Friday night was Turkey's Independence Day, and that meant fireworks. And what a show they put on.
Ann met me at my hotel and from there we walked through the bustling streets. Over the course of a couple of Turkish beers and a meal, we traded war stories and life stories, our favorite spots to travel, and of course our I'll-Never-Go-There-Again places. Most of all, it was fun to hear about her new life she has in Izmir on her husband's 300-acre olive and almond farm. I have an open invitation to visit, and I can't wait to take her up on that offer. At 1:30 a.m., we realized we had lost complete track of time and hustled to find taxis.
I was up early and headed to the Grand Bazaar, one of the largest markets in the world. The trip there was fascinating. We zipped through a dozen winding streets, up hills, through alleys, and around a lot of tight squeezes. About 10 paces into the place, there was the Gucci, the Prada, and the Louis. All fakes. Disappointed, I turned a few more corners, and saw the same stuff I've seen in every "market" in the world. Enough. Give me something real - something Turkish. And where does all of that junk come from?
I jumped back into a taxi and off we went through narrow one-lane streets. We went nose-to-nose with one driver. Neither budged until finally the other guy relented, backed up and let us pass.
Istanbul definitely goes on the list of places to return. I have a few hours of work ahead of me this afternoon, a trip to the airport, and the journey home.
Number one on my places to return?
New York.
I'll be there soon.