Day 55 Turning Fifty In Istanbul

‎My 50th birthday began with a sudden and fully epic attack of Istan-belly. In coming years I may claim that this occurred at the stroke of midnight, but in truth I did not mark the time. I did however note that it was 3:16 when loud sobbing and the angry voices of a man and a woman erupted from the lane below (infidelity? breakup? failed baklava?) and that it was 5:04 when the call to prayer filled our room. This is actually a beautiful and evocative sound, but our neighborhood muzzein is either especially enthusiastic or has an upgraded sound system. Either way it sounds like he's in the room with us. 

But it has not been all toilets, sobbing and religious hollering today. For example, I did fulfill a lifelong dream and visited the incomparable Hagia Sophia. This is worth several blog posts alone. And I deliberately allowed myself to get lost in the maze of the old town, half-heartedly looking for a belt but finding lane after lane of lingerie dealers (only locals here other than a pair of hard looking Bulgarians presumably looking to get a deal on a gross of Sponge Bob briefs).

I also got a very meticulous shoeshine by a courtly old gentleman and I had a local barber shave off my African bush beard. His English was limited to grunts that could be interpreted a number of different ways, but it was clear that he was incredulous that I only wanted the beard and mustache off. It seems that I then consented to further services as after the shave he enthusiastically dove into my nostrils with long sharp scissors, burnt out my ear hairs with a lighter, forcably plunged my head into a sink and sprayed/dowsed/patted me with no fewer than three different cologne type substances. There were several other procedures but his hands were moving so fast they actually blurred (admittedly it was hard to see well with my head being cranked back and forth like a discarded puppet's) and I was still in shock about having my ears set on fire.

The day's not over yet! But I'm going to sit quietly now and sip Turkish coffee while I look forward to my birthday dinner of dry toast.

(Those of you who know me well will no doubt be impressed that I passed on an opportunity to enthusiastically expand on a toilet story. I'm 50. I'm mature now.)