Comeback

3 - Departure

Can

I went by the house to get some clothes without even realizing what I was doing, I left a note Emre with the simple words "I'm leaving" and here I am, I started the engines and I'm leaving behind me the port of Istanbul.

I'm leaving behind a love, a destroyed dream of a life to share with someone else, a person who was mine, a person to belong to forever.
I don't know where to go, for now I'm heading towards the coast of Greece, I don't want to reach main ports, I don't want to see anyone.

After a couple of days of sailing I drop anchor in a cove with crystal clear waters, the Can that I was before I lost Sanem, the whole one, the one who loved to live, would surely have taken advantage of it for a refreshing dip, but that Can no longer exists.

I sit and watch a sunset with spectacular colors that I can't see, I'm lost in my dark thoughts, I'm distressed by the guilt of what I did to Yigit.

I haven't been able to sleep except for a few minutes, as I close my eyes I see his fall decomposed from the steps of the hut.

In the following days I move every day to a different inlet, chosen only because they are isolated, what surrounds me doesn't interest me, I don't see the long white beaches, I don't see the white villages perched on the sides of the mountains in the distance, I don't see the sky of an incredible blue.

So I spend a few days, I make a brief docking in Kαστρί, a tiny fishing village, just long enough to refuel with water and provisions, then I unfurl the sails and head south. Skirting the Greek coast I see a myriad of small islands in the distance and, after days and days of sailing, I reach Sphinari (Σφηνάρ) on the island of Crete.

It is a port off the typical tourist routes, it hosts a few boats, mostly fishermen, and it is far from the bathing beaches full of people in this period of late summer. I stay docked for a couple of days trying to go ashore only the bare minimum for supplies.
My mood swings from despair to anger at not being believed, I would never have done anything to make Sanem sad, how could he believe otherwise?

Having left the island of Crete behind, I sailed for a week along the other side of the Greek coast until I reached Dhermi, in Albania, south of Valona. It's an itinerary that I'm not planning, I drop the moorings from a port, point the bow of the boat in a random direction and then dock when I need to stop.
I feel as adrift as my thoughts, I let the winds carry me as I let self-pity carry me.
I have no purpose, I have no interest in anything, I move only to escape from what I left behind in Istanbul.

The marina is colorful and full of excitement, but to my ears everything is reduced to a background buzz that can not penetrate my dark thoughts.
I stock up and without looking back I leave the mainland heading towards the Italian coast.
I've always loved Italy, I've been there many times and I dreamed of taking my Sanem there one day, I wanted to take a boat ride along the Italian coast to see her eyes light up with amazement at the beauty of this wonderful country.
I had so many dreams for us...

After days of sailing I stopped at Pace, a small port north of Messina, a small baroque church faces directly out to sea, it is beautiful.
The Can of yesteryear would not have missed the opportunity to photograph it when, at this time of sunset, it was acquiring that burnished color that greatly amplified its beauty.
But today I no longer see beauty in the world, I only saw it in those dimples that took my breath away and that I will now have to resign myself to never seeing again.

I cross the strait and continue my lonely and purposeless navigation, the days pass without me realizing it, a month has passed since I left and this wandering has not improved my mood.
I avoid contact at every docking station, I don't want to talk to anyone, I'm constantly drowning in my own self-pity without anything being able to shake me.
I touch ports in Sardinia, in the Balearic Islands and then at the end of the ancient world, at the Pillars of Hercules, the Strait of Gibraltar, between Spain and Morocco, where a crucial decision awaits me: to cross them and enter the Atlantic Ocean to see which part of the world the wind takes me to, or to stay in the Mediterranean and perhaps return?

I dock at the port of Ceuta, a picturesque village that is located in the African continent but is Spanish territory, I get off the boat at sunset to refuel with water and provisions. On my way back to the boat I pass by a characteristic tavern that, I don't know why, attracts my attention, I take all my purchases on board and, taken by a sudden impulse, I decide to go back there to eat something.

While I was eating my lonely meal, inexplicably a stronger than usual anguish was gripping my heart, so I decided to fight it by sipping the first of many glasses of Herdade de Ceuta, a very strong local wine.
As the bottle empties, I begin to feel the weight that has been oppressing my chest for more than a month getting lighter.
I order another bottle and continue drinking, repeating to myself that I didn't deserve it, that Sanem shouldn't have done such a thing to me, that he should have trusted me.

While I am immersed in these dark thoughts I hear the chair in front of mine move and I see an unknown woman sitting at my table, she smiles invitingly and asks me where I come from and what makes me so pensive.
The wine has obviously had its effect because, instead of shying away from the company as I have done for the past two months, I decide to offer her a drink, we talk about this and that, where I come from, where I am going.
She tells me she is on vacation there, she is Spanish.

We finish together what for me is the second bottle, I pay the bill and we leave the place.
She invites me for a nightcap at her place in the hotel, I understand the meaning of that invitation and without hesitation I follow her for a couple of blocks.
We go up to her room and, as soon as the door closes, I find her in my arms passionately kissing me.
She's warm and inviting, it's been a long time since I've looked at a woman, in my thoughts for over a year there was only Sanem.
Maybe that's what I need, to go back to my old life rather than pity myself.

I caress her hair and feel that it doesn't have the silky texture of Sanem's, she caresses my neck and jaw but not with the almost reverential delicacy with which Sanem did, I leave her mouth to trace a series of kisses up to her neck and I smell her perfume.
My blood freezes in my veins, it's not Sanem's scent, I can't desire any other scent but Sanem's, I stiffen, grab her by the shoulders and pull away.
I look into her eyes for a moment ashamed of what I'm about to do to her.

- I'm sorry, I can't -

I leave her like that, close the door behind me and go back to the boat as if I had the devil on my heels.
I cannot think coherently, maybe because of the too much wine I drank or maybe thanks to it I can see things more clearly, I don't know.

I understand only one thing, I will not go beyond the columns of Hercules, I will not leave the Mediterranean Sea to venture in the wide world, I cannot.
I immediately weigh anchor, prepare the boat and set sail, I don't want to stay a moment longer, it's as if at last a darkening veil before my eyes had been removed and I could see things more clearly.