Woman relaxing on a grassy slope in front of the city skyline
by Aylin Hasanli -

The long lunch picnic

In summer I stop booking restaurants for lunch. Instead I pack a basket, find a slope with a view and let the afternoon take as long as it wants.

What goes in the basket

Flatbread from the bakery on the corner, white cheese, tomatoes that actually taste of something, a cold watermelon wrapped in a wet towel, and a flask of tea. Nothing that needs a knife more serious than a butter knife.

The trick is to go late, after two, when the families have gone home and the grass has cooled a little. Stay until the light turns gold.

Woman in a red polka dot dress under white arches
by Aylin Hasanli -

One dress, three evenings

I bought this red polka dot dress in June and promised myself it would earn its place. Three evenings later, it has.

For a friend’s birthday dinner it went with gold sandals and my grandmother’s earrings. For a gallery opening, a cropped white jacket and flat shoes. For a walk by the sea, nothing but sunglasses and a scarf for the wind.

The rule I now shop by

If I can’t picture three different evenings in something, I leave it in the shop. My wardrobe is smaller than it has ever been, and I have never had more to wear.

Woman walking along the waterfront in the early morning
by Aylin Hasanli -

Why I walk at seven

I am not a morning person. For years I thought people who walked at seven were showing off. Then one summer the heat made it the only time I could go outside, and I have not stopped since.

The walk itself matters less than what it does to the day. I come home having already seen the sea, already said good morning to someone, already been outside. Everything after that feels easier.

No headphones, no goal, no step count. Just forty minutes along the water before the city wakes up.