Rob and I spent the next three days being stared at as we strolled through the windy streets of Istanbul and the Princes' Islands from mosque to café…to mosque…to palace…to mosque. (Note example 143 of Rob under Turkish scrutiny in above photo, the reason for which we never quite nailed.) We saw girly Turks and whirly Turks, Turks getting dish and Turks catching fish . We walked for hours and hours, so much that it's possible I got enough exercise to cancel out the baklava spree I had launched.
I was slightly relieved to learn that even if it had been warm enough to wear sandals, I wouldn’t have been able to manage them due to the uneven cobblestone that lines the city’s streets. Clearly the ancient Turks didn’t have this season’s wedge espadrilles in mind when selecting their charming pavers. While enjoying an apple hookah, I told myself that practicing form over fashion would be a good exercise.