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Caglayan Caliskan, Cadiz, Spain, Cadiz (2026)

06/08/2025

Burning Ships at Gibraltar...

Somewhere between the Atlantic's salty tantrums and the Mediterranean’s smug sunbathing waters, I crossed Gibraltar.

This was my turning point.

Phase #1: Atlantic.

Phase #2: Mediterranean.

Commence dramatic music.

The name "Gibraltar" traces back to
the Arab commander Tarek bin Ziyad,

who arrived here centuries ago with an army,
a plan, and apparently a flair for the theatrical.

Legend has it, upon landing,
he did something bold:

He ordered the burning of all the ships
as a clear message to his soldiers...

"No going back to Africa, boys.
we're here to conquer Spain."

whether Tarek really torched his fleet
or not, the symbolism is delicious.

Standing there, staring at that ancient rock while seagulls mocked me, I couldn't help but wonder

have I burned my own ships, too?

Sure, vessels of my past were less “fleet of war” and more “series of questionable life choices.”

but still

the life behind me had tested, shaped, and occasionally forced me on my knees.

Every rouge wave of the Atlantic and
every headwind had pushed me here.

To this narrow strait.
To this symbolic checkpoint.

And just like that, I realized:

whatever happened back then
wasn’t failure or even regret.

It was the fleet that carried me
to this exact moment.

I could metaphorically (and possibly literally) set fire to my past and sail toward new adventures, warmer seas, and new incidents.

So here I am, at Gibraltar...

not a conqueror, but a traveler with a head full of dreams and no interest in turning around.

My ships are gone.
My lessons learned.
And the future is calling.

Dear Mediterranean, better be ready.

friends, I still have so much to share.
and share it, I will.
promise.

29/07/2025

it was six days of being hurled around by the ocean.

it all began so lovely, though.

the island of Porto Santo waved me goodbye
with sunshine and naive optimism.

Cadiz sat somewhere very far to the east,
pretending not to know me.

I had dreams of heroism.

instead, I got high winds, vicious waves, and
two days of sea sickness, which translates
into bonding with a bucket.

just imagine trying to make a sandwich
while your kitchen does a somersault.

now imagine doing that while
your stomach stages a mutiny.

that was day two. or three. I don't know. it’s all
a blur of saltwater and existential dread.

somewhere between vomiting and swearing, I began to suspect that the sea had opinions. strong ones.

but then something shifted.

not the wind. that stayed rude.
not the waves, either.

no, it was me.

at some point, I realized that I was trying to
wrestle the ocean into submission.

I stopped shouting “why.”
I started whispering “okay.”

suddenly, things got... lighter.
not easier, but lighter.

I began to dance with the waves.

as if they weren’t enemies anymore, but l
dance partners with questionable rhythm.

I began to flirt with the wind.

she’s moody but intriguing. despite her tendency to slap me sideways, I think she likes me.

and then after six days Cadiz...
glorious, sun-drenched Cadiz.

where Columbus once stood, staring west with
pockets full of dreams and probably snacks.

as I stumbled ashore, salty, sleep-deprived,
and smelling like a barnacle,

I was somehow feeling
more human than ever.

the ocean taught me that control is an illusion,
and that letting go doesn’t mean giving up.
it means giving in to the flow.

I want to carry that into my land-life:

life, like the ocean, will keep being wild,
unpredictable, and uncontrollable.

I just plan to bring my sea legs in
and a more relaxed attitude.

22/07/2025

the mission impossible 😎

crew:
the father (captain, overly optimistic)
the son (part-time snack critic, full-time skeptic)

mission:
embark on a bonding journey while attempting not to sink or argue about cheese ratios.

location:
the Atlantic Ocean. vast, moody, and wavy.

start:
father and son departed with enthusiasm and an overpacked snack drawer. navigation was based mostly on gut feelings and vague memories of some fancy pirate movies.

weather:
indecisive. one moment: sunshine and sea shanties. next: stormy chaos and questionable life choices. the father yelling sailing terms. the son responding with gen-z stare.

land spotted:
the magical island of Porto Santo emerged like a warm hug from the ocean. both staggered onto the beach like shipwreck survivors with sunburn and mild dad-joke trauma.

island report:
Porto Santo delivered golden sand, friendly faces, and a café that sold mysterious pastries with unidentifiable fillings. the duo swam, explored, and argued about sun protection techniques.

bonding status:
reached peak levels. shared laughs, sunscreen, and one very awkward beach dance that the locals are still talking about.

end of the mission:
the son boarded a flight home, slightly tanned, slightly wiser, and deeply grateful for showers that don’t rock side to side. the goodbye was mostly jokes, partially hugs, and 100% heart.

next phase:
the father returned to the boat. started his solo sailing journey toward Gibraltar. armed with new confidence, leftover snacks, and the eternal hope the autopilot button actually does something.

conclusion:
chaotic, uncertain, occasionally damp, and totally unforgettable. somewhere between the sea spray and sandy toes, father and son found more than just land. they found each other. again.

to be continued...

21/06/2025

Father-son bonding is best done with shared experiences.

Naturally, I chose an epic quest: Rome.

History, culture, gelato...
what could possibly go wrong?

It began smoothly.

We landed, full of optimism and exactly
three Italian words between us:

ciao, grazie, espresso.

Armed with unearned confidence,
we decided to explore like locals,
on foot, with zero planning.

We got lost...

somewhere between the Colosseum and what may have been a suspiciously Roman-looking laundromat.

My son, born philosopher,
offered some wise words:

“Well, Dad, all roads lead to Rome.”

I replied:

“Great. Let me know when
one of them leads to our hotel.”

He then suggested:

"we simply follow a group of tourists."

First, it sounded like a good idea.
Well, we ended up at a wedding.

I still don’t know if the bride’s name
was Maria or Mozzarella.

Humbled, I remembered the wise saying:

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

We immediately switched to tactical mimicry.

Locals sipped tiny espressos — we did, too.

Locals avoided cappuccino after noon — we complied,
though I mourned every creamy drop.

Locals didn’t order pizza with ananas.
I nearly did once...

until a waiter stared at me like I’d asked
to sprinkle pine nuts on the new Pope.

We walked.
We laughed.
We learned...
.. that Roman sidewalks are
where ankles go to die...

My son insisted on tossing a coin
into every fountain we passed.

He claimed it secured
our return to our hotel.

I’m now financially committed
to at least nine more trips.

By the end, we hadn’t just seen Rome;
we’d been thoroughly outwitted by it,
and loved every minute.

It was chaos wrapped in marble,
espresso, and ancient ruins.

And yes, we finally found our hotel.
It was directly behind us the whole time.

Classic Rome.

27/01/2025

I steer my sailing boat with a firm grip,
determined to stay on course,

only to realize I’ve been navigating slightly
off-target for the past ten miles...

based on such experiences, I realized,
steering a ship isn't about perfection.

it’s about constant learning and making
adjustments to endure the storm.

occasionally yelling at the wind
for refusing to cooperate, too...

the same goes for life.

I set lofty goals, only to wake up one morning
realizing I’ve drifted into uncharted waters.

the questionable decisions I've already made
are serving me now as my compass.

as a captain doesn’t throw the map
overboard when the tide turns,

neither do I give up when life feels chaotic.
instead, I try to learn from my failure to make

the necessary adjustments, sometimes
subtle ones, like trimming the sails,

sometimes drastic ones, like dropping
the anchor to reevaluate my path.

a man improves his life the same way
a captain rights his ship.

the best captains know that
progress isn’t always linear.

there are days when the seas are calm,
and I feel invincible,

but there are also times
when the storm hits,

and I'm holding on for dear life,
praying my ship doesn’t capsize.

those moments define me.

they teach me resilience, adaptability,
and the value of a good repair kit.

that way, sailing taught me that
improvement isn’t about perfection.

it’s about persistence and finding
humor in the absurdity of it all.

like a captain can laugh while pumping
water out of his leaky ship,

I can chuckle at my missteps, bad
decisions, and naive assumptions

while navigating this unpredictable sea
which is called life.

friends, I still have so much to share.
and share it, I will.
promise.

23/01/2025

our traditional journey filled with love and mild chaos always starts the same way, wenn father and son embark on legendary pilgrimage to visit grandparents...

me, meticulously packing the trolley.
son, tossing in random items.

me, wrestling in the check-in line
with all the luggage people carry.

son, pretending not to know me,
eyes glued on his phone.

me, being frisked because I forgot
to take out the toothpaste.

son, smirking and breezing through
like a seasoned diplomat.

boarding is where the real fun begins...

my son prefers the window seat,
leaving me wedged in the middle

next to someone who insists
on sharing life advice.

this year, it was an overly chatty man who
told me all about his cat’s gluten-free diet.

when we finally land, people applaud. I assume
some other passengers must feel relieved, too.

the rental car lottery...

I guess the whole customer experience strategy
in car rental business is built upon two things:

first, the excitement about the
last-minute car 'update' and

second, the adventure of finding
that car in a vast parking area.

soon we're on the highway,
the drive is my time to shine.

I crank up the 80s rock anthems and serenade
my son with the passion of a karaoke king.

my son tries to introduce me to his “music,”
which sounds like robots arguing.

arriving at grandparents...

grandma and grandpa greet us like
we’ve just returned from war.

my mom showers my son with hugs, cookies, and a sweater two sizes too big “for when he grows.”

my dad delivers not-so-subtle reminders
that his grandson is growing up too fast.

at their house, I revert to a
teenager almost instantly.

my mom nags me about my posture
and how I still don’t call enough.

my dad, on the other hand, ropes
my son into a “quick” project

that somehow involves an old
engine and a lot of duct tape.

by the time we fly home,
we’re exhausted, overfed,

and carrying enough leftovers to
violate the airline’s weight limit.

as the plane takes off,
my son turns to me:

“same time next year?”
I grin. “absolutely.”

friends, I still have so much to share.
and share it, I will.
promise.

20/01/2025

it all began friday morning. the cold war: my weekend without heating...

I was just waking up in the cozy warmth
of my bed, suddenly I heard the heater

sputtering, coughing, and dying dramatically
like a soap opera star.

so, I called every handyman I knew, but
it seemed that the universe had

conspired to send them all on
vacation at the same time.

it became clear to me that I'd have
a very cold weekend ahead...

saturday morning, I woke up feeling
clammy like a lizard in a freezer.

my breath fogged the air like
I was narrating a ghost story.

I followed the advice "several well-thought-out
layers of clothing instead of one thick layer"

so, I layered up: three sweaters,
two pairs of socks, and a scarf

then shuffled around the house
like an overstuffed penguin.

the kitchen became my war room.
the oven, my trusted ally.

I baked cookies...
not for hunger but survival.

the brief warmth of the preheated
oven was my only lifeline.

then I realized the cruel irony: in any war
there will be some collateral damage.

the more cookies I baked,
the more calories I consumed.

the more layers I needed
to hide the long-term damage.

a handyman finally showed up, smirking
at my ingenious "oven survival system."

he said he could have fixed
the heater within ten minutes, but

the problem was a nasty leak in the pipes
leading to one of the radiators...

saturday night was my strategic
battle against frostbite...

I armed myself with every blanket in the house,
stacking them like lasagna layers on my bed.

but sleep was elusive, every time I moved,
an avalanche of blankets would shift,

exposing some body part
to the arctic conditions.

sunday, I was tempted to repair the leaky pipes
after watching an inspiring youtube tutorial,

armed with duct tape, a wrench,
and misplaced confidence...

before I reached the leaky pipe
two things happened:

first, I lost feeling in my fingers.
second, I decided not to touch anything.

some tasks, I convinced myself,
are better left to professionals.

monday morning I'm waiting for
the warmth to return to the house,

I vowed never to take heat or
handymen for granted again.

07/01/2025

my journey to good decision-making has been paved with questionable choices, each more insightful than the last.

it’s a bit like learning to sail.

the first time I confidently left the marina,
I was thinking, "how hard can it be?"

hours later, I’m upside down,
totally exhausted, tangled in ropes,

explaining to a bemused Coast Guard
why I was drifting into restricted waters.

I recall the time I tried cutting my
own hair during lockdown,

armed with YouTube tutorials
and unwarranted confidence,

I ended up looking like a
hedgehog in a windstorm.

lesson learned:
some tasks are best left to professionals.

then there was the “brilliant” idea to save time
by not reading IKEA instructions.

as it turns out, a bookshelf with
no shelves is just a glorified box.

lesson learned:
patience, attention to detail, and the importance
of those cryptic little drawings.

my bad decisions aren’t failures. they’re
just plot twists in the sitcom of my life.

they provide the kind of education
no classroom can offer,

like how wearing new shoes
on a hike guarantees blisters,

or that “all-you-can-eat” sushi
is not a personal challenge.

eventually, my bad decisions morph into
funny stories and nuggets of wisdom.

after all, what’s the point of smooth sailing
if I don’t occasionally fall overboard?

sure, I’ve hit a few metaphorical and, I must admit,
some literal sandbars while sailing.

each stumble has taught me to navigate life’s seas
with a bit more savvy and a lot more humor.

without them, I’d be a lot
less interesting at parties,

I wouldn’t have nearly as many scars
with funny stories attached.

finally, I realized that my bad decisions are indeed
the uncelebrated mentors of good ones.

I need experience to make good decisions, but experience comes from hilariously bad ones.

that's the paradox of wisdom...

friends, I still have so much to share.
and share it, I will.
promise.

03/11/2024

I love cooking without a recipe.
it's kind of an adventure...

over time, it taught me a lot,
not only to become a better cook,

but also to steer through life.

well, it didn't happen just like that,
it was a long learning journey.

imagine me a chef,
tossing ingredients into a pot

without knowing what
dish I was making.

one minute, I was chopping onions,
the next adding chocolate chips...

that sounds like a disaster
waiting to happen, right?

one day, I learned a lesson:
my intention needs to come first.

so I started asking myself
some simple questions...

do I want to cook just pizza or
something sweet for dinner?

am I trying to impress my woman
with a gourmet meal?

or just making comfort food
for a netflix marathon?

clearing my intention first
helped me decide

whether I reach for the
truffle oil or the ketchup.

I discovered that the intention is
the recipe for my actions,

without it, I was just
throwing things together

hoping they magically turn out edible,
or at least not explosive...

when my intention comes first, it’s easier
to deal with life’s challenges, too.

whether I'm baking a cake or
writing my to-do list for the day,

clearing my intention upfront is key.

once my intention is crystal clear
I won’t accidentally mix work with play.

I will know exactly what I'm aiming for,
like a master chef following a recipe.

no more spaghetti sauce on the ceiling
or awkward conversations gone wrong.

so, before I start cooking up a plan for
my next project, I clear my intention.

clarity is the magic ingredient that keeps my life
from turning into an unsavory stew.

what's my current endeavor these days?
making this learning become a daily routine.

friends, I still have so much to share.
and share it, I will.
promise.

28/10/2024

visiting my hometown is like flipping through the pages of an old photo album.

nostalgic, comforting, and a little strange.
why do all the streets look smaller today?

the playground felt like a kingdom back then,
it now seems almost laughably tiny.

I walk past my old high school,
the walls are still the same dull beige.

I recall the excitement of holidays, the smell
of the canteen and the dread of math tests.

I feel joy when I see the bakery where I used to
buy simit, my favorite snack back then

the owner smiles the same way he always did
as if no time has passed.

it’s like bumping into a younger version
of myself at every turn.

but there is also a strange curiosity
that comes with it...

that girl next door, my first crush,
already has three grandchildren.

my best friend hasn’t changed a bit
while I've turned gray.

the old cinemas of my childhood
have vanished without a trace,

replaced by shiny shops and fancy cafés,
sadly, they don’t have the same soul.

I feel like a visitor in a place that
once was the entire world to me.

bittersweet memories hiding in every corner.
it's a beautiful reunion with my past,

one that leaves me smiling and
sighing at the same time...

is this melancholy or just nostalgia?
or am I slowly getting old now?

I don't know.

what I do know is,
I won't stop coming back.

I might have moved on decades ago,
but a piece of me is still there.

that piece keeps some secrets, I sense,
hidden in plain sight, full of insights,

and worth deciphering...
I'll keep looking for that piece.

friends, I still have so much to share.
and share it, I will.
promise.

21/10/2024

I feel thrilled and at peace. I'm full of
excitement and unrest at the same time...

why? because I am on the road.
on my way to my hometown.

I'm familiar with that emotional turmoil.
countless times, it felt like that.

visiting my parents was always like
stepping into a time machine.

at my parents' place, the moment I walked in,
I've been greeted by familiar smells:

my mom’s cooking, the old furniture,
even the scent of my old room

that warm hug from the past,
the familiarity made me happy,

as if I’ve found a piece of myself that
I've had misplaced along the way...

then, the oddness
suddenly creeped in:

everything was the same,
but I was not.

the bed that once seemed
so huge now felt so small.

my posters on the wall,
my books on the shelves,

and my vinyl records, too,
reflected tastes I’ve outgrown.

my parents’ daily routines, which
used to be the norm back then,

now seemed rather charming,
sometimes even quite strange.

I have changed, but this place hasn’t.
that was both a comfort and a discomfort.

like meeting an old friend, realizing we’ve
grown apart, yet still sharing memories.

a bittersweet experience,
that tugged at my heartstrings

while also made me laugh
at the absurdity of it all.

a reminder of who I was
and who I am today

and my odd, beautiful
journey in between.

it always felt that way,
every time I visited them...

right now, I am, once again,
on my way to see my family.

I'm thankful for being able to meet
and hug them one more time.

eager to tell them all the stories I collected
since our last get-together

and so curious about how coming
home will feel this time.

friends, I still have so much to share.
and share it, I will.
promise.

Caglayan Caliskan

06/08/2025

29/07/2025

22/07/2025

21/06/2025

27/01/2025

23/01/2025

20/01/2025

07/01/2025

03/11/2024

28/10/2024

21/10/2024

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