Melissa in Constantinople, part four

So where were we? Ah yes, Kınalıada, the henna island.

The thing that first struck me was the serenity. The quaint village-like feeling. Oh, and the gigantic hills with slopes that put San Francisco to shame.

We walked all the way to the top. The view of Istanbul was well worth it.

I guess even the most tranquil places bear signs of modern life these days.

But mostly this island resembles my stereotype of what a village in Afghanistan must be like.

Emirhan near the summit of the island, with Istanbul behind him.

So much of this place seems abandoned.

This is probably one of the few places left on earth where motor vehicles are prohibited. Your transportation choices are animal-n-cart, bicycle, or walking. Imagine growing up in a place like this. Every time we saw a child I thought about that, about how different my childhood was.

There is a small town down near the ferry station. Again, it felt strangely European.

While we were waiting for the ferry back to Antalya, I spotted a bit of choice Turklish on the bag of a girl standing a few feet away from us. I am so impressed with the zoom lens on my camera— I didn’t even have to move from my spot to get this shot, and the patch on her bag was only about three inches high. I felt like a spy. This has possibilities.

Next up, the trip back to Antalya, which we did not do by plane…