I have just returned from Türkiye, and I am still, if I am honest, catching my breath — in the best possible way.

The concerts were sold out. More than that, they were deeply, genuinely memorable — Türkiye holds a place in me that is hard to explain. This was a far larger undertaking than our performances last year — more detailed, more intricate, more ambitious in nearly every dimension. And it came together through the extraordinary dedication of everyone involved: not only the musicians, but the entire production crew — lighting, sound, backline, and all the quiet, unglamorous heroics that audiences never see but always feel. I consider every one of them part of the Fons Sophiae Collective. Without them, there is no music. Only intention. 

But before I tell you about the music, I must tell you about the villa.

I had planned, some time ago, for friends and family to join me in Türkiye. Fifteen of them, to be precise. Fifteen. So, being a person who likes to do things properly, I booked a large and beautiful villa in a rural corner of Istanbul — seven acres of land, the whole affair. A small kingdom for a small army of loved ones.

Then a senior family member informed me, with some finality, that they would no longer be able to come, and that I should cancel the booking. So I did, with the quiet efficiency of a man following instructions from his elders, as one does.

And then — one hour before my first performance in Ankara — my phone rang. It was a senior relative. His voice was full of joy. "We are so happy! We cannot wait to come!"

I believe I managed to say something gracious. Internally, however, a rather different conversation was taking place. Did you not tell me to cancel? Did I not cancel, precisely as instructed? Externally: delight and gratitude. Internally: a slow, creeping dread, accompanied by a single urgent question — where, in the name of all that is holy, are fifteen people going to sleep?

The next twenty-four hours were, let us say, character-building. My wonderful team worked around the clock — hunting down hotels, rearranging logistics, performing the kind of improvised miracles that never appear on anyone's job description. And somehow, as these things tend to when you are surrounded by good people, it all worked out. Everyone was housed. Everyone was happy. And I learned, once again, that life rarely consults you before rewriting your plans — and that the only sensible response is to laugh, adapt, and keep moving.

It was hardly a walk in the park. But it made for a very good story. And here we are.

Now, to the part that sat warmest in my heart: meeting our Golden Circle members.

What a joy it was to meet Khawla, Saadet, Ayman, Tatiana, and Oydin. Thank you, each of you, for your generous and thoughtful gifts — though, as I said when we met, and as I will happily say again: you are the gift. These gatherings have become something I genuinely treasure. There is a quality to meeting members of this community in person that is difficult to put into words — an ease, a warmth, a sense of continuing a conversation that was already underway long before we shook hands. It never fails to move me.

I must also speak, with complete honesty, about something that weighs on me.

I am deeply saddened that we had to postpone — and I am sorry, truly sorry, for everyone who had hoped to be there and could not. Please believe me when I say this: no one lost more, and no one was more hurt by it, than I was. It was an impossible situation. Much of what my team had requested — reasonable, necessary things — simply had not been provided. Faced with that, we made the only responsible choice available to us: to postpone, not cancel, in order to ensure that everything could be delivered to the standard this music and this audience deserve.

Things worked out in the end. They usually do. But not without placing many of our fans in a difficult position, and that is something I do not take lightly. I carry it. And I sincerely hope — with everything in me — that such situations never arise again.

And yet, when I step back and take in the whole of it, what remains is gratitude.

It was, overall, an extraordinary experience. I am grateful to every single one of you who attended. I am grateful to our Golden Circle members, whose presence turned concerts into something closer to a reunion. And I am grateful, more broadly, for what we are building together — because make no mistake, we are building something, and it is truly special. The connection I feel with this community is not something I take for granted. I love it. I treasure it. And I intend to keep nurturing it for as long as I am able.

Thank you — for your patience, your loyalty, your warmth, and for showing up, again and again, for this strange and beautiful thing we are making together.

Onward. With much more to come.

With love and gratitude,
Sami