Escapade à Byzance Olibere 2015

1902, when Constantinople was still Orient.
In the covered market
the merchant asks the traveler,
whether she likes spices.
She smells into the colorful bazaar,
a surge of everything she likes and dislikes,
foreign and unapproachable.
The cinnamon, she knows yes,
but the red?
"Saffron," yes, she takes something there.
"Ah and a lemon",
for refreshment, of course.

Deeper the traveler goes in,
Kapalı Çarşı is the name of the market,
burned down, they say.
She can still smell the smoking wood,
the ashes, the wind that faintly reaches her.
Or is it the incense that penetrates to her from afar?
A church, here in the Orient?
As a Catholic, she finds it nice.
But then she sees the mountains,
piled up in front of her,
2 Piaster the gram.
Like rock candy it looks,
she thinks.
"There I like to take something",
for contemplation, of course.

She wanders around,
the bag is full,
her head is pounding,
the smell is too strong.
In the evening, finally, she lies down in bed,
lets itself a bath,
respectively,
well,
the bellboy was so nice.
She feels strange,
a little cold.
She closes her eyes
and she remembers,
it christmas already at home!
And at home,
in the harsh Munich air,
there are Kipfeln with
beautiful vanilla scent.
She wishes
she would take them with her,
to the memory, of course.