From the notes on Turkey

15^th July (Third day in Istanbul)

I turned for what was maybe the tenth time. The hotel was probably just five minutes away. It had probably been just ten minutes since I’d left it. My family, blissfully unaware of where I was, was probably still sleeping.

I turned once more and found the main road.  Tourists, locals, people I couldn’t quite place mixed without mingling. All walking the same way but not on the same path. I stepped on to the main road, walked briskly towards the old university. The blue mosque rose against the horizon, the sun began its descent.

Istanbul.

Three days in this city and I’m completely infatuated. The desire to explore this city further and further is strong. To discover old cafes and little libraries.  Find people who not only knew its history but were part of it. To understand the ancient Turkish blood running through their veins.  See how the poor lived. And the rich. And those in between. The more I saw, the more I wanted to see.

‘I’ll live here for a while’ I tell myself now, staring out of the hotel window. Two doors down, a jazz musician plays at a café. I smile as the words dance across the paper and then as the pen sputters for a moment.

Istanbul, Istanbul, Istanbul. I could probably fall in love with this city forever.

16^th July

It is four pm and I’m outside the Lalei Universite, surveying the terrifically old building. I must look slightly odd, a girl in old jeans and a tshirt, staring at a university when the Hagia Sophia is a mere five minutes away.

This city breathes. Not the way Karachi breathes. Not the same dusty streets, quiet anger and loud joy, the ragged feet somehow willingly moving forward. Not the way New York must breathe either; exhaling ink, cigarette smoke, Broadway, schedules.  I’m convinced New York has coffee breath.  No, this is a different high. The city breathes in Western music, bits of English, inhales all facets of what we call modern life and in one long, proud exhalation (Scream? Yell?)  makes all we stand for seem trivial. Their music has poetry, their strange accented English is beautiful, the way they live should be a lesson for us.

Turkish tea, sheesha and history. Mosques built in 1075 are a two minute walk from McDonalds. People can wear shorts one day, caftans the next and no eyebrows would be raised. They pray in mosques older than their great grandparents and go clubbing on Friday nights. 99% of them are Muslim. I have never met happier Muslims.

The fact that a Church and a Mosque stand directly opposite each other is a testimony to tolerance. Neighbors for the past God-knows-how-many years,

Bosphorous tomorrow. More later.