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when night falls on small turkish towns the coal haze comes with it. mothers and fathers warm their kitchens. lovers warm their bedrooms. tonight i am in a town called Çanakkale. i was all set to go to istanbul. i was putting the last things in my bag to catch the midnight bus when mehmet and ugur came in and said they were worried about me going off all on my own, and what about waiting til next week when they have to go to istanbul anyways and could take me with them.

important to me to do _something. so, instead, today i headed up the narrow highway, up towards the battlefields of gallipoli and the ruins and fortifications of troy. i set three alarms to wake myself. i didn't need one. mo showed me where i was going on a map and fed me before sending me off. he sent me in the big truck instead of the little sports car because it would be safer -- cross me, and i'll use this truck to crush you like an ant -- and i headed off down the highway, west and north.

first a long section of road, flat, flanked by olive trees on either side far as you could see, through little towns where i saw lots of turkish flags hanging from balconies and in windows, even in the rear windows of cars. then i wound my way up a little twisty mountain road, past tractors and herds of sheep. the road levelled off, high up where there was no radio reception. over a half hour it went back down to sea level. then suddenly the town came up and i was passing the big supermarket on its very outskirts, and, like, everything was very much up close and very much in turkish.

çanakkale is a port town on the east side of the dardanelles and is the site of the second largest naval attack in history, the gallipoli campaign of WWI. the town centre, near the its harbour, is where i would find a place to stay. i followed the signs that said "Centrum," down Attaturk street. then i turned left, elbowed my way around a traffic circle and suddenly i was on this tiny little main street driving this huge truck between all these little cars and people and _all these dogs and cats. i decided to head in on foot.

i had a map but i was lost. the streets were narrow, winding and usually unlabelled. i parked the truck far back on a street that intersected attaturk. i walked in a straight line, looking for points i could recognize and recall. near where i parked there was a store and through the window you could see square metal tins of sunflower oil labelled in english. i passed a store with a placard advertising The Original T-Shirt In A Box, From Istanbul. further down there was a square paved in white marble with a statue. nearby was a building with the words Parti Democratik in big red letters. two more steps: a huge steel gun pointed out to sea, on an iron rail so that soldiers could drag it and aim it. from here i found the clock tower which is the centre of the town.

i hadn't phoned ahead for a hotel, being anxious to get out in the morning. the whole town is hotels, and my book listed several including some cheap ones, but many/most were closed for the season. finally i found a place that was suitably inexpensive. i walked back to the truck, got the rest of my things, parked it around the corner where it could stay overnight, then headed back to my room. i am the only one in a room for four. it is clean like the inside of a second-hand fridge. the walls are seafoam green. the floor is linoleum tile like in an elementary school. there is a little table with a table cloth that looks like it was cut and hemmed by hand. there are two plastic chairs and two more that don't match. there is a bottle of shampoo left in the bathroom and a bar of pink soap. there are lace curtains.

i went to look around the town. already night was coming. i walked up through the town past little stores selling figs, apricots, nuts, alcohol, cigarettes, red bull. but i didn't know how to ask for hardly anything. so i walked, quiet and wandering and a tiny bit shaken. i wanted to someplace to sit but the cafes i passed were either empty or full, and i felt conspicuous. so i walked and looked and heard the final call to prayer as it got dark. lots of young people in two and threes and fours, girls walking arm in arm. lots of clothing shops. one store with just the bottom halves of mannequins displaying pants and the bones showed in the hips of the women mannequins. soon it was very black and cold. the sun sets early here and around the few streetlights the air is hazey white.

i walked along the ocean where the salt smell peeked through the taste of coal in the air, to another mosque at the far end. i walked inland a block, worked my way back, sat in the light of the waterfront restaurant whose patio they'd closed in with clear vinyl. i looked at the dark reflective water for a long time. the boats bobbed up and down on the waves: no current to speak of. coke bottles floated. a seabird perched on a capsized styrofoam cooler and preened. the streetlights reflected off coagulated patches of oil and muck. brick monuments on the other side of the harbour glowed with yellow light on them, statues of people i didn't recognize, stories not my own. from a ship out on the water i heard metal squeak against metal. in spite of myself it reminded me of her creaky bedframe, in spite of how far i've come. then that thought was gone.

down the pier a couple asked a stranger to take their picture, such as i would never trust a stranger enough to do -- the girl stood on tiptoe in high boots, pointing to the camera to explain something, brushed the hair from her face.

any new place i call home is going to feel like this town, like tonight -- nights by the water listening to Blue, people i don't recognize, cafes that don't yet feel like they're for me, memories i can't or don't care to trap. i walked back towards my hotel.

i passed a bakery, then another, then another. each one that i passed reinforced the feeling of knowing what i had to do. i went into the last one i saw before the turn in towards my hotel.

"selamin aleykum," i said.

the said, "aleykum selamin."

"lütfen," i said -- please -- and then i pointed to a custardy sort of cake in the window, scored and waiting to be cut into pieces. "iki," i said, two.

he cut me two pieces, put them in a plastic tray, covered it with plastic. i got some coins out. i had four labelled fifty and two labelled ten.

"iki," he said: two lira, two hundred cents. i handed over the four fifties.

he gave me a plastic fork and moved to put the whole thing in a plastic bag, same plastic i'd seen floating in the water. but i was brave despite my turkishlessness. i reached for the plastic tray and told him, in english and by reaching, that i didn't need a bag as well.

now i am back at my room. on my way in i asked for hot water -- sü -- and made some tea in my travel mug. it's not hot, but it's warm. the light switch doesn't want to stay on unless you hold it down, so i have used the tea bag wrapper to wedge it and hold it in place. the yellow custard has walnuts and plenty of stick-to-your-ribsiness, like you could spread it on with a butter knife. not sure if i will stay here one night or two. here's to my new life and to tiny tiny triumphs.