We find our heroes wandering about Turkey, in search of a cute coffeeshop and some decent vegeteryan food. We’ve now visited the phallic formations of Cappadocia, the whirling religionates of Konya, the mineralogical metropolis of Ephesus, and the seaside settlement of Ayvalik. As we turn homeward for a plane from Istanbul to Cairo, we remember fondly some of our best Turkish moments.

After scrambling over the hollow mountains of Goreme’s Open Air Museum, filled with 8th century fresco masterpieces and 10th century cave scribbles, we decided to visit one last cave-church. After trying the cave’s bolted door, we found the attendant, his dog, and his stovedrum boiling tea. The price, he said, was 8 lira, per person. We shrugged at his one mountain (we had just seen twelve such for 15 lira), and started to walk away. “Okay!”, he called, “For you, special deal—8 lira for both.” We accepted, and he led us into the cave and explained the dilapidated frescoes. Could we take a picture? “Normally, no. Well, okay. You argue well.” As we were leaving afterward joining him for a cup of tea, he said, “You want to come back tomorrow? I show you The Secret Church, hidden. Special for you.”

In Konya, we were confused by the dedicated pilgrims at the former home of the whirling dervishes. Their mosque is packed with the trappings of dozens of these dancing scholars, but since when do performing artists get centuries of devotion? We didn’t think to wonder why the site is called the Mevlana Museum, until we sat for tea at a hotel (which had great food, which we had scoffed at earlier in the evening, when we were set on finding another restaurant and ended up a t a ghetto fast-food joint). They gave us a nifty pamphlet for the hotel since Flame wanted to know the Turkish names of every food. The pamphlet gave a brief history of Mr. Mevlana, father of a more open, accepting form of Islam. We could have learned something from him a few times that day.

We met a nice Brit, Ed, in Selçuk, who kept Flame company as I got lost among some forbidden ruins. As we were parting ways at the bus station, a bus agent approached him and asked him where he was going. “Pammukale,” said he. “Why don’t you give your bag—this is your bus!” the agent said. Ed protested: the sign in the bus window had it bound for a town on the way to Pammukale, but he had gotten a direct ticket. The agent stepped away and talked to the driver, who reached under his dashboard and pulled out a “Pammukale” sign and stuck it to the window under the other one.

For our bus from Selçuk to the Greek cobblestone maze called Ayvalik, we were first offered a price of 65 lira. A novice bargainer, but suspecting a gringo tax, I offered 60. The agent got on the phone, and after a long talk said that, seeing as it was the first of the year, he could make me a special offer: 55 lira. Okay, so I handed over a 50 lira note and a 10 lira note, and rather than give me change he took the 50 note and said, “That’s enough.” By now we realized we were paying way too much, but it wasn’t until the larger bus depot at ?zmir that we realized how much. The driver walked us to the bus for the rest of our journey, where we got a new ticket: it said it cost 27 lira. And the bill that Flame saw the driver palm over for the ticket was a 20.

We just arrived in crazy Cairo, where the midnight sounds of honks and Arabian music echo all around us. The streets are a deathwish, which we’ve already braved more times than we ever want to remember, but tomorrow is a whole new day!

You could say it’s now Istanbul night two, but this was our first daytime here, and if it was our second day of international traveling, it was our first of walking around and exploring. I love its steep-and-narrow cobblestone streets, its stores overflowing with belt-buckles or socks, its endless cycle of doner kebab and cute cafe.

I feel like I grok this city’s energy, but there’s a lot I’m missing. Like, how do we get cups of tea in glass vases like everyone else, at restaurants, in stores, on streets? Why is there a chestnut roaster on every corner, when no one every buys? What makes shop keepers think that yelling “Want to see the menu?” (pointing to the enormous platform I had to step into the street to get around) or “Spend money!” won’t chase me away? And the language is big barrier (particularly to getting decent prices)—I only managed to successfully say the word for “thank you” on my 58th try.

I really like our neighborhood. We’re staying across the bridge from the old city, about 1 km from the super-busy Taksim square. A short trek up our street, past five bookstores, four relaxed-looking cafes, and three art galleries, is Istiklal street. Parts of Istiklal look like the main shopping street of every other large city, but local businesses far outnumber chains, and almost every person in the constant packed flow is Turkish (which could be a winter effect). The streets coming off Istiklal are much more interesting, though, filled with clubs, cafes, and restaurants and plenty of competition to have both good food and atmosphere. Our hostel, Neverland Hostel, is heel-to-toe with peace, anarchy, and anti-corporation murals and band posters, with a cafe-atmosphere common space playing international indie music.

Today was our Old City day: the Hagia Sophia was closed, but we exhausted much of the rest. The Blue Mosque is exquisite inside, with a seamless wall-to-wall rug that apparently hasn’t been spilled on once in centuries. The Grand Bazarre is suffocatingly touristy, but it’s also enormous: it took us a half-hour to make one path through it. After a long wander (including two more gorgeous mosques, and some hand-acted-out directions), we returned to familiar territory and checked out the more authentic Spice Bazaar. Then to Topaku Palace with a treasury of jewel encursted, mother-of-pearl inliad everything, and a harem completely detailed by the square-inch in vibrant colors—something like a mix between a convent and a castle. Finally to the Basilica Cistern, an enormous underground Roman koi pond, where almost every pillar was reinforced, but the constant drips from the rain puddles outside don’t stop you from wondering when it’s all going to cave in. Finally, dinner at a vegetarian cafe (Zencefil) back home near Taksim.

Tomorrow we explore the Asian side, and get on a train for Cappadocia! We made an important step in our planning today, buying flights from Istanbul to Cairo on January 3, and then to Athens on the 10th. That should give us time for a tight loop through western Turkey, before an Egypt trip including a couple days in Luxor and Aswan. Israel and Cyprus seem to be squeezed out of this trip, but I don’t think we’ll miss them too much.