Sevda Khatamian | travel
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Lazy Letter: World Run

I was at an insurance agency. I was preparing the documents for my visa. The check-list was almost entirely ticked, and the insurance was the last item. I’d saved the easiest one for the last, but things didn’t work out the way I’d expected. Neither the travel insurance, nor the visa, I ended up waiting for days stressfully. It will never be easy I guess, not as long as I hold this passport.READ MORE

Lazy Letter: North Wall

So, I left. I had an early morning flight. Last night was tiring and sleepless. I’ll arrive around nine in the morning, which means I could start up the day just as I land. I need to go to the bank to get some paperwork done, and do a little adjustment on my account. I fell asleep just as I fastened my seatbelt, and shoved my bag under the seat. There is no greater pleasure than to open your eyes from a short nap, and find yourself somewhere in the sky, crossing over vast lands underneath, the ocean of clouds, and the endless horizon. I still ask for the window seat as I check in. READ MORE

Midnight Dark

It’s started with the Town, has always been about it. Poems dedicated, memories engraved; all for better, and sometimes worse. Passing by the familiar streets, I realize all of a sudden, that it’d been missing. Habits, bus tickets, thoughts and dreams that once glued it all together, is now dusty, left behind.

Doesn’t anyone live here anymore? Is the image upside down? It’s only bad timing, so you say. Hope I’m not interrupting. Took me an hour to go, and sometimes longer to return back. Every single day. The path of going and returning is not the same, they may say. Was that a plain illusion then, a naive modification for a hard life above and beyond, forced to be lived happily ever after? It was not really, was it?! Things are certainly different.

25.June.17 – Ankara, Turkey

Lazy Letter: Lost Tourists

There’s a drive-through in front of our studio. This place used to be a restaurant before they bought the property and turned it into an art studio. So that makes sense. Our cabin is on the left side, a little bit at the back, by the walking trail. You can only see the roof of it from the road, but the studio is quite visible as you pass the village. The cabin must’ve been a home for the restaurant’s owner, I’m just thinking. There are only mountains behind our village. I didn’t know, but Alda said that highlands start beyond this place; rocky deserts and volcanos and valleys and hot springs, all the way up to the north shore. No one lives on the other side of this mountain.READ MORE

Lazy Letter: Queen Hekla

It was all very foggy and cloudy at first. This has been the wettest winter we ever had, Annamaria described their winter as she was giving me a ride to Gullkistan. That was so nice of her. She gave me a general information about the area that I was going to reside for the next forty-five days. There’s a national park between my place and the airport. It’s about an hour away. We passed the forest. Forest of bushes. Bjök, they can grow up to five meters. There’s actually an insight joke, I’ll tell you about it later. Not exactly what I call a forest. You should’ve seen forests of Haihatus, oh.

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Lazy Letter: Riding on an Airplane

I found my seat. I got the window seat. You know that I usually ask the counter guy for a window seat, but this time it was a self-check-in in one of those machines; I was lucky.

Hi, I said to the man taking the seat next to mine. He was a man in his fifties or early sixties. He was tall. I could tell he was one of those tall people before he even stood up. Broad shoulders and long arms. Do you need a hand with your bag? He asked politely. His accent revealed his nationality. Which city, I wondered.

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Lazy Letter: Hitchhike

I was standing on the side of the road. It was the second ride I was supposed to take. My right arm felt a bit sore. I had already kept my arm up for more than half an hour, and I had to do it again. Maybe longer this time. The second ride seemed to be more fun; it wasn’t the highway, just a narrow road. A long path to the villages and farms and valleys. I was alone.
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