but you've been replaced.
23.4.10 - 23.4.10 25 °C
Istanbul is the most romantic city I have ever been to. Please send my apologies to Paris, but it can no longer compete.
A five minute walk from my flat is the Moda seaside, aka MakeOutFest2010. Ever since spring arrived the area has been increasingly crammed with loved up couples. What was once a jog with a view has become a game of running-and-dodging interlocking duos who are oblivious to what is going on outside their couple-bubble. If I try to run up on the rocks between the path and the sea I ALWAYS spy with my little eye numerous pairs of entangled lovers sheltered from view for a sneaky snog. Always. It's prime pashing real estate. BRMOs (behind rock make outs) are the new DFMOs (dance floor make outs), fo sho.
How could these Turkish ladies resist though, seriously?
First of all it is springtime, nature's most potent aphrodisiac. The revival of warm sun and tanned skin mixed with the smell of lilacs and wisteria blossoms likens rufies to tic tacs. Savvy suitors know the powers of springtime and take their lady-friends to the Moda seaside to gaze at the Princes Islands across a flat-calm, sparkling sea. As if it were not already a swooner's paradise, there are roses for sale by mysterious dark-skinned gypsy women, sweet keetans to tickle and demonstrate a softer side, and balloons to shoot to flaunt some machismo. A few lads, eager to see the other side of the rocks, pull out all the stops by serenading their eye's apple with guitars. Every single tree has a girl leaning against it whispering sweet Turkish nothings to her beau whose head she holds in her lap. Passing through the area is like walking through a romantic warzone with cupid's stray arrows filling the sky (this must explain why I have fallen hard for a few keetans along the way). It is as if the final scene of a romantic comedy overdosed on speed, in a good way.
Sure, Paris may have the Sacre Coeur, Eiffel Tower, and Seine, but these are old news. True romance is about sincere gestures and not relying on cliched symbols of love. Nothing says sincere more than wedging yourself between boulders for a BRMO.
Lucky for me, the only gesture I am interested in comes served hot with a large glass of wine. Don't worry Mem, my heart (and Tina) are not being swayed to stay.