Porto-She called the wrong Filiz.

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She called the wrong Filiz.

That is how I found my friend of 44 years again.

Uğur @mugurguner had told Mejrima @mejrimamujanic to call a Filiz in İzmir — a gynaecologist. She heard İzmir, thought of me, and called the wrong one. Maybe the right one. Who knows.

Then, while I was in Istanbul waiting for my flight to take Olli to Porto, a message came from Uğur. Our primary school teacher, from when we were 10, 12 years old, had just passed away — and we started to communicate again, where we left.

One funeral brought a celebration. And they were moving to Porto, exactly while I was there.

Porto. A city of grief, with her songs of fado, becoming a city of expression. Not swallowing, but transforming.

They took me to a beach named Zephyr. The Greeks named four winds — Boreas brings the winter, Notos the storms, Euros from the east. And Zephyros from the west, the gentle one, the one who brings the spring. Here, west is the Atlantic. Icebreaking, flourishing, creating — like our meltem in İzmir. The breath of İzmir.

I had only known seas, not oceans. And I swam and I swam and I swam.

Then a guy called Ricardo came along with his hawk, Tom. I counted 9 times: fly away and come back.

Uğur after 44 years. Olli after a month. Zephyros every spring, without fail.

Nothing was broken. It was only paused.

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Thirteen pages with the watercolours, each copy numbered.
DM the word ZEPHYR · 3 USD

#thelongtravel #porto #whle #watercolour #atlantic