Awake before Izmir: early morning thoughts

Sunday, March 15, 2026 - Day 201/500

It's 5:10 in the morning, and I'm sitting by the window of my hotel room in Izmir. Sleep abandoned me about an hour ago. Perhaps it's the unfamiliar city sounds, or maybe it's the persistent thoughts about having crossed the 200-day mark of my journey.

Outside, the city is mostly silent. The sky is just beginning to lighten, though the sun won't rise for another hour or so. The thermometer on my phone says it's -2°C, which explains the frost patterns I can see forming on the edges of my window. After yesterday's pleasant walk along the Kordon promenade, this morning's chill is a surprise.

I've already made a cup of instant coffee using the electric kettle in my room. It's terrible, but it's hot and caffeinated, which is all I need right now. The good coffee will come later, once the city wakes up.

Yesterday marked my 200th day on the road. Two hundred days since I left Kristiansand. Two hundred days of new beds, new streets, new faces. And still 299 days to go. The symmetry of those numbers feels significant somehow - I've traveled 201 days, with 299 remaining. The scales are still tipped toward what's ahead rather than what's behind.

I'm planning to visit the Agora of Smyrna today. The ancient marketplace has been on my list since arriving in Izmir, and with the forecast showing temperatures climbing to 11°C with hazy sunshine later, it should be perfect for exploring ruins. I've read that some of the columns still stand, and there's an underground cistern system that's particularly well-preserved.

After that, I might head to the Asansör, a historical elevator built in 1907 to connect the hillside neighborhoods. The views of the Bay of Izmir are supposed to be spectacular from the top.

For now, though, I'm content to sit in this quiet moment, watching the city slowly come to life. A few cars have started to appear on the streets below. Someone is walking their dog, bundled up against the morning cold. In the distance, I can see the faint outline of ships in the harbor.

I've booked my bus ticket to leave Izmir on the 17th - just two days from now. My time here feels short, but the restlessness is setting in again. There's so much more of Turkey to see, and beyond that, so much more of the world. Sometimes I worry that I'm moving too quickly, not absorbing enough of each place. Other times, I feel I'm moving too slowly, that I won't see everything I want to see in the 299 days I have left.

This constant tension between staying and going has become the rhythm of my journey. I wonder if I'll ever find the perfect balance.

The call to prayer has just begun, the muezzin's voice floating through the pre-dawn air. It's a sound I've grown accustomed to during my time in Turkey, a daily marker of time passing. I close my eyes and listen, letting the haunting melody wash over me.

When it ends, I'll get dressed and venture out to find a proper breakfast and better coffee. But for now, in this liminal space between night and day, between yesterday and tomorrow, I'm simply here, watching, listening, being.

299 days to go.