One might think that drinking enough raki (Turkish alcoholic drink) would ease jet lag and be conducive to a good sleep after a long trip. Sometime before pre-dawn, during our first night in Istanbul, I was awakened by the first call to prayer from the nearby mosque. The muezzin, a man appointed to make the call to prayer, climbs the minaret of the mosque, and loudly cries out in all directions to, "Hasten to prayer." Be sure his call is not ignored by the unfaithful, a loudspeaker magnifies his message, as his “call” wafts over the village streets and onto the waters of the Bosporus, directly into our villa windows.
Unable to continue my sleep, I hastened to the window to take in this virtuoso performance. Much to my amusement, choruses of dogs on (probably) on both sides of the Bosporus were completely enchanted by this pre-dawn melody, which rose and fell with a greater and greater sense of devotion.
At the conclusion of the first “call to prayer” session, which awaited my promised stay in Paradise, quiet had returned as suddenly as it had begun, but was replaced by new sounds outside my window – the putt-putt of small fishing boats, trawling for an early morning catch, in the waters closest to the villa and the churning sounds of propellers of sea-going freighters, as their bows plowed through the waves, out in the deeper channels of the Bosporus. These giant vessels formed an endless line, traveling to and from Istanbul from the Black Sea.
Watching the freighters pass barely less than a half mile from the villa had the same affect on me as counting sheep might have on others, and I found my way back to bed in a semi-conscious, and completely jetlagged state and slept until late the following morning, with no further disruptions.
Despite the extraordinarily fine meal we ate the night before, Doris, who woke before me, convinced me that we should go downstairs to Ellen’s and Husam’s apartment to make tea and forage for breakfast. Husam had left early in the morning to guide a tour in the heart of Istanbul’s history-rich ancient city and Ellen had left the villa for a mid-day luncheon.
After breakfast we were own until the afternoon, but was clear to me that the first order of business was for me was to figure out the passwords for the household Internet network, so we could reestablish our communication with the outside world. Old habits die hard, even in paradise!
Determined to discover the secret password, I worked myself in to a frenzy of typing and resetting passwords I imagined were the key to Internet heaven.
OK, I admit it! I gave up and went outside for air. I found myself underneath a cloudless sky, with lapping waves on the edge of the edge of the swimming beckoning with their own call – a call to swim.
This saltwater pool is fed by water pumped in from the Bosporus, less than 50-yards away. I will never understand why people living near the ocean have fresh-water pool at their homes. Saltwater feels so great on the skin!
Sometime in the afternoon, Ellen way her way back home and we were eventually joined by Husam, who was ready to show his hospitality by making refreshing glasses of cooled “lion’s milk” (raki and iced).
While we sipped our drinks, Husam slipped into the village to purchase some fresh fish for grilling and Ellen made a beautiful arugula salad and potatoes coated with pesto.
Again, another beautiful magical evening drew to a close and off to bed we headed.
I wondered if the next morning’s call to prayer would awaken me from my dreams.
We’ll see…
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