A Spectra View -- Istanbul, Turkey

Monday was my last full day with Maud. We started off late (Dutch people are much more relaxed when they’re on vacation), but after a lazy hour and a half of preparation, we scampered excitedly (and a bit dizzily) up three winding flight of stairs to the breakfast terrace. Van Gogh was still manifesting some of its effects.

My goodness. How would you like to wake up to this every morning? I’m glad I have plenty of photos, because even if I had command of the entire English language, words wouldn’t be enough to describe the splendid view from the Spectra Hotel.

It was completely illegal for me to eat the breakfast, but no one interfered as I piled my plate high with olives, cheese, eggplant, tomatoes and eggs. Maud ate her yogurt, granola, boiled egg and bread.

Why would anyone want bread when cheese and tomatoes are available? I must be the most contented celiac ever... although it is difficult to avoid wheat in Turkey. They put flour in everything.

I poured myself a weak coffee (every other kind of coffee tastes weak when compared to the Turkish variety) and sat with my cuddly Dutch friend, slowly ate my breakfast and tried to absorb this beautiful part of the world.

How am I here?

Our first stop was the Blue Mosque. In order to enter, women had to cover their heads and we all had to remove and bag our shoes.

I love watching people in wonder. 

Next, I took Maud to Taksim and we snapped pictures of the Galata tower.

 And more dogs. Always the dogs.

We walked down the main street and snapped the “must take” picture of the train in Istanbul. Just like the Temple Bar is the “must take” picture of Dublin. We then boarded the tram back to Çapa where Umit had arranged for us to meet with some of his students. 

I lust after this vespa so bad.

I felt so proud of myself. Finding stuff.

What a great group of kids they were -- sweet, curious, and desperate to learn English. They did a fantastic job steering clear of Turkish and tried to involve everyone in the conversation – even the shy boy who only knew a few words couldn’t escape interrogation.

But I didn’t have to push for it. The other girls did.

“Why are you here if not speak English?” they demanded as the timid boy blushed. I wanted to hug all of them – the girls for trying and the boy for blushing.

“What is your... father’s job?” he finally heaved. I recognized the question as one of the standards that kids learn in primary school, so I answered in the most straightforward manner I could think of.

“My. Father. Builds. Houses.”

“Tamam.”

“She doesn’t speak Turkish!” the girls punched him playfully.

Maud and I were led to an entirely new section of town where we devoured kumpir, the popular Turkish version of baked potato.

Our evening at an end, the students helped us board the right tram (although I could have done it on my own. Win.) and thanked us profusely for the afternoon.