Off to Cesme

With the exception of the mornings after a Turkish rave (those will be the pictures of us with the glow in the dark necklaces), I usually get an hour or so of time to catch up on emails and such before my trusty travel companion rolls out of bed for the day. So today is no different as I set myself up in my window office and get connected.

What is different, is that I as work, I hear the recurring sound of hot air balloon burners going off. This area is a pretty popular place to take a balloon ride, so the first half dozen times, I don’t think much of it (the staging area is close to our hotel so a couple of balloons taking off in the morning is no big deal). After about the 50th time, I get curious enough to leave my office and take a look out the front door. What greets me it this:

I don’t count them all, but I figure there has to be at least sixty balloons, all taking off into a beautifully clear, blue sky. It’s a mesmerizing sight, so much so that at the risk of grave physical harm, I wake up Sleeping Beauty to come take a look.

Not surprisingly, things get a little more boring after this. After breakfast, we catch the shuttle back to Kayseri for our flight to Izmir. We are in search now of some sun and warm temperatures and hope to find it when we get to the beach.

Our final destination is Cesme, which is about an hour drive out on a peninsula from Izmir. It’s a $120 cab ride, so we opt for the bus (two ultimately), which proves to be completely painless, other than the two blocks we have to walk with our luggage to the hotel.

We know it is early for tourist season in this part of the country, but as we check in, it feels downright spooky. Other than the bellman and the desk clerk, we don’t see anybody. Not a single person in the lobby. No one in the restaurant. Nobody by the pool. It is not until we finally get to our room and look down on the rows of beach chairs that finally spot one other actual guest (a dark spot on an otherwise sea of white).

Throughout the town, the pattern is the same as we walk by closed restaurants, empty stores, and vacation houses with their storm shutters drawn. I can’t help but think to myself that I should live in a place where when it is 70 degrees and sunny, that its considered a day not even worthy of going outside (versus Seattle, where such a day would be talked about all week for how amazing it was).