A summer never to be forgotten...

In Sardinia, we snorkeled and sailed to islands dotting the coast between la Maddelena and la Corse, to sardine-colored sandy beaches and untouched harbors, where we feasted on mussels and drifted peacefully upon the turquoise sea. In Sofia I navigated the Bulgarian cobblestone streets until dawn overtook the oppressive darkness, us drunk on life and cheap cocktails, time at a standstill as we got more lost with each turn until we stumbled upon our Boulevard Vitosha. In Istanbul I sat with friends of childhood Turkish friends on Anatolian rooftops, talking long into the night over tea and fruit-flavored nargila, with the view of Europe’s majestic gateway sparkling from beyond the Bosphorus Sea. In Afitos, the pristine Greek beaches beckoned us out to swim and explore another perplexing reality, the Macedonia lost to the Macedonians that inhabit a Greece lost to the Greeks. In Rome, I navigated the preserved renaissance alleyways with my sister, admiring open-air orchestras and preppy Italians on Vespas, indulging in stracciatella gelato, Sangiovese wine, Prosecco with a dash of blackcurrent in a shadowy enoteca, and multiple truffled pastas.

Neither the charm of Rome, the glamour of Paris, nor the greatness of New York City could have prepared me for the awe-inspiring, heartbreaking splendor of Istanbul. A long term life goal to visit Istanbul has been realized, and yet after just five days there, a new goal to return lingers over my future.

Day 1, we arrive in a trans-continental train as dawn breaks and the meuzzins’ prayers awaken a city draped in red and white Turkish flags, revealing a humble pride and admirable respect for tradition and culture. We are welcomed with thick Turkish coffees near the Sultanahmet quarter’s Blue Mosque and Hagia Sofia, before the unforgettable Turkish hospitality carries us to far ends of Istanbul, to a fish restaurant overlooking yachts upon Rivieraesque inlets, sahlep sipping by the sea, and non-alcoholic nightlife with live Turkish acoustics.

Day 2, we bond in the suds of femininity in a hamam lit by sun peeking through rooftop holes, enjoying full body massages, then fresh robes and fresh tea despite the curious gazes of lounging Arab guests. I decide that Istanbul is much like a city-wide version of Princeton’s Grounds for Sculpture, a lush green sculpture park devoted to life-size interpretations of the world’s greatest impressionist paintings. Except that Istanbul is not a deliberate art project, but a contemporary explosion of majestically detailed Byzantine and Ottoman architecture, built to please even the most capricious of sultans.

Day 3, again embraced by the hospitality of our new friends, we are taken to Istanbul’s Anatolian side of the Bosphorus, in Asia. Wind flows through the car as a crisp radio wave drifts Sezen Aksu’s ‘Geri Dön’ out to ease the victims of a rush hour traffic jam. We eat kebabs and eggplant salad in an elegant tearoom of Ottoman decor, we have our fortunes read in the grains of Turkish coffee, and we continue the night over nargila on a humbling Anatolian peak. I decide that Turks are generous, deeply spiritual people, and that this is what gives a sprawling, earthquake-prone city like Istanbul a refreshing edge of tranquility otherwise lost in the west.

Day 4, we ride the waves of the Bosphorus on a boat that permits us to daydream that we will one day be residents of the myriad of seaside mansions and palaces. We drive back through Istanbul at night, and I melt at the sight of a sky so alive, midnight blue light shows reflecting off of brilliant sparkling bridges that connect more than just continents. I decide that I underestimated the nightlife of a Muslim country, and that Istanbul has the potential to surpass the thrills of many cities I’ve painted red. The rooftop bar blasts the soundtrack of ‘Borat,’ and I dance Balkans-style in a global village of thrill-seeking Istanbulites.

Day 5, the day of my departure. My dear friend decides to stay the summer, and extends her plane ticket. We effectively lived a lifetime in five fleeting days, and I too fear I may never live my life complete far from this city. Luckily for me, I am neither going far in culture, cuisine, language, or distance. In the beginning of my bus ride back to Macedonia, I vow to begin learning Turkish, one of Macedonia’s spoken languages, to find Sahlep (a creamy drink made from orchard root) in Skopje’s Turkish-style bazaars, to make regular heaps of eggplant salad, and to consider Istanbul in the mix of AIESEC Middle East traineeship destinations at the close of my service here in 2010. So far, each of these goals has been realized...