of Besiktas – the city’s legendary football team.
I have fallen in love with Bosphorus Bay since the first time seeing the seagulls hovering in the open sky, creating invisible strings that connect the two continents – Asia and Europe. The clear blue sky is reflected on the deep blue sea, giving me tranquility. I drop my last Lira into the water of the Bosphorus, not to make a wish, but in hopes that they will preserve my memories here. And somehow, the water currents might bring them somewhere else to be found by me again, or might accidentally be stumbled upon by a boy who is playing with sand on a sunny beach.
Tomorrow, I will go to Grand Bazzar, buy some postcards, and write something to leave beneath the sun near a mosque before sending them to some friends of mine. I do hope that these postcards, together with the coins, will inspire and attract more visitors to this land. Uhm… will you come there?
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Traditionally, the<br />
Bajau resided<br />
in small boats,<br />
sailing day and<br />
night with the<br />
currents, relying<br />
only on their<br />
fishing gear to<br />
make a living.<br />
MANAGING WITH A VAGUE HOPE<br />
While trying to find a solution on how to cross<br />
over to the other side, which only takes an hour by<br />
motorboat, I was amazed at how difficult it was to<br />
find someone who would agree to take me. Indeed,<br />
the few specialized agencies in the area refuse to sail<br />
anywhere but to the resorts. I was therefore forced to<br />
find a solution on the pier, walking for hours along<br />
the waterfront as I addressed the fishermen moored<br />
for the day, but unfortunately, no one spoke English.<br />
When I finally managed to make myself understood,<br />
they gave me exorbitant and unjustified prices. I had<br />
no choice but to sleep on site, being careful to stay on<br />
my guard and keep my head down. In recent years,<br />
tourist kidnappings have become pretty common on<br />
this part of the island. Sometimes Islamist terrorist<br />
groups track down holidaymakers, follow them in<br />
order to establish the appropriate time to kidnap<br />
them, and then demand a ransom for their release.<br />
In November 2013, a Taiwanese tourist was killed<br />
in one of the bungalows at the resort where he was<br />
staying. Tension is omnipresent and kidnappings are<br />
becoming more and more frequent in this seemingly<br />
paradisiacal destination. Soldiers are everywhere to be<br />
seen in the main tourist areas but not on most of the<br />
islands I was planning to visit.<br />
At the heart of this dangerous environment and<br />
concerned for my safety, I was almost about to give<br />
up. But my patience paid off. One morning I finally<br />
saw my chance to reach the islands after meeting a<br />
man named Karim, a Bajau who could speak a few<br />
words of English. This was a huge stroke of luck for<br />
the photographer who was longing to meet these<br />
people. Karim offered to take me to the islands<br />
inhabited by members of his ethnic group. He<br />
seemed surprised by my request, being as most of the<br />
travelers usually want to go straight to the lagoon’s<br />
coral reefs, and have no real wishes to meet the locals.<br />
But, touched by my interest, he accepted to take me<br />
with him, and we embarked on an expedition through<br />
Malaysian waters.<br />
IN THE WORLD OF REAL MERMEN<br />
Traditionally, the Bajau resided in small boats, sailing<br />
day and night with the currents, relying only on their<br />
fishing gear to make a living. This is how they earned<br />
the title, "the nomads of the seas". Others used to<br />
live in hiding, and many still live in remote floating<br />
villages built on coral reefs within the trough of the<br />
lagoon. Today, many have come ashore to live on the<br />
small islands but continue to cultivate their nautical<br />
mastery while weighing their fish on a small scale.<br />
I was curious to know more about these men and<br />
women who have chosen to live remote lives, far away<br />
from the cities and their temptations. The sight that<br />
awaited me made my whole being tremble as I saw in<br />
the distance, on the horizon, an island lost in the royal<br />
blue immensity. I had arrived at Tabbalanos island.<br />
The ship dropped anchor within reach of a tiny island<br />
on which only a single tree stood against the sun. I<br />
was immediately struck by the magic of the place: a<br />
swing was hanging proudly on one of the branches,<br />
indicating the presence of children, who quickly<br />
came running out towards the boat, intrigued by the<br />
presence of this newcomer.<br />
<strong>TRAVELLIVE</strong> 117
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