You’re clothes are all made by Balmain, and there’s diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are.” –Peter Sarstedt
We leave Athens and sail east across the Aegean Sea, to Turkey, arriving in the port city of Kusadasi just as the sun was rising.
“But where do you go to my lovely, when you’re alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you, I want to look inside your head, yes I do.” -Sarstedt
The streets are white and clean in the sunlight and the water sparkles in lapping belly laughs.
“I’ve seen all your qualifications you got from the Sorbonne.,
And the paintings you stole from Picasso, your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does.” -Sarstedt
We kick around the cafes a bit, watch a waiter fold a table cloth, watch a man casting a poll off rocks into the surf, squint in the sunlight and sigh.
“And when the snow falls you’re found in Saint Moritz with the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy, but you never get your lips wet, no you don’t.” -Sarstedt
There are certain places that remind you of songs, little tunes of muscle memory. Kusadais will be the 1969 song by Peter Sarstedt, Where did you go to, my lovely.
“Your name, it is heard in high places, you know the Aga Khan.
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas, and you keep it just for fun, for a laugh a-ha-ha-ha.” -Sarstedt
I've always loved this song, the sweetness and cruelty, the tranquility and absurdity of it. I think that pretty much explains most love affairs.
“They say that when you get married, it’ll be to a millionaire.
But they don’t realize where you came from, and I wonder if they really care, or give a damn.” -Sarstedt
We've come to Turkey to get to other places along the way. It's a stepping stone, but that doesn't mean we won't soak up this opportunity.
“So look into my face Marie-Claire and remember just who you are.
Then go and forget me forever, but I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do.” -Sarstedt
Standing on the coast of Turkey, I get this great sense that there is so much to this country that won't be seen on this trip. That it would take so much more time. So I stroll and take in what I can. I kick around pebbles on the sidewalk and Peter Sarstedt in my head. I think. I think a lot on days like today.
“I know where you go to my lovely, when you’re alone in your bed.
I know the thoughts that surround you, ‘cause I can look inside your head.” –Sarstedt
Maybe I spend more time forgetting, sailing away from memory and the past. Maybe that's the best way. Sail away to another day. That's nice isn't it?