Helga

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Months ago, on our way to the “cotton castle”, in Pamukalle, Turkey, we were beckoned inside a home by a squat women, let’s call her Helga, with chapped hands and a ruthless expression of hospitality. It was something we’d seen before.

Come, come, it said. Take off your shoes, it insisted. Have some tea, it offered. Buy something completely useless to weigh down your backpack. It’s Turkish tradition.

And so we did.

1 Response to “Helga”


  1. 1 qualcosa di bello

    but the memory & smile that you carried away were weightless!

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