My arrival in Istanbul went exactly contrary to what I preached in an earlier post as I prepared my trip. With my Wallpaper City Guide in hand and a comprehensive list of tips from my old friend Gregg St. Onge, who’d lived in the mysterious city and stating categorically that it is his favorite in all the world, I barely took the time to really read it or do any research on line before landing at Atatürk Airport.
This epic trip which started in Germany, nearly ending the second day on the side of a mountain in Switzerland, getting sidetracked and preoccupied by a long lost lover, Paris, almost swept out to sea and off my feet in Mallorca with a quick return to Germany to celebrate Anton’s sister’s birthday and to pack up all my things that had been stowed away in our beautiful apartment on the Lake of Konstanz to avoid dragging copious amounts of luggage and gear suited to all the previous stops…
After all of that, honestly, I was so beat and travel blind I failed to do any substantive research on our last and most exotic leg of our journey. Instead, I landed in Istanbul dead tired, cranky and so road weary I could barely look out the window of the taxi that crawled through traffic so thick it would have been easier to just walk down the median dragging our bags behind us. This is no way to begin an adventure in a land that the Ottoman Empire ruled for thousands of years and the home to the oldest Mosque in existence from the year 1540.
to be cont.