These Our Private Rooms

 

Six flights up an apartment share on the “wrong side of the track” in Istanbul. The marble staircase spirals upward and gives away to rotting wood on the fifth floor, the last flight leading to our apartment. I feel a little bit like the Little Princess every time I huff my way up the dizzying walk up.

 

A simple white room; walls, bed, linen, furniture, curtains, all white. A fierce breeze blows through the house when the right combination of window and doors are open. Everything is down to the basics. The rooms, the kitchen, the only thing that is remotely fancy is the WIFI connection we can’t live with out.

Sherry and I each occupy a room of our own. It is easy to make ourselves comfortable. Somehow I manage simple and yet seemingly spectacular meals out of what we have, out of what I can find in the stores near by. The key to owning any kitchen, any city for that matter, is figuring out how to make coffee. Once you’ve got the caffeine addiction handled, you are well on your way in mastering the city.

 

Felix joined us a few days in and now we are three. Each one of us with a white room, working away at our desks; the breeze blows in the call of prayer and the scent of the city beneath us. We break away from our work for a bottle of wine and a beautiful meal on the terrace with the sunset.

This feels like perfection.

 

A simple room. A friend or two. A solid WIFI connection. Novels can get written in a place like this. World domination plans can get plotted out in these white rooms. The doubt in your head can be silenced so you can hear your true desire.

Nothing lasts and we all must move on. Our agenda drives us away from these white rooms. I was fully present during those days and perhaps that is what matters. I knew it was heaven when I open my sleepy eyes each morning to first light and call to prayers. This is not about making it last but about knowing how good it is while you are in it.

 

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