As you round the first bend on the Batabat road, take the cool breeze on your face, the scent of juniper filling your lungs, and the skyline rising. Suddenly, the stone houses of Ağbulaq gleam, as if their lights have been turned on.
A creaking courtyard gate opens in the village; with a “Come in!” you step inside. The steam of hot bread from the tandoor meets the tea, and children’s laughter resonates around the table. The smaller memories the family shares-such as seeing their children play and smile-took away the tiredness of the journey like a handkerchief.
You strike the path in the afternoon, casting your shadow long over the dirt road. Walnut branches whisper goodbyes to your walk. As the sun sets, lights deepen in the mountain hotel window, making copper of the valley.
While nighttime crackles in the lobby rhythms, you lean back against the chair backs, taking a deep breath. The trout that arrives at the table becomes a bright melody with the fresh herb salad. When you crack the window, the stars are like a map spread on your bedside table.
The morning hastens its pace toward Lake Batabat, which perfectly echoes the sky. The pathway along the shore carries the rustling of reeds to your ears, while the wind slightly changes direction and the floating island slightly shifts; with your eyes you follow this silent miracle. The picnic on a blanket spread out in the grass begins: fresh bread, trout, and herbaceous flavors in harmony with the stillness of the lake.
