My Many Faces in Istanbul

Istanbul, my London of the East, was just over two hours from Tbilisi by way of the unexpectedly refined Turkish Airlines. The somewhat Far East-themed Manesol Boutique hotel had a fantastic breakfast buffet that included figs and a lovely terrace at the end of our corridor that offered a peak at the Rustem Pasha Mosque. I think; mosques viewed upclose in the daylight and seen illuminated at night from afar seemed magically like different places.

Istanbul, like London, moved. Its people walked resolvedly along Siraselviler Avenue, and its metro, trams, and buses appeared frequently from the Bosphorus Bridge in the northeast to Ataturk Airport in the southwest. I was unexpectedly smitten.

First row above: Rukiya's left eye; my Irish nose, not shaped quite good enough to be a Turkish one; and Rita's smiling face sans eyeglasses on a random park bench overlooking John F. Kennedy Avenue.  Second row: Rita and I are under the enormous chandelier under the even more enormous dome of the cavernous Hagia Sophia. Third row: (l) I am standing with my back to Asia, the Istanbul Strait, and the Bosphorus Bridge, right outside the Ortakoy mosque. (r) We are sitting at Murat Muhallebicisi in Karakoy, a cafe and bakery with kebabs, maybe with a 1920s look, and definitely with a creepy waiter. Fourth row: I am getting my Turkish Oyster card at the funicular's Kabatas station. Fifth row: (l) I was abandoned at the elegant Karakoy Lokantasi but only for as long as it took to smoke a fag on the nearby balcony. (m) When in Rome (or on Edgware Road in London).... (r) The screen, window, and wall are circa sixth century; I am circa the 1960s.  Below:  Rita and I trying to record the powerful allure of Constantinople's waterfront and skyline.