Istanbul fever

Hello! Do I have any readers left?

It feels like I was gone for ever, and in a way, I was.
I was a world away, overlooking the Bosphorus, at times out of breath (that would be when climbing the hill to our hotel), at times dizzy with all the movement and life of the city. Oh, and working the most time, long hours. But nothing a nice dinner of mezze and fish dinner can't fix.

From my shopping spree that left Lumberjack asleep in stores (that was at the end of our nine-day work marathon!) to late-night meals in backstreets with exhausted colleagues, Istanbul was a window on the world outside DC and baklava for the soul.

In the Turkish bath at the end of my last work day, when the matron in her bathing suit ordered me to lie down as she prepared to exfoliate all that dead skin of mine, declaring ``Now you're my baby,'' I just had one thing to say: ``Yes Mom!''

It was good to be taken care of, at last. After all, I had had my share of emotions: I briefly thought I was going to die in a suicide bombing (How was I to guess that the Angry Turkish young man shouting and running towards the head of the IMF was just an old-fashioned protester?!), was treated like a spy by someone to whom I had only offered to have coffee, missed by minutes demonstrators and tear gas on Taksim Square and thought several nights I had lost Lumberjack when he was still not back `home' past midnight (don't worry, he was simply making sure no one else beat him at the ``I'm the last person in the press room'' game.)

I only got a glimpse of Istanbul really. But I drew on its energy. Usually I flee pedestrian streets, especially when they are crowded, but somehow I didn't mind Istiklal Caddesi. Perhaps because I sensed seeing all these people outside, pouring into the cafes and restaurants of Cihangir and Galata, would give me a lasting boost for my return to Washington.

So here I am on a rainy autumn Sunday in the capital. So grey and so sad that I may have to dig deep down in the Istanbul memories fund to find it tolerable. Or I may tap into my emergency fund. It's called Turkish delights and it works pretty well.