An Honest Note to You, Istanbul! Dear Istanbul, You are not one thing. You are a breathing paradox. You are contradiction made visible. Noise and stillness. Ancient stones filled with history and meaning buried under a modern and noisy cafe. The call to prayer rising over construction cranes and the smell of simit and diesel at 7am. You are east and west, sacred and profane, generous and guarded, all at once, with no apologies. You don't choose sides. You never did. You are the fisherman sitting motionless on the Galata Bridge, while a thousand people rush past him. You are the seagull that screams over the Bosphorus, and also the moment it disappears into fog. I have never been anywhere that held so many extremes at the same time and somehow made it feel like one thing. You are exhausting, intoxicating, and unique. Time does not work here the way I was raised to expect it. You don’t move at a human pace. You move at your own pace. Time bends here. Traffic is not a problem one can solve; it is a philosophy one learns to accept. I arrived late to things because you decided to rearrange things between where I started and where I was going. I got frustrated many times, but somewhere along the way, I learned that “on time” is not a rule you or your inhabitants recognize. You taught me patience, not gently, but by force. You taught me to surrender control, even when I resisted. Your people were probably the hardest part for me. I want to be honest about that. Strangers, particularly men, carry an energy I struggled to understand. Guarded, aggressive, at times transactional. In many cases, I felt a strong sense of pride that seemed to keep men at a distance from their own vulnerability, here more than anywhere else. The language was a great barrier, and behind it, I encountered a particular kind of opportunism that wore me down. Not everywhere, not everyone, but enough to make me cautious in a way I resent having to be. Honesty and integrity are not negotiable values for me, and finding them so frequently traded for a quick advantage left a mark. I found myself becoming someone I didn’t fully recognize: more alert, more defensive, less open than I naturally am or want to be. I didn't like who I had to become to protect myself. That was one of your hardest lessons. Learning to hold my ground without closing my heart. However, I understand that cities carry the weight of their circumstances. There is a tension within you that runs deeper than the surface. A political and social pressure that seeps into daily life, into how people move, speak, and protect themselves. It does not excuse everything, but it explains more than it reveals at first glance. Although s trangers were not always easy, the connections I made in just eighteen months run deep, fast, and true. There is something about forming bonds in a place that challenges you, that strips everything back to what actually matters. In a relatively short time, you placed extraordinary humans in my path. The kind of people who see you, who meet you where you are, who stay. Not casual. Not transactional. Something closer to fate. They became my Istanbul as much as your skyline ever could, and when I say goodbye to you, I am mostly saying goodbye to them. Now, walking your streets with my camera felt like entering a living, breathing story. Every corner held a frame I hadn't planned for. Every face carried a story I would never fully know but could feel. Every unexpected moment was a quiet invitation to witness. And your seagulls, crows, and cats, appearing in frame exactly when needed, like punctuation marks in a long, unfolding sentence. Every unexpected moment, every face, every situation was a silent invitation to observe. You taught me not only to see but to observe. And how photogenic you are! And then, there are your cats….they are not an accident. I am convinced of it. Istanbul's cats are not strays. They are a design. They are the city's quiet correction system. They move through your streets like quiet healers of your people, softening edges that would otherwise cut too deeply. They bring balance to a place where tenderness between people can be complicated, where vulnerability carries a cost, but the cats receive love freely and return it without conditions, they give something back that you and your people seem to need: gentleness without condition. They are the city's emotional exhale. Cats became my anchor. My reason to pause. My teachers. They connected me deeply with my purpose, helping me understand why destiny brought me to you in the first place. I watched them survive without losing dignity, not just get by, actually thrive, with a kind of elegance that humbled me. How to rest in the middle of chaos. How to trust without surrendering independence. They reminded me that softness is not weakness, it is intelligence. They showed me resilience in its purest form. It means knowing when to move and when to stay still. Through them, I found joy in the simplest moments. And through them, I stayed. I was happy. The food took its time with me, and I think that was intentional. It didn't arrive as a great love. It showed up slowly, through small tastes and unexpected moments, that warm lentil soup in the cold, mezzes that unfold like a long conversation. Flavors that don't rush. Istanbul's food, like Istanbul, does not perform. It just is. It's not my favorite, but I did discover great flavors. And the Raki, oh my beloved Raki! It tickles your heart while you drift into happy drunkenness. Even as a Colombian, I never truly drank coffee, but you taught me to slow down for it. Your coffee is not rushed or diluted. It is bold, unfiltered, intense, asking you to sit with it, to taste it fully, to slow down. It lingers; it doesn’t let you escape quickly. Much like you, it holds strength and depth in the same cup. And somewhere in that intensity, I found myself craving it. About mosques, it was inside your temples where I found something I did not expect. A stillness within the seductive chaos that defines you. A quiet that doesn’t erase the noise, but holds it. Sitting there, under vast domes and suspended time, I felt part of something larger, something complex and endlessly fascinating. You don’t promise peace. You offer truth. And sometimes, that truth feels like serenity. Your history is not something you display; it is something you are. You exist as a passage, a constant crossing point. Empires, cultures, people, ideas, even birds tracing invisible paths across the Bosphorus, all moving through you. Twice a year, millions of them cross the Bosphorus on their migrations, using you as a bridge between worlds, which is, honestly, the most Istanbul thing possible. Every stone has a previous life, and every corner witnessed an important historic event. Your seasons carry moods of their own. Endless rain that blurs your edges, increases the chaos, and slows everything down without stopping your inhabitants, and grey skies sitting heavy on the minarets. Springs that arrive with color and relief. And summer, that summer sun with not a single cloud to soften it. No shade, no mercy, just light pressing down until you either adapt or surrender. I have to be honest about one more thing. My heart hurt here in a way I always want to avoid. The relationship between many of your people and nature is one of its deepest wounds. Litter in the streets, cigarette smoke everywhere, mutilated trees that, if left growing naturally, could be cleansing the heavy air of old cars. And then those cruises, vast and indifferent, gliding through your waters while quietly leaving their awful environmental mark behind. That distance from the natural world, and from the responsibility of caring for it, sat heavily on me. For someone whose well-being is tied to the health of the planet, it was a quiet, persistent grief. I carry that with me, not as judgment, but as sadness for what is being lost, for the inevitable impact, but with hope that the collective conscience will shift someday. I do not leave you the same. You did not give me rest but gave me stories, and just when I began to settle into your charm, I have to say goodbye. I leave you with more than I arrived with. More patience. A sharper eye. A deeper understanding that beauty and difficulty are not opposites, they are collaborators, and the places that have shaped me most have always been both. I leave stronger. More aware. Less naive, but more grounded. I learned where I end and where others begin. I learned that kindness is not the absence of boundaries, but the presence of truth. Istanbul, you challenged me in ways I didn’t ask for, and gave me more than I knew I needed. You did not make it easy. You were not designed to. You are not a city that nurtures. You are a city that tests. And in testing me, you gave me something I will carry into every place I go from here. I didn't dare to learn Turkish, and I know that would have made a great difference, but there is a Turkish word I just learned, and I wish I had known it sooner: Hüzün. It is not sadness. Sadness has a cause; because something went wrong, something was lost. Hüzün has no single cause. It arrives in moments of beauty, in moments of fullness, in the middle of the things you love most. A quiet melancholy that lives inside joy rather than beside it. Literature Nobel Prize-winning author Orhan Pamuk called it "the dominant feeling of Istanbul", and spent an entire book trying to explain what a single word, which only exists in the Turkish language, somehow holds. Now that I leave you, I recognize it completely. I'm having a "h üzün" moment. What I feel right now is not full sadness. It is the ache that arrives not because something is wrong, but because something mattered. And if the depth of that feeling is the measure of the huge appreciation for what you have gifted me, then what I carry out of you is heavier than I expected, and I am glad for every gram of it. THANK YOU for the discomfort that shaped me, for the beauty that held me, and for the lessons that will stay long after I leave. I will come back. Not to understand you, but to meet you again, differently, as someone whom you have already changed, and for that, I should finish by saying: Istanbul, you are beautiful, you are unique, you are fascinating, it's simply impossible not to love you, but I'm ready to leave you behind. May 18, 2026 Video created by Stephen Reilly Our photos below by Noemie Deveaux Dikmen SEE MORE OF MY PHOTOS

LIONS In the golden savannah, where the sun beats down and the tall grasses sway with a whispering sound Lurks a creature of grace, with a mighty roar The king of the jungle, fierce and strong and raw. With a sleek golden coat, and eyes full of fire He prowls through the night, with a regal desire To rule over his kingdom, to protect and to reign The lion is a symbol of power and fame. But it's not just the males who deserve our awe For the lioness too, is a force to be saw A fierce and loyal mother, with instincts honed sharp She'll protect her cubs, with a motherly heart. Together they hunt, in a synchronized dance. Their power and grace, a captivating trance. In the wilds they roam, in their natural pride The lions of Africa, a majestic sight to behold with pride. BACK TO TOP

ABOUT ME When I was 13, my father gave me my first camera, a beautiful Leica he had been keeping as a treasure since the 1960s. He also gifted me with the best trip of my life. A trip that changed my life forever. I took so many pictures with the Leica! When I returned home, I looked for a photography course so I could develop my own photos. In that dark room, I discovered my deep passion for photography. Photography is the main way in which I share my experiences and the things that capture my eye when I travel. I hope you enjoy browsing through my photos as much as I enjoy taking them. My goal is to photograph as much of the world as possible and share the treasures of the planet with anyone who wants to journey with me.

PORTRAITS “A thing that you see in my pictures is that I was not afraid to fall in love with these people.” – Annie Leibovitz Turkana, Kenya Bali, Indonesia Bali, Indonesia New York, USA Turkana, Kenya Bali, Indonesia New York, USA Kalimantan, Indonesia New York, USA Bali, Indonesia Kalimantan, Indonesia Tokyo, Japan Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya Bali, Indonesia Turkana, Kenya Turkana, Kenya Turkana, Kenya Olympic National Park, USA Bali, Indonesia Muscat, Oman Muscat, Oman Kyoto, Japan Amalfi, Italy Milan, Italy Bogota, Colombia Agra, India Agra, India Agra, India Bwindi, Uganda Bwindi, Uganda BACK TO TOP

UNDERWATER “On the surface of the ocean, men wage war and destroy each other; but down here, just a few feet beneath the surface, there is a calm and peace, unmolested by man” – Jules Verne We dive not to escape life, but for life not to escape us! BACK TO TOP

THE BATWA PEOPLE - UGANDA Conservation Refugees Drastic changes in their lifestyle, constant discrimination, and zero opportunities. The Batwa in Uganda don’t need charity and donations. They need to be protected for who they are. I learned about the Batwa, also known by the derogatory name “Pygmies”, studying anthropology in college. African Pygmies are often assumed to be the direct descendants of the Middle Stone Age hunter-gatherer peoples of the central African rainforest. The Batwa are now also called conservation refugees, as governments scramble to cope with the pressures of population growth and climate change. They were unwillingly forced and displaced from the impenetrable rainforests due to conservation efforts and the need to expand habitation for mountain gorillas. After their expulsion, the public authority gave some Batwa families farmland. Unfortunately, they didn’t know how to cultivate – nor were taught how. Today an estimated 6,000 Ugandan Batwa live on the periphery of the forest, pushed higher and higher up the mountainside, or in slums in nearby towns. They are among the poorest inhabitants of one of the world's poorest countries, laboring on nearby farms or performing for tourists when they can. Those who do receive a portion of the park entry fees. No tourists mean no pay. The Batwa see tourism as one of the few options to move forward. “We’re now living in poverty. We were sent away from our land. Our tribe has become endangered because many of the Batwa, after being sent away from the forests, scattered to other parts of the county and many died because they could not cope with life outside the forest. Before being evicted we used to use herbal medicine and ate the fruits from trees which made our people live long and hunted for animals, so food was plentiful. Now we struggle to look for food”. - Betty Keturesi who was the only one who spoke a little English. "We were evicted from the forests, and now they are home to the mountain gorillas." And unlike these conservation refugees, the gorilla population has grown from 400 to about 460. But the Batwa see very little of the tens of millions of dollars Uganda earns from tourism revenue. The situation with the Batwa People in Uganda presents a complex ethical dilemma that involves balancing the conservation of endangered species with the human rights of indigenous communities. The Batwa People have been living in the forest for generations and rely on its resources for their livelihoods and cultural practices. However, the conservation efforts to protect the gorillas have restricted their access to the forest and disrupted their way of life, leading to poverty, social exclusion, and cultural loss. On the one hand, protecting endangered species is essential for the biodiversity and the ecological balance of the planet. Gorillas are a keystone species that play a crucial role in their ecosystem, and their conservation benefits not only the wildlife but also the local communities through eco-tourism and conservation education. Conservation efforts can also include community-based approaches that involve the participation and benefit-sharing of indigenous people, recognizing their traditional knowledge and rights. Traditionally, when men went hunting, they used to build tree houses like this one where they left the little ones under the care of the eldest woman of the community to keep them safe from wildlife, while women and mothers gathered fruits and herbs for cooking. In 1991, the government of Uganda reclassified lands the Batwa had lived on for millennia as national parks. That decision pitted the interests of largely invisible people against those of an animal that had become a global icon for environmental conservation. I spent a whole day with them (wish I had more time). They showed me how they used to make fire when they lived in the forest and even recreated a hunting . I was struck by the genuine warmth and hospitality of the Batwa people, who welcomed me into their homes and shared stories, songs and dances with me. At the same time, I was saddened to learn about the history of discrimination, displacement and marginalization that the Batwa have faced for generations. I left my visit with a renewed appreciation for the diversity and richness of human cultures, and a commitment to advocating for greater respect, recognition and support for indigenous peoples and their rights. The Batwa People have faced discrimination, marginalization, and exploitation throughout history, and their displacement from the forest can worsen their situation and cause intergenerational trauma. The conservation of gorillas should not come at the cost of sacrificing the well-being and dignity of human beings. As an animal lover, I really hope and pray that a balance between the Batwa and the gorillas can be achieved. A holistic and compassionate approach towards conservation and community welfare is crucial, recognizing that the two are intertwined and dependent upon each other for long-term success. Bwindi, Uganda 2023 To know more see this PBS News Hour Special: Uganda’s Batwa tribe, considered conservation refugees, see little government suppor t. BACK TO TOP

THE BALINESE WEDDING In Balinese culture, weddings are seen as one of the most important events in a person's life. The ceremony is a mix of Hindu and Balinese customs and is filled with elaborate rituals and offerings to seek blessings from the gods. Known as “pawiwahan”, the Balinese wedding is a sacred ceremony that involves the gods, creatures from the underworld, and people as the three crucial witnesses. It is a beautiful and elaborate celebration of love and commitment that is steeped in tradition and culture. The ceremony typically takes place in a temple or a sacred location and involves intricate rituals and customs that have been passed down through generations. It all started with me casually strolling around a traditional village on a scooter without any expectations. Suddenly, I bumped into this wedding car. In a very impulsive act, I started chasing the car trying to get this picture. The driver saw me riding behind them. As I passed them, I asked if I could take pictures and this is what I got....while both vehicles were still moving! Those smiles were the prize to my bold and dangerous maneuver. The bride and groom were appreciative of my interest and invited me to join their special ceremony! One of the most striking aspects of a Balinese wedding is the decoration. The venue is typically adorned with vibrant flowers and intricate decorations made from bamboo and other natural materials. The wedding attire of the bride and groom is a significant aspect of the Balinese wedding. The brides and grooms don’t get to choose these costumes by themselves, but these costumes are set according to the family’s caste levels. The bride is adorned in a traditional "kebaya" , which is a form-fitting blouse, and a sarong, which is a long piece of fabric wrapped around the waist. The groom wears a traditional Balinese jacket, known as a "saput," paired with a sarong. The wedding ceremony begins with the arrival of the groom and his entourage at the bride's family compound or temple. During the wedding ceremony, the couple performs a series of rituals that symbolize their commitment to each other. These rituals include the presentation of offerings to the gods, the exchange of vows and rings, and the pouring of holy water over the couple's hands. The bride and groom exchange vows and offerings while a priest leads the ceremony. Besides the dress, both bride and groom wear a traditional golden crown decorations. The height of the crown also symbolizes the level of a family’s caste. After the ceremony, the newlyweds and their guests proceed to the reception, where they enjoy traditional Balinese food and music. The reception is often held in a beautiful outdoor setting, surrounded by lush greenery and decorated with colorful flowers and Balinese ornaments. Capturing the beauty and emotion of a Balinese wedding was a truly rewarding experience. They welcomed me as if I was part of the family and shared their very special moment with a complete stranger. When I returned home, I printed the pictures and send them back to them. I have a new family to visit when I go back to Bali! BACK TO TOP

FLOWERS & NATURE Earth laughs in flowers. - Ralph Waldo Emerson BACK TO TOP

MONKEYS “The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it.” - Rafiki, The Lion King BACK TO TOP

CONTACT I would love to hear from you! Use the form below to leave me a comment or if you'd like to acquire a print copy of any of the photos. HEIDY MARTINEZ sublime767@gmail.com WhatsApp +1-646-338-7425 First Name Last Name Email Subject Leave me a message... Submit Thanks for submitting!

The World Through My Eyes Yellowstone, USA Nairobi, Kenya Kyoto, Japan Yellowstone, USA London, UK Yellowstone, USA Paris, France Yellowstone, USA Nairobi, Kenya Yellowstone, USA Masai Mara, Kenya New York, USA Nairobi, Kenya London, UK Masai Mara, Kenya New York, USA London, UK Kyoto, Japan Amboseli, Kenya Tokyo, Japan Bali, Indonesia Yellowstone, USA Nairobi, Kenya Kyoto, Japan Yellowstone, USA London, UK Yellowstone, USA Paris, France Yellowstone, USA Nairobi, Kenya Yellowstone, USA Masai Mara, Kenya New York, USA Nairobi, Kenya London, UK Masai Mara, Kenya New York, USA London, UK Kyoto, Japan Amboseli, Kenya Tokyo, Japan Bali, Indonesia Since 2000, I've been embarking on journeys to capture the splendor and distinct features of each local destination. Travel photography is an adventure that thrills and challenges me every step of the way. I want to photograph as much of the world as I possibly can, and share the treasures of this incredible planet with whoever visits this site.