mud and scotch

The grown up jeans you bought me for Christmas are still splattered with the bright terra cotta mud of the flatter, rain-soaked passes of the Lycian Way, from the stretch above Kas before the giant hole in the ground catching water, and before the thicker underbrush which ends in the sudden revelation of the sea and that town below.  The next day I saved them and hiked up the preceding mountain in my sweatpants so that I could look more presentable for the 20-hour, 1-novel journey back to my bedroom in Brussels.

Also, I noticed in the little groceries in Turkey that though there seemed to not be a great deal of liquor available, there was always a prominent presence of Johnny Walker Red and Black.  It was all too expensive, so I left it on the shelf.  I was even more surprised when I rounded an aisle end and the only other scotch they had in a narrow display was Lagavulin.  Maybe we should just meet in Kas next year.

Or I’m thinking maybe we go find the distillery in Scotland.

Love you.

Timmy