Endless roads all straight and perfect,- where will I end up?- then sometimes a dirt track, small earthen villages- a white minaret thrusting upwards-unexpected rice fields, old restored caravanserai, others eaten away by invading vegetation, endless poppy fields, herds of such long-haired black goats, broken-down buses, and then, oasis-like, several large cities- the outskirts, drab-colored buildings shooting up everywhere.
Finally, the Turks’ welcome.
Days and days to photograph the Anatolian steppe…
Silence. Something like the desert.