Bodrum: My First Time

Today I flew into Bodrum, a coastal town on Turkey's southwestern tip.  As we descended and Bodrum's landscape came into view, countless fields of perfectly manicured crops appeared.  They lay on a flat bench of arid soil, encircled by rolling hills some distance away, and I thought to myself how beautiful it looked.  And then thought:  I've seen this before.  It reminded me of the Shenandoah valley, which sits quietly and still between the Shenandoah and Massanutten ranges on the east coast of the United States.  Or Japan's misty countryside, near Kyoto.

This is a problem, I think.  And its happening more and more.  I'll see something and think, "This reminds me of [fill in the blank]."  I wish I could just enjoy the moment.  Or, failing that, go back to the first time I saw something extraordinary.  The first time I saw snow-capped mountains and the turquoise-coloured glacier-fed streams that flow from their peaks (Banff).  Or the first time I even saw a glacier (Ice-Fields Parkway).  Or walked on one (Mt. Shuksan).  The first time I stood among the clouds (Acadia).  Then above them (Lake Louise).  The first time I pitched my own tent and slept alone, face to the stars (Canyonlands).  The first time I saw a moose in the wild (Algonquin); an elk (Canmore); a bear (Shenandoahs).  Etc.

Thankfully, though, I haven't seen much.  Indeed, my trip has brought many new "sights":  Tokyo's bright lights; Yangshuo's jagged karsts; Patagonia's smokey granite; and the topic of my next post: Turkey's religious monuments.  All is not lost on me yet.

A preview.