Stage 7 - Istambul

 The train departs almost on time; a Bulgarian woman chatted with me, and I ended up sitting next to her. But the conductor warns me that I'm not in my seat—it's important because the carriage I'm in stops before the border. So I have to go to my compartment; anyway, my new friend was fun but too talkative. Now that I think about it, I don't recall any Bulgarian ever starting a conversation with me.

I would have slept well in my 2nd class couchette if customs hadn't woken me twice. The second time, already in Turkey, the train conductor woke me up to explain that the police wanted to search the passengers. I looked outside and saw passengers stand in line to show their documents and the contents of their bags. Let them come to me, I told the conductor. But he asked me to come out and present myself to the police.

Finally, here I am in... Halkali? OK, I'd been warned the train stops in the suburbs of the Turkish cultural capital. I glimpse the sea for a moment and catch another train, as judging by the tall residential buildings, not much happens around here. Let's go εἰς τὴν Πόλιν! (eis tḕn Pólīn means "to the city").

Constantinople! I've finally arrived at the city that separates Europe from Asia.

And I want to reach Asia on foot! Not even by car will I breathe the air of Anatolia for the first time. There are two bridges around here. If neither is pedestrian, I'll risk a fine. I don't care. No one will take away this stupid pleasure of imagining myself as a legionary crossing the Bosphorus to reach the former empire of Darius II. On one side Greece, on the other Persia. Everything else is contemporary corruption of history. This is the city! Istanbul.

Sometimes I think I was born at the end of the 19th century, that for some reason I didn't live the next one and came back to live in the 21st. I'm familiar with recent technologies, and it's not true that I was born in the 19th century. But my literary education is almost exclusively 19th century. That's why, anywhere in the world, I'm used to reading that people say my people are better than the other. Reader beware. There's no political intent here, only aesthetic. If I were an Antarctic explorer, I'd carry a Portuguese flag, or accept a French one, to claim the sixth continent as property of the Portuguese Empire.

In Istanbul, still unsure where I'll spend the night, I choose to get off the train near Hagia Sophia. So many tourists! I could even eat a kebab, but not here—whenever I glance at a menu, I see someone smiling at me as if to say: come in, spend your money with us. Circle the once glorious cathedral (and stunning mosque). Only those who've been to a city like Paris or Venice can imagine the number of people stand a line to enter.

After walking through several Istanbul bazaars, I ate fried corn in the gardens of the Blue Mosque. I rent a room at Buculeon by Cheers, near the tourist chaos but with a sea view. I take the chance to lunch on small goat burgers with fries and salad while watching the sea, the border between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean, the birds and boats. It was good; you can tell it's home-cooked. I see Asia for the first time—I could swim there if I wanted. I don't know if it's allowed or dangerous, and anyway, I'm tired and not a great swimmer. I'll take a nap.

I fell asleep easily and had to force myself to get up to make the most of the afternoon. I strolled a bit by the seaside. The weather is changing; such a gale has risen that the seagulls can't fly straight and the waves crash on the shore. I head back to the hostel.

The next day, I looked for a library near Hagia Sophia. How much money they must make with so many people paying to enter the church turned mosque. I can already say that the only mosques I visited in Constantinople—sorry, Istanbul—weren't mosques; they were churches. I'd like to have visited some mosques, but I haven't had the chance to be invited in by a Muslim yet; I don't want to enter as a tourist. For Hagia Sophia, I'd make an exception due to its historical legacy making it such a magnificent monument. But I don't insist; I leave it to the 99% tourists wandering in Cagaloglu. The Ahmet Hamdi library is a former mosque and, in my view, far more valuable. The guard just asked me to write my name on entry; I could consult the books—if I knew Turkish—plug in my computer, and study in peace, in silence broken only pleasantly by the distant call of the muezzins. At day's end, I walk again, cross the Golden Horn, and overnight in Kabatas.

This morning, I finally wanted to cross the Bosphorus Bridge on foot. I'd been warned it was recently banned because too many people were suiciding there. I tried anyway. The police stopped me, explaining in a mix of Turkish and English what I already knew. I said diving into the Bosphorus wasn't in my plans; I just wanted to cross the bridge. They smiled, said they had to follow orders and unfortunately couldn't let me pass. I thanked them anyway. Istanbul's police and security are friendly. The female officers too. I hadn't imagined seeing so many. Most wear just a cap to cover their hair. The police are friendly, I was saying. Tolerant and smiling; some carry only a pistol, others a shotgun. Everywhere I see surveillance cameras; I'd never been in a country with so much surveillance. To enter the contemporary art museum, I had to go through those airport portals twice.

Look at this cat in the middle of the sidewalk! I forgot to mention that Istanbul's metropolis houses 15.8 million people, about 300,000 cats, and 140,000 dogs. The three species live in peace with each other, coexist peacefully, know the city's habits, have the same rights, share the same spaces, and know the basics of the road code. I even wondered if a cat I'd seen the day before in the supermarket had money to buy fish.

The weather today is awful, heavy rain with strong wind. I'll take the ferry to Asia later for a beer. Truth be told, before the Ottomans conquered the city, that bridge didn't exist. All the better.

Here I am finally on the boat heading to Kadikoy. On the other side, Asian land. I'm not the only tourist but undoubtedly the most excited. Nowadays everything's very safe, but the currents separating the Marmara Sea from the Black Sea have swallowed entire fleets. The ferry turns starboard before going full throttle, cutting through the Bosphorus waters. The interior is comfortable, but I prefer outside to better enjoy the view and the waves' sway. I see the Ottoman palace recede and seagulls following the ship—they know tourists give them bread. Sorry, no bread with me, seagulls. I walk from one side of the caravel to the other seeking the best viewpoint—hey, fellow going the opposite way; load the cannons to say hello! Asia approaches in this twenty-minute journey of sublime beauty. We pass cranes and some fishing boats. We dock. I let the more hurried crowd exit first; I wouldn't mind spending the day going back and forth. Stepping ashore, I realize the city is the same, the people, mosques, rules—nothing changed except that faint fishing village smell... 

After a short walk through the neighborhood full of fish markets, cheesemongers, souvenirs, restaurants, I had a beer in a bar intending to write but ended up chatting with Turks and tourists of all nationalities. But I want to resume the narrative on the west side, mainly at Galata West Hostel, where I've been staying. I met many lost Iranians in Istanbul. Nina, an Australian I met in the city, told me her English club also has many Iranians. We talked about Iran, the families they left behind. Many had been on the front lines during the protests. They lament religion's heavy presence in politics. Mohamed left his job for Istanbul waiting for the storm to calm. Maysa came to work in Turkey or Europe, not sure yet. They talk to family daily—at least the internet's back in their land.

I bonded with other Iranians, Turks, a Moroccan who beat me at chess, a Brazilian, a Ukrainian... Hey, I even reconnected with a German I'd met in Plovdiv! It hurt even more than in Plovdiv to leave the people I met at the hostel. I walk to Kabatas station and take the ferry again to Kadikoy, in Asia. I already miss the people I met as I watch the western neighborhoods recede. But my thirst for adventure is greater. Farewell, my beloved Europe. I hope not to return before autumn.

Étape 7 - Istambul

 Le train part presque à l'heure, une Bulgare a discuté avec moi et j'ai fini par m'asseoir à côté d'elle. Mais le contrôleur m'avertit que je ne suis pas à ma place – c'est important, car le wagon où je suis s'arrête avant d'atteindre la frontière. Je dois donc aller dans mon compartiment ; de toute façon, ma nouvelle amie était amusante mais trop bavarde. Maintenant que j'y pense, je ne me souviens pas qu'un Bulgare ait jamais entamé la conversation avec moi.

J'aurais confortablement dormi dans ma couchette de 2e classe, si la douane ne m'avait pas réveillé à deux reprises. La deuxième fois, c'était déjà en Turquie, le contrôleur du train m'a réveillé pour m'expliquer que la police voulait fouiller les passagers. J'ai regardé dehors, et j'ai vu les passagers faire la queue pour montrer leurs documents et l'intérieur de leurs bagages. Qu'ils viennent me voir, ai-je répondu au contrôleur. Mais celui-ci m'a demandé de sortir et de me présenter à la police.

Enfin, me voilà enfin à... Halkali? OK, on m'avait prévenu que le train s'arrêtait dans les faubourgs de la capitale culturelle turque. Je vois la mer un instant et je prends un autre train, car à voir les immeubles hauts et résidentiels, je dirais qu'ici on ne fait pas grand-chose. Allons εἰς τὴν Πόλιν ! (eis tḕn Pólīn signifie « vers la ville »).

Constantinople! Enfin, j'arrive à la ville qui sépare l'Europe de l'Asie.

Et je veux arriver en Asie à pied! Pas même en voiture je respirerai pour la première fois l'air de l'Anatolie. Il y a par ici deux ponts. Si par malheur aucun n'est permis aux piétons, je courrai le risque de recevoir une amende. Tant pis. Personne ne m'enlèvera ce stupide plaisir de m'imaginer un légionnaire traversant le Bosphore pour arriver à l'ancien empire de Darius II. D'un côté la Grèce, de l'autre la Perse. Tout le reste n'est que corruption contemporaine de l'histoire. Voici la ville! Istanbul.

Parfois, je pense que je suis né à la fin du XIXe siècle, que pour une raison ou une autre je n'ai pas vécu le suivant et que je suis revenu à la vie au XXIe siècle. Je connais un peu les technologies récentes, et il n'est pas vrai que je sois né au XIXe siècle. Mais mon éducation littéraire est presque exclusivement faite de XIXe siècle. C'est pourquoi, partout dans le monde, j'ai l'habitude de lire que les gens disent que mon peuple est meilleur que l'autre. Le lecteur est averti. Il n'y a ici aucune intention politique, seulement esthétique. Si j'étais un explorateur de l'Antarctique, j'emporterais avec moi un drapeau portugais, ou j'accepterais un français, pour déclarer le sixième continent propriété de l'Empire portugais.

À Istanbul, encore incertain de l'endroit où je vais passer la nuit, je choisis de descendre du train près de Sainte-Sophie. Combien de touristes! J'aurais bien mangé un kebab, mais pas ici, dès que je pose les yeux sur un menu, je vois une personne sourire vers moi comme pour dire: entrez, venez dépenser votre argent chez nous. J’ai fais le tour de l'ancienne et glorieuse cathédrale (et magnifique mosquée). Seuls ceux qui ont déjà été dans une ville comme Paris ou Venise peuvent imaginer la quantité de personnes qui faisaient la queue pour entrer.

Après avoir marché dans plusieurs bazars d'Istanbul, j'ai mangé du maïs frit dans les jardins de la Mosquée Bleue. Je loue une chambre au Buculeon by Cheers, près de la confusion touristique mais avec vue sur la mer. J'en profite pour déjeuner une sorte de petits hamburgers de chevreau avec frites et salade pendant que je regarde la mer, la frontière entre la mer Noire et la Méditerranée, les oiseaux et les bateaux. C'était bon, on sent que c'est de la nourriture maison. Je vois l'Asie pour la première fois, je pourrais y aller à la nage si je voulais. Je ne sais pas si c'est permis ou dangereux, et de toute façon, je suis fatigué et je ne suis pas un excellent nageur. Je vais faire une sieste.

Je me suis facilement endormi et j'ai dû me forcer à me lever pour profiter encore de l'après-midi. Je me suis promené un peu au bord de la mer. Le temps change, une tempête s'est levée, les hirondelles ne parviennent pas à voler en ligne droite, les vagues se brisent sur la côte. Je retourne à l'auberge.

Le lendemain, j'ai cherché une bibliothèque, aux alentours de Sainte-Sophie. Combien d'argent ils ne doivent pas gagner avec tant de gens payant pour entrer dans l'église transformée en mosquée. Je peux déjà avancer que les seules mosquées que j'ai visitées à Constantinople, pardon, à Istanbul, n'étaient pas des mosquées, c'étaient des églises. J'aimerais visiter quelques mosquées, mais je n'ai pas encore eu l'occasion d'être invité à entrer par un musulman; je ne veux pas entrer en tant que touriste. Pour voir Sainte-Sophie, j'ouvrirais bien une exception, en raison de son légat historique qui en fait un monument si magnifique. Mais je n'y tiens pas non plus; je la laisse aux 99% de touristes qui se promènent à Cagaloglu. La bibliothèque d'Ahmet Hamdi est une ancienne mosquée et à mon avis un bien plus précieux. Le gardien m'a seulement demandé d'écrire mon nom à l'entrée, j'ai pu consulter les livres – si je savais lire le turc – brancher mon ordinateur à la prise, et étudier en paix, dans un silence que seuls les chants lointains des muezzins interrompaient agréablement par moment. À la fin de la journée, je repars marcher, je traverse le Corne d'Or et je dors à Kabatas.

Ce matin, j'ai enfin voulu traverser le pont du Bosphore à pied. On m'avait déjà averti que cela fut récemment interdit car beaucoup de gens se suicidaient sur ce pont. J'ai quand même essayé. La police m'a arrêté, expliquant dans un mélange de turc et d'anglais ce que je savais déjà. J'ai expliqué que plonger dans le Bosphore ne faisait pas partie de mes plans, je voulais juste traverser le pont. Ils ont souri, m'ont dit qu'ils devaient obéir aux ordres et qu'ils ne pouvaient malheureusement pas me laisser passer. Je les ai remerciés quand même. Les policiers et les agents de sécurité d'Istanbul sont sympathiques. Les agentes aussi. Je n'imaginais pas en voir autant. La plupart d'entre elles portent seulement une cagoule pour cacher leurs cheveux. Les policiers sont sympathiques, disais-je. Ils sont tolérants et souriants, certains ne portent qu'un pistolet, tandis que d'autres ont un fusil de chasse. Partout je vois des caméras de surveillance, je n'avais jamais été dans un pays avec autant de surveillance. Pour entrer au musée d'art contemporain, j'ai dû passer par deux fois par ces portiques qu'on trouve dans les aéroports.

Regardez ce chat au milieu du trottoir ! J'ai oublié de mentionner que la métropole d'Istanbul abrite 15,8 millions de personnes, environ 300 000 chats et 140 000 chiens. Les trois espèces vivent en paix les unes avec les autres, cohabitent pacifiquement, connaissent les habitudes de la ville, ont les mêmes droits, partagent les mêmes espaces et connaissent les rudiments du code de la route. Je me suis même demandé si un chat que j'avais vu la veille au supermarché n’avait pas de l'argent pour acheter du poisson.

Le temps aujourd'hui est affreux, il pleut beaucoup, avec un vent fort. Je prendrai le ferry pour l'Asie tout à l'heure pour boire une bière. À vrai dire, avant que les Ottomans conquièrent la ville, ce pont n'existait pas. Pourquoi pas.

Me voilà enfin sur le bateau qui part pour Kadiköy. De l'autre côté, la terre asiatique. Je ne suis pas le seul touriste mais je suis sans doute le plus excité. De nos jours, tout est très sûr, mais les courants qui séparent la mer de Marmara de la mer Noire ont déjà englouti des flottes entières. Le ferry vire à tribord avant de mettre ses moteurs à fond, fendant les eaux du Bosphore. La salle intérieure est confortable, mais je préfère rester dehors pour mieux apprécier la vue et les oscillations des vagues. Je vois le palais ottoman s'éloigner et les mouettes accompagner le navire – elles savent que les touristes leur donnent du pain. Désolé, je n'ai pas de pain avec moi, mouettes. Je marche d'un côté à l'autre de la caravelle à la recherche du meilleur angle d'observation – salut, collègue qui va dans l'autre sens; chargez les canons pour saluer ! L'Asie se rapproche dans ce voyage qui dure encore ses vingt minutes de beauté subliminale. Nous passons près des grues et de quelques bateaux de pêche. Nous accostons. Je laisse cette foule plus pressée que moi sortir en premier, je ne me plaindrais pas de passer la journée à faire des allers-retours. En posant le pied sur terre, je réalise que la ville est la même, les gens, les mosquées, les règles, rien n'a changé, sauf cette petite odeur propre aux villages de pêcheurs.

Après une brève promenade dans le quartier, rempli de marchés de poisson, de fromageries, de souvenirs, de restaurants, j'ai bu une bière dans un bar avec l'intention d'écrire mais j'ai fini par discuter avec des Turcs et des touristes de toutes nationalités. Mais je veux reprendre le récit à l'ouest, principalement au Galata West Hostel, où j'ai dormi. J'ai rencontré beaucoup d'Iraniens perdus à Istanbul. Nina, une Australienne que j'ai rencontrée en ville, m'a dit qu'au club d'anglais où elle travaille, il y a aussi beaucoup d'Iraniens. Nous avons parlé de l'Iran, des familles qu'ils ont laissées derrière eux. Beaucoup d'entre eux étaient aux premières lignes pendant les manifestations. Ils regrettent que la religion soit si présente en politique. Mohamed a quitté son travail pour Istanbul en attendant que la tempête se calme. Maysa est venue pour travailler en Turquie ou en Europe, elle ne sait pas bien encore. Ils parlent avec leur famille tous les jours – au moins l'internet est revenu dans leur pays.

J'ai sympathisé avec d'autres Iraniens, Turcs, un Marocain qui m'a battu aux échecs, une Brésilienne, un Ukrainien... J'ai même retrouvé un Allemand que j'avais connu à Plovdiv! Il m'a été encore plus difficile qu’à Plovdiv de laisser derrière moi les gens que j'ai rencontrés à l'auberge. Je marche jusqu'à la gare de Kabatas et je reprends le ferry pour Kadiköy, en Asie. Je sens déjà la nostalgie des personnes que j'ai connues pendant que je vois les quartiers de l'ouest s'éloigner. Mais mon désir d'aventure est supérieur. Adieu ma bien-aimée Europe. J'espère ne pas revenir avant l'automne.

Etapa 7 - Istambul

 O comboio parte quase a horas, uma búlgara conversou comigo e acabei por sentar-me ao lado dela. Mas o revisor avisa-me que não estou no meu lugar - é importante, pois o vagão em que estou pára antes de chegar à fronteira. Tenho portanto de ir para o meu compartimento; de qualquer modo, a minha nova amiga era divertida mas demasiado faladora. Agora que penso nisso, não me lembro de algum búlgaro ter iniciado conversa comigo.

Teria dormido bem, na minha couchette de 2ª classe, se não fosse a alfândega acordar-me por duas vezes. Na segunda vez, foi já na Turquia, o revisor do comboio acordou-me para me explicar que a polícia queria revistar os passageiros. Olhei lá fora, e vi os passageiros fazerem fila para mostrar os documentos e o interior das suas bagagens. Eles que venham ter comigo, respondi ao revisor. Mas este pediu-me para sair e apresentar-me à polícia. 

Enfim, eis-me finalmente em…Halkali? Ok, já me tinham avisado que o comboio parava nos subúrbios da capital cultural turca. Vejo o mar por instantes e apanho outro comboio, pois a ver pelos prédios altos e residenciais, eu diria que aqui não se faz grande coisa. Vamos εἰς τὴν Πόλιν! (eis tḕn Pólīn significa “para a cidade”).

Constantinopla! Finalmente cheguei à cidade que separa a Europa da Ásia. 

E quero chegar à Ásia a pé! Nem mesmo de carro hei de inspirar pela primeira vez o ar da Anatólia. Há por aqui duas pontes. Se nenhuma for pedestre correrei o risco de ser multado. Não quero nem saber. Ninguém me há-de tirar esse prazer estúpido de me imaginar um legionário que atravessa o Bósforo para chegar ao outrora império de Darius II. De um lado a Grécia, do outro a Pérsia. Tudo o resto são corrupções contemporâneas da história. É esta a cidade! Istambul.

Por vezes penso que nasci no final do século XIX, que por alguma razão não vivi o seguinte e voltei a viver no século XXI. Estou familiarizado com as recentes tecnologias, e não é verdade que tenha nascido no século XIX. Mas a minha educação literária é quase exclusivamente feita de século XIX. Por essa razão, em qualquer parte do mundo, estou habituado a ler que as pessoas dizem que o meu povo é melhor que o outro. Fica o leitor avisado. Não há aqui nenhuma intenção política, apenas estética. Se eu fosse um explorador da Antártida carregaria comigo uma bandeira portuguesa, ou aceitaria uma francesa, para declarar o sexto continente como propriedade do Império Português. 

Istambul, ainda sem a certeza de onde vou passar a noite, escolho sair do comboio perto da Santa Sofia. Quantos turistas! Até comia um kebab, mas aqui é que não, sempre que pouso o olhar para um menu vejo uma pessoa sorrir para mim como quem diz: entre, venha gastar o seu dinheiro connosco. Dê a volta à outrora gloriosa catedral (e lindíssima mesquita). Só quem já esteve numa cidade como Paris ou Veneza pode imaginar a quantidade de pessoas que faziam fila para entrar. 

Depois de caminhar por vários bazares de Istambul, comi milho frito nos jardins da Mesquita Azul. Alugo um quarto no Buculeon by Cheers, perto da confusão turística mas com vista para o mar. Aproveito para almoçar uma espécie de pequenos hambúrgueres de cabrito com batata frita e salada enquanto vejo o mar, a fronteira entre o mar negro e o mediterrâneo, os pássaros e os barcos. Estava bom, nota-se que é comida caseira. Vejo a Ásia pela primeira vez, podia ir a nadar se eu quisesse. Não sei se é permitido ou perigoso, e seja como for, estou cansado e não sou um excelente nadador. Vou dormir a sesta.

Adormeci facilmente e tive de me obrigar a levantar para aproveitar ainda a tarde. Passeei um pouco à beira-mar. O tempo está mudando, levantou agora uma ventania tal que as andorinhas não conseguem voar directo e as ondas rebentam na costa. Volto para o hostel.

No dia seguinte, procurei uma biblioteca, nos arredores da Santa Sofia. Quanto dinheiro não devem fazer com tanta gente a pagar para entrar na igreja transformada em mesquita. Posso já adiantar que as únicas mesquitas que visitei em Constantinopla, desculpe, em Istambul, não foram mesquitas, foram igrejas. Gostaria de ter visitado algumas mesquitas, mas ainda não tive a oportunidade de ser convidado a entrar por um muçulmano; não quero entrar como turista. Para ver a Santa Sofia, até abria uma excepção, por ter um legado histórico que faz dela um monumento tão magnífico. Mas também não faço questão; deixo-a aos 99% de turistas que passeiam em Cagaloglu. A biblioteca de Ahmet Hamdi é uma antiga mesquita e é a meu ver um bem mais valioso. O segurança apenas me pediu para escrever o meu nome ao entrar, pude consultar os livros - caso soubesse ler turco - ligar o meu computador à tomada, e estudar em paz, em silêncio que só o cântico distante dos muezins rompia de forma agradável. Ao fim do dia volto a caminhar, atravesso o Corno do Ouro e pernoiteço em Kabatas. 

Hoje de manhã quis finalmente atravessar a ponte do Bósforo a pé. Já me tinham avisado que passou recentemente a ser proibido porque muita gente se suicidava nessa ponte. Ainda assim, tentei. A polícia mandou-me parar, explicando numa mistura de turco com inglês o que eu já sabia. Expliquei que mergulhar no Bósforo não fazia parte dos meus planos, apenas queria atravessar a ponte. Sorriram, disseram-me que tinham que obedecer às ordens e que infelizmente não me podiam deixar passar. Agradeci na mesma. São simpáticos, os polícias e seguranças de Istambul. As agentes também. Não imaginava ver tantas. A maioria delas, usa apenas um boné para esconder os cabelos. São simpáticos os polícias, dizia eu. São tolerantes e sorridentes, alguns guardam apenas uma pistola, enquanto outros carregam uma caçadeira. Em todo o lado vejo câmaras de vigilância, nunca tinha estado num país com tanta vigilância. Para entrar no museu de arte contemporânea, tive de passar duas vezes por aqueles pórticos que encontramos nos aeroportos. 

Vejam-me este gato no meio do passeio! Esqueci-me de mencionar que a metrópole de Istambul abriga 15,8 milhões de pessoas, cerca de 300 mil gatos e 140 mil cães. As três espécies vivem em paz umas com as outras, coabitam pacificamente, conhecem os hábitos da cidade, possuem os mesmos direitos, partilham os mesmos espaços e conhecem os rudimentos do código da estrada. Cheguei a perguntar-me se um gato que vi na véspera no supermercado trazia consigo dinheiro para comprar peixe.

O tempo hoje está péssimo, chove bastante, com vento forte. Apanharei o ferry para a Ásia logo para beber uma cerveja. Verdade seja dita, antes dos otomanos terem conquistado a cidade, essa ponte não existia. Tanto melhor. 

Eis-me finalmente no barco que parte para Kadikoy. Do outro lado, o sol asiático. Não sou o único turista mas sou sem dúvida alguma o mais excitado. Hoje em dia é tudo muito seguro, mas as correntes que separam o Mar de Mármara ao Negro, já engoliram frotas inteiras. O ferry vira a tribordo antes de ligar os seus motores a fundo, cortando as águas do Bósforo. A sala interior é confortável, mas prefiro ficar do lado de fora para melhor apreciar a vista e as oscilações das ondas. Vejo o palácio otomano afastar-se e as gaivotas a acompanhar o navio - sabem que os turistas dão-lhes pão. Desculpem-me, não trago pão comigo, gaivotas. Caminho de um lado ao outro da caravela à procura do melhor ângulo de observação - olá, colega que vai em sentido contrário; carregar os canhões para salutar! A Ásia aproxima-se nessa viagem que ainda demora os seus vinte minutos de beleza subliminar. Passamos pelas gruas e alguns barcos de pesca. Abarcamos. Deixo essa malta com mais pressa que eu sair primeiro, não me importava de passar o dia dando idas e voltas. Ao pisar a terra, percebo que a cidade é a mesma, as pessoas, as mesquitas, as regras, nada mudou, a não ser esse pequeno cheiro próprio das aldeias pescatórias.

Depois de uma breve caminhada pelo bairro, repleto de mercados de peixe, queijarias, souvenirs, restaurantes, bebi uma cerveja num bar com a intenção de escrever mas acabei por conversar com turcos e turistas de todas as nacionalidades. Mas quero retomar a narrativa no ocidente, principalmente no Galata West Hostel, onde tenho dormido. Conheci muitos iranianos perdidos em Istambul. A Nina, uma australiana que conheci na cidade, disse-me que no clube de inglês onde ela trabalha, também há muitos iranianos. Falámos no Irão, nas famílias que eles deixaram por trás. Muitos deles tinham estado nas linhas da frente durante os protestos. Lamentam que a religião esteja tão presente na política. O Mohamed deixou o trabalho para Istambul à espera que a tempestade acalme. A Maysa veio para trabalhar na Turquia ou na Europa, ainda não sabe bem. Conversam com a família todos os dias - pelo menos a internet voltou na terra deles. 

Simpatizei com outros iranianos, turcos, um marroquino que me derrotou no xadrez, uma brasileira, um ucraniano… Há, reencontrei um alemão que tinha conhecido em Plovdiv! Custou-me ainda mais que me tinha custado em Plovdiv, deixar para trás as pessoas que conheci no hostel. Caminho até à estação de Kabatas e apanho novamente o ferry para Kadikoy, na Ásia. Sinto já saudades das pessoas que conheci enquanto vejo os bairros do ocidente afastarem-se. Mas o meu desejo por aventura é superior. Adeus minha amada Europa. Espero não voltar antes do Outono.

Stage 6 - Plovdiv

 I make a slight detour on my path because I insist on getting to know another Bulgarian city—one that isn't appealing to most travelers just because of the beach—and for that, I chose Plovdiv.

I fell asleep shortly after arriving at the train. However, I woke up in the middle of the night and didn't fall asleep again. The train arrived at 6 a.m. as scheduled. I must confess I feel exhausted; I would have preferred it to arrive late, I certainly would have slept more. I want to sleep—why the hell hasn't anyone invented, as far as I know, hotels that operate 24 hours a day where you can pay by the hour? There are coworking spaces; I've already confirmed there's one in Plovdiv, but it only opens at 9 a.m. I wanted to sleep now. What can I do other than visit the city while it's still asleep?

I pass by a small garden with trees covered in snow—relax, I promise not to go on another monologue about the snow—but they look so beautiful, the trees, like this: naked, black, and lightly covered in snow. I wanted to sit in this garden to read the news and rest my body, but the benches were too damp. It's only 7 a.m., some cafés are starting to open. I'll try something sweet at that Bakery Art. I order a kind of éclair without much conviction. Before she picks up the pastry, I warn that I don't have cash with me, that I can only pay by card. The place doesn't accept cards. I make the employee—who speaks a little English—understand that I'm sorry, but it doesn't suit me to go to the ATM right now. The woman understood, wrapped the éclair on paper, and offered it to me. How nice! It has crème pâtissière with quality chocolate! It was the best éclair I've ever eaten.

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It's still snowing... But I already feel much better; I take the opportunity to walk through the city center. Two hours later, I need to rest, so around 9 a.m., in a café that seems cozy, I order a green tea to warm up, write a bit, and look for a hotel—preferably one that allows me to take a short nap before check-in.

The next day, I went running on two of Plovdiv's seven hills. The Romans wanted them to be just three and gave the city the name Trimontium. I didn't count them, but they are real hills, not just small inclines. From the top of Dzhendem Tepe, the highest, you can see how big Philippopolis—the name of the city in the Greek period—has become.

The hill of Nebet Tepe, smaller and in the city center, houses most of the museums. And so many churches per square meter! I think I've never seen such a concentration of churches. Gorgeous, open to the public, though they ask for donations—I made the sign of the cross to simultaneously feel like an Orthodox Christian for an hour and also to avoid tipping the ladies in charge of the church. Sharing photos saves the reader from reading the description, and me from writing it.

Still, I wanted to emphasize that the presence of each church is very strong. In many churches, taking photos inside was prohibited. The center of this city is full of terraces with different colors and styles. I don't find any symbolic square, but several streets that intersect. I pass through the same places unintentionally but from different entrances. Each café, bar, and restaurant seems to carry a strong personality. I didn't get to visit the archaeology museum because many archaeological sites remain alive, integrated into the city...

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I sleep in Kapana, a kind of Lisbon Bairro Alto neighborhood with less steep but even more winding streets, easier to get lost in. I got into the habit of walking over the Roman amphitheater whenever I need to go to the supermarket. I've slept in over fifty hostels and I think I've never seen one so small. It has only three rooms, a kitchen, a living room, a small balcony, and two bathrooms. In total, there were about eight people sharing the apartment. Half were Bulgarians, the average age higher than mine. There's clearly a climate of help, and the vibe is more sociable than festive. For the first time on my trip, I imagined myself living here. Not as a tourist, but as someone who has their group of friends, who knows the store hours. It was a brief thought, but not superficial.

The next day, I went back to Bakery Art to eat an éclair and offer the lady a small flower. I told her that the éclair I had eaten had been one of the best of my life. I know that this kind of small stories depend more on people than on a people's culture; nevertheless, there are places where this kind of human magic is more expected to happen.

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I've talked to some locals today, more than yesterday, and I realize that this people's life is not easy. Despite having joined the European Union, they are apprehensive about the significant inflation of prices in the last year. Supermarkets are clearly cheaper than in Portugal, for example. Fast food restaurants too. On any street, we find machines that serve coffee for about €0.50. However, slightly fancy cafés or a normal restaurant, the prices are similar to those in Spain... I continue to like exploring Plovdiv, but I must say I have Latin blood. I like to feel that the street is the city's living room. Going to a café is a natural extension of our homes. Hospitality in Plovdiv is equal to Portuguese or Romanian, but encounters between strangers are not a habit. The city is welcoming but doesn't vibrate as I would like. In Plovdiv's suburbs, you feel a genuine community atmosphere, but the buildings are rundown and I don't feel the same sense of safety. I wouldn't do what I'm doing right now—writing directly on the computer in a square in the city center, next to a historic mosque in Kapana. Despite it already being Friday and the cold finally bearable, the city center is practically empty. You can tell that many people at the end of the day retreat home to drink, having nothing else to do—not just in Plovdiv, but it's a common practice throughout Bulgaria. Even people with decent salaries like doctors or lawyers. It's sad. This people is no less welcoming than the Portuguese, carry the same melancholy, the same fatality, but they don't even stay in cafés to socialize.

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I'd like to spend a day visiting villages in the Bulgarian mountains, but I don't want to delay any more. I leave tomorrow, Saturday night, for Istanbul. It was a bit hard to say goodbye to the hostel crew, but it had to be done. I spent the afternoon in Tsar Shishman Garden, a bit to work, but above all to watch Bulgarians strolling with their families. Young teenagers also walk around. I even caught two groups with a speaker playing loud music. At least, they were playing metal. There are many pines here, which keep a green color in the garden. Today's weather is mild. Still winter, but the cold isn't so bad anymore, the snow won't come back, many women have taken a skirt out of the closet for the first time this year. Some couples exchange kisses... This afternoon of February 14 has a spring-like air, but winter is still halfway through; it's only 4:30 p.m. and the sunset has already begun. 

Ah... today is Valentine's Day. That's why so many people are carrying roses, so many couples went for a walk. It tires me a bit to see myself always in the same clothes; I have my dandy side that demands I have at least one stylish piece of clothing with me. I haven't found a hat that I like, and I also don't know if I should go for a winter one or a summer one. I take the opportunity that I'm in the mall to look at the windows. Finally, I bought a brownish blazer that can serve me in winter as well as on spring days. I forgot my running shoes at the hotel. I no longer have time to go back to the hostel. No big deal, they're old and worn out.

Plovdiv was a very revitalizing break. I keep in my memory the winding streets of the center and that delicious éclair as a souvenir.