Palace of Love

On the Sarayburnu, in the district of Eminönü, surrounded by fortifications designed to protect Emperors and Sultans, is nestled the sycamore arcades of Gülhane Parkı. There, in the shadows of the walls of Topkapı Sarayı, lovers spoon fearlessly; by some magic this place has been granted the power of respite from strict social mores. Necks arch and lips that endeavor to find lips hidden under head scarves are greeted with only perfunctory protestations: after all, one doesn't acquiesce to such a rendezvous without hope that amour is in store. Sweet coupling, disturbed only by ancient crones vending blossoms; young women once, they know well where to ply their trade. A coin in exchange for transient tokens of untested affection -and continued privacy.

I walk with my bride to the sound of an old man's unlikely serenade; the recipient of his adore is older still: frozen in bronze, his statuesque brother. The metal man holds a three-stringed Saz, while his fleshy counterpart strokes the instrument, reverent and loving. A moment of inexplicable perfection, beauty: the memory of it is the warmth of the sun in winter -I feel it still.