Cennet Valley, the better version of Kabak

After my happiness high had dissolved I head down to the beach. Because I am alone and because it is my kingdom, I don’t bother to get my swimming shorts. I just go bare naked. Look at me rebelling. I even try something new, something born out of sheer necessity. I need to take a shit. I can either walk back up to the forest to go hang above a hole in the ground or I can just swim to a group of rocks that points out of the water. While I am holding myself to the sharp rocks I try different positions. When I am comfortable enough, I can relax. But while I am in the middle of my business a boat appears from behind the cliff. Intruders! In my kingdom. I am naked and I am taking a dump in the see! Go find your own deserted beach!

I hide between the rocks and spy on them. As a native who is spying on the first English ships arrive to rape their sacred land. Two boys and a girl jump on shore, exactly where I left my clothes.

After a couple of minutes of sunbathing, they are going into the water which is my cue to come from behind the rock and walk to my clothes as nonchalantly as possible. It’s a nice walk of shame. But shame… there are worst things to worry about. I am a free spirited traveler. I am a free spirited traveler, I tell myself again. The only thing that concerns me now is that the three are heading to the pointy rocks where a couple of my turds are floating. ‘You wouldn’t say, but this is what Dolphin shit looks like.’ Pretty plausible, right?

The girl is called Noella. She is the only one who speaks English. We make a bonfire on the beach. A true travel experience reveals itself: a deserted beach, a bottle of rum, a joint, one girl and three sex deprived guys.

Moths are flying confidently to the fire. Some doubt: ‘pretty hot, actually.’ They doubt too long so that they burn their wings. They cool themselves on the sand. Like a flapping fish on a fishing boat. It is too late. And even though others see their peers burn their wings on the fire, it doesn’t stop them from flying proudly into the blast furnaces. Some get through, but what they achieved is one of nature’s biggest mysteries. This battlefield has to lead to a higher purpose. Maybe they try to create, collectively, through natural selection a supermoth who is fire resistible. We relate to those moths, sacrificing our time to strive forward with no known purpose.

Noella stands up to stretch. She looks at the print her ass left in the sand. ‘look at how big…’ she doesn’t finish her sentence and looks around her, hoping no one noticed. We stare into the fire. We haven’t seen anything. Noella has a pretty big ass. But a great comfort for her is that all the guys here are sexually frustrated and would love a big piece of meat. Although at this moment we are mesmerized by the fire. She is still standing next to her print, while we continued conversation stoned people have around a fire place, you don’t need to speak Turkish to understand to join a stoner conversation. Noella is just standing there, glumly. With her feet she shoves the sand a bit, trying to reduce the size of her ass. Photoshop in real life. She shouldn’t worry. She is cute. But I don’t tell her. I am just staring at the moths defeating the fire.

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