Reaching The Mediterranean’s East

I arrived late, hungry and ready, immediately setting search for where to drink a beer; maybe have a conversation.  The bars I stumbled into were coy, cool in the way a saxophonist in a jazz band is.  Like a East East Village in the port of Eurasia.

I found beer.   Some feeble attempts to talk but embarrassingly realized  I knew no Turkish.   I would reside to my beer, my book and my observing.   The eat and drink halls of Karaköy had a posh attitude, swank style, and I was waltzing around like Pig-Pen found a trunk full of Snoop’s old clothes.

The people of Istanbul dressed well, mostly in black, conservatively suave.  Istanbul does hipster, but in a poised way, rather than contrived.    Welcome to the Med-East.

New Rome, down to the tip-toeing half-sidewalks and doging the mess of jolting traffic.  I ordered another Efes.  It was time to read up on the history and culture – I was a bit benighted, illiterate to the world around me.

I meandered along the Bosphorus’ edge, watching the fish catch line, reel up into the night sky.  Like an abduction, iconic mosques in the backdrop, across the Bosphorus.  There was a refreshing chill and the acute aroma of fish.    Turkish isn’t a tongue I was picking up on.  It’s as foreign as Arabic, yet.  I couldn’t even translate “Thank you”.   I stumbled upon a bakery in my unsuccessful quest for real food.  I settled for a honey dessert.  It was sweet but unsatisfying.   Onward!  Across the street I ordered what tasted like lamb-meat-balls, over rice, and called it: Night 1.

2014-12-28 00.03.59

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