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 buried under a modern 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. Exhausting, intoxicating, completely its own. 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 the city decided to rearrange itself 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 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 the men, carried 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 barrier 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 18 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 it to them. Now, walking your streets with a 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. You taught me not only to see but also to observe! 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. 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, the first time a meal felt like something more than fuel. When it landed, it stayed. Mezes that unfold like a long conversation. Flavors that don't rush. Istanbul's food, like Istanbul, does not perform. It just is....and the Raki, oh my beloved Raki! 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. Every stone has a previous life. Even the birds know it. 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. Your seasons carry moods of their own. Endless rain that blurs your edges 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, and hope that it shifts. 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; 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. 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

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

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

THE KENYAN WEDDING From Istanbul to Nairobi, love knows no borders! Celebrating the union of two cultures in a beautiful and colorful Kenyan-Turkish wedding. Kenyan weddings are a celebration of love, family, and culture. They are often vibrant and colorful affairs, with traditional outfits and dances that reflect the country's rich history and traditions. From the joyful moments of the bride and groom getting ready, to the emotional exchange of vows, to the exuberant dancing that follows the ceremony, every step of a Kenyan wedding is filled with special moments to be captured. One of the traditions that takes place in many tribes in Kenya is that several girls are covered with coloful African print shawls and are all assembled in front of the groom, who is then required to move around, look at the girls and pick the one he thinks is his bride. The practice is called "Hiding the Bride" and is usually done to add some excitement and fun to the wedding ceremony. Once the groom correctly identifies his bride, the couple is then untied and allowed to have their first dance together as husband and wife. Thankfully the groom chose right! In some Kenyan cultures, this practice is also accompanied by traditional songs, dances, and drum beats, which add to the celebration and excitement of the wedding ceremony. Overall, the practice of hiding the bride is an engaging and entertaining aspect of Kenyan wedding traditions that has been passed down from generation to generation. BACK TO TOP

WILDLIFE “No matter how few possessions you own or how little money you have, loving wildlife and nature will make you rich beyond measure.” ― Paul Oxton ELEPHANTS GORILLAS LIONS ORANGUTANS MONKEYS OTHER CREATURES

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

STREET “What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.” ― Charles Baudelaire Prague, Czech Republic London, UK Paris, France Berlin, Germany Burano, Italy Jaipur, India Kyoto, Japan New York, USA London, UK Paris, France London, UK New York, USA Agra, India London, UK Paris, France Tokyo, Japan Paris, France East Berlin, Germany Louvre Museum, Paris, France New York, USA Prague, Czech Republic Barcelona, Spain Kyoto, Japan Paris, France Mysore, India Miami Beach, USA San Miguel de Allende, Mexico Old San Juan, Puerto Rico Willemstad, Curaçao Seattle, USA Dallas, USA Dallas, USA Dallas, USA Tokyo, Japan Tokyo, Japan Tokyo, Japan Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates Cartagena de Indias, Colombia San Miguel de Allende, Mexico San Miguel de Allende, Mexico Willemstad, Curaçao Marrakesh, Morocco Dubai, United Arab Emirates Dubai, United Arab Emirates BACK TO TOP

ELEPHANTS "Roaming with Giants: Exploring the Majestic Elephants of the African Savannah" "We are blessed to have these magnificent creatures on our planet, and we have a responsibility to protect them." - Jane Goodall, primatologist and conservationist 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

PORTRAITS I really enjoy photographing people. It is the perfect opportunity to get closer, aiming to capture their dignity, their goodness, their soul. Tokyo, Japan Kalimantan, Indonesia Brooklyn, New York Bali, Indonesia Bali, Indonesia Tokyo, Japan Kyoto, Japan Bali, Indonesia Pereira, Colombia Paris, France Paris, France Paris, France Paris, France Bwindi, Uganda Bwindi, Uganda Bali, Indonesia Kalimantan, Indonesia Bali, Indonesia Bali, Indonesia Kalimantan, Indonesia Bali, Indonesia Kyoto, Japan New York, USA New York, USA Kyoto, Japan Pereira, Colombia Tokyo, Japan Bwindi, Uganda Masai Village, Kenya Bwindi, Uganda Masai Village, Kenya Masai Village, Kenya BACK TO TOP

ORANGUTANS "men of the forest" From high in the treetops that are my home I'm lost and afraid, I feel so alone. Our forest was huge once covering miles It was full of life, and my mother smiles. They are moving in closer to the men with the fire. Clearing my home, with their greed and desire. These men killed my mother, it broke my heart I'm scared as I watch them, pull my home apart. So many of my kind have been killed in this way. We cannot stop them, we have no say. Someone, please help us, we really need you Stop destroying us and our forest, for your cheaper food. by Valentino Rodrigues, aged 10 Kalimantan, Indonesia 2018 BACK TO TOP

THE SAMBURU PEOPLE - KENYA They are Samburu, I met them in Diani beach and hung out with them for a few hours before asking them for the pictures. Fascinating people, men’s names all start with “L” and women’s with “N”. In order of appearance are Loitipa, Luke, Lekuraki, Lorian, and Lekerde. The Samburu are semi-nomadic pastoralists, their lives revolve around their cattle (as well as sheep, goats, and camels ). The traditional Samburu diet consists mostly of milk and sometimes blood from their cows. The blood is collected by making a tiny nick in the cow's jugular, and draining the blood into a cup. The wound is then quickly sealed with hot ash. Meat is only consumed on special occasions. The north-central region in which the Samburu live is a dry, somewhat barren land, and villages have to relocate regularly to ensure their cattle can feed. These settlements are called manyattas. The huts are constructed so that they are easily dismantled and portable when the Samburu move to a new location. The red clothes wrapped around like a skirt are called shukka. This is enhanced with many colorful beaded necklaces, earrings, and bracelets. Both men and women wear jewelry although only the women make it. The Samburu also paint their faces using striking patterns to accentuate their facial features. They told me that lately, they have been under pressure from the government to settle into permanent villages. They have been extremely reluctant to do so since obviously permanent settlement would disrupt their entire way of life. The area they live in is very arid and it's difficult to grow crops to sustain a permanent site. This means that sedentary Samburu will become dependent on others for their survival. Samburu families who have been forced to settle will often send their adult men to the cities to work as guards. This is a form of employment that has evolved naturally because of their strong reputation as warriors. Neighboring tribes, admiring the beauty of the Samburu people, called them Samburu meaning "butterfly." The Samburu refer to themselves as the loikop, which is generally thought to translate as "owners of the land." I usually prefer to be behind the camera, but they were the ones who asked me for the last photo. Diani Beach, Kenya 2023 BACK TO TOP