Eger-Trabzon-Eger

This is a rather free translation of the original. Click if you are lucky enough to understand it!

The title? Nope, it's not a route planner.

Rather a foolish jubilance. This is how I could depict the relation between Eger and Trabzon:

Now that you are blinded by my paint skills, continue reading.

I've always loved to contradistinguish things. I enjoyed comparing Lake Balaton with the Adriatic Sea, chocolate ice cream with lemon flavored, Tolkien with Martin, brunettes and blondes and so on. Yet these are somewhat simple examples. Lake Balaton is better then the Adriatic, chocolate beats lemon, Tolkien owns Martin, and brunettes are always better than blondes, except when they aren't. Problems start to occur once we make two not that obviously differing subject face each other. Raspberry or strawberry flavored ice cream? Beatles or the Stones? Foreign girls or Hungarians? And -finally- reaching the peak of my argument: 

Trabzon or Eger?

Let's ignore the fact that comparing two such obviously contrasting cities is normally utterly nonsense. One is Turkish, other is Hungarian; one is located at the seaside surrounded by proud peaks, other is situated amidst low hills. No matter how I'm contradicting myself, I'll make these two cities face each other. No matter what you think. This is my blog. My rules. It's my bitch. The blog, I meant. I'm running this thing. Just like a pimp. Got it? Get it? Good.

so

I've strolled enough in both cities, with or without camera, equipped with pen and ink, some tunes in my ears. A brief list of the things I think of, there and back:

Eger: joy, universe, la vie, event, accidentals, future, people, air (fresh), fervent, home, wine, book, women, sun, stars, trees, writing, fatigue

Trabzon: grim, bitter, seaside, rain, family, Nalan, tomorrow, Hungary, teaching, health, sickness, death, alone, self-pity, end, growing up, ripening, creed, a fucking celibacy to live in this corner of the world, air (igrenc)

I had elevated my Trabzon exile to a Shakespearean level so gravely that it wasn't fixed with my homecoming. Still, all is bright and pretty now, spring is at our doorstep. Plenty of sunrises and sunsets glamor me as I walk the streets of Eger. It was one of those evenings I roamed throught the town. Night almost fell as I was admiring the last pastel tones of dusk. Our sun had already vanished and the night sky started to take over from the other side of the horizon. Slightly above the trees and rooftops a cold yet sweet sunbeam dithered, warily smoothing the edge of the urban landscape. Blueish, simple color it was, so gently flowing around the pine trees' silhouttes that I couldn't stop myself reciting:

Smooth sky-sea washes
With gentle foam
duh, no
Blue sea-sky embraces
Trees, houses, mazes

Yeter! Yells the audience. But the feeling remains. Why the hell did those two colors amuse me so much? I charge my happiness with unseen rage. I dislike the way I favor Eger. Surely, I must had some similar moments in Trabzon! Nay! Even better ones! Found some proof:

And even

Silhoutess are at least as pretty there as well. But as long as Trabzon sunsets and dusk mean the fall and death of hope (even non-existence of it), Eger only has to show me a lucky meeting of two rooftops in front of blue mood lights and it's already reminding me feminine intimacy. Why?

Why am I chanting Under the Bridge on my way home from the private school, inevitably comparing Kiedis' L.A to my Trabzon whilst I erase every grim and depressing song from my phone in Eger and pump up the volume for all the joyful shit like Sting and Jamiroquai?

WHY?

The diagram above says it all. Nothing else matters.