Another month, another embarrassingly long absence from blogging. This time, I’m blaming it on the Turkish course I’m about to finish (3 hours, 3 times a week for 8 weeks – and this is the non-intensive version). Only 3 more hours of exams and then I’m done.
But while I’ve been buried in grammar books and homework (note: this is a blatant lie, I haven’t done nearly enough work and am almost sure I’m going to fail tomorrow), summer has snuck up on me. For months, Istanbul’s weather has dithered between Not Really Winter and Almost But Not Quite Spring, and then one day, I wake up to find that it’s too hot to wear jeans.
It’s not meltingly, suffocatingly hot yet, although today was just about humid enough to remind me of the sweaty hell of Istanbul in July and August. It’s the perfect temperature – warm enough for bare legs, not so hot to drain all life from your body. And the smells of Istanbul summer are uncoiling themselves in anticipation – jasmine on warm evenings, mangallar or barbeques in the park down the road, hot tarmac and fish sandwiches, and then that briny Bosphorous tang, which only intensifies as the temperature goes up.
I can’t wait for the first trip of the year to one of the beaches north of the city, the first mangal in the park, the first thunderstorm of summer. Soon I’m going to be complaining about the heat, so I’m taking this time to savour this on the cusp of summer moment.