I picked up a pide (pita bread) and some tiny éclairs on the way home and had tea with Basma.

  She had been to a weekly flea market and had a haul.  She said she would take me to the one on Friday. 

Those of you who know me, know how much I love flea markets, garage sales and estate auctions.  This could be dangerous.

Like the English, the Turks begin their tea time at 4 o’clock. 

Unlike the English, Turkish tea  time seems to
last until midnight.  So at 12:30 am, after several very busy days,  I was still hopped up on caffeine and sugar. 

Basma’s other guests came in, a married couple from the US; she’s an MD who trained in Augusta, Georgia (just a few hours drive from my home in Atlanta) and he is a serial entrepreneur who’s in the music business (soul and r&b).  I like them a lot. 

Basma’s friend Achmed  came to visit because Basma told him I am also a historian.  He is a masters student working on a comparative political history for Egypt and Turkey in the 1930s. 

Interesting, but his English and my Turkish were way too limited for trying to geek out on history.  Much of our problem stemmed from pronunciation.  We would realize after a few moments of confusion that we had been speaking the same word with such different accents that we didn't understand one another. 

He’s funny though.  He asked Basma for raki (liquor) instead of tea just to watch her fuss.  I think he may be a surrogate son, I know she misses her sons in Egypt.  She feeds me and everyone else whenever
 they come in range and so she reminds me of a young version of my grandmamma. 

After everyone left or went to bed, I asked Basma about shipping things home and she says we’ll ask Achmed.  She also said to make a list of everything I want to buy and they will take me to the right places to buy it.  She said I did well in the Grand Bazaar. 

She saw the scarves and said "Oh no you didn’t, not in the bazaar, how much did you pay?

I said I understood that the best deals weren’t there,
but I felt ok about it.  How much for the tulip scarf, she says.  Twenty lira.  Ohhhh, I couldn’t have gotten it for less than 15tl, you did good. 

Which means I ‘overpaid’ $3 for a scarf I would have paid $20 for instead of $12.  Well,
in the States, anyway.  I think in Istanbul terms that’s pretty good. 

Good advice is worth its weight in gold.  When I decided to go to Turkey, I called my friend, Carla.  She and her husband are seasoned travelers and have been to Turkey a number of times.  And she knows me well enough to know some of my weak spots.

The first thing she warned me about are the touts.  And what she said was, 'Don't give the touts any face.'

What?  Don't give any what to the who?

Touts are a nasty cross between a used car salesman, one of those obnoxious jerks who hawk cell phones from kiosks in the mall, and carnival barkers. 

They are paid to get you to go with them to a restaurant or carpet store or other tourist trap that they claim to own.  They then use every high-pressure tactic in the book to get you to overspend on something you didn't really want anyway. 

My first encounter with them brought to mind every bit of research I've done on con-men over the years (yes, I have strange interests, I know.)

A con-man finds his victims by asking you for something that is out of line, but small.  When you comply, the requests get a little bigger and over time, you suddenly find you've done the equivalent of sending your confidential bank information to that
nice prince from Nigeria. 

Con-men are basically playing a numbers game, they approach everyone and keep pushing on the ones who are most compliant. 

Carla gave me very clear warnings about the touts and their attempts to use your own sense of polite
conduct and 'niceness' against you.  She told me to forget about being a Southern lady. 

A Turkish woman would never respond to a strange man who approached her on the street and so within the Turkish culture they are considered rude, to say the least.

By telling me not to 'give face', She recommended that I keep my face very still and not respond by word or gesture to ANYTHING that a strange man on the street said to me.  She said to keep very cold and formal, no matter how uncomfortable it is to do so.  

And boy, was she right.  These guys are mostly young, good-looking and sharply-dressed.  They stand outside of restaurants and shops in the tourist district and in the high rent/high traffic sections of the Grand Bazaar. and urge you inside.

Those guys are not too bad, mostly.  It's the guys in front of the mosque that are trouble because if you acknowledge in any way that they exist, they will follow you for blocks.

The Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia are on opposite sides of a huge square.  

The initial approach:

'You are looking for Blue Mosque?  I will show
you, here it is."

No kidding, dude, it's huge and it's right here.

"Where are you from?"

"Why won't you talk to me, aren't you nice?"

Um, no, actually.  Because I know you aren't either.

If you haven't responded by this time, the whole thing starts over in another language.  [It became a game to count the number of guesses.  When they guessed Turkish or Arabic, I was proud.  When they guessed Finnish, I was just confused.]

These guys aren't physically dangerous, they are just obnoxious and will waste your time and try to get you to overpay.  And I am stubborn by nature.

I also read a post by a Turkish woman in a travel forum that mentioned that one of the dead giveaways that you are American is that you smile too much.  And today I really learned how right that is.  I caught myself flashing a smile at the beginning of every interaction. 

In the US, the quick smile signals a greeting, it is considered polite.  In Turkey, if a woman smiles at a strange  man she is overtly expressing interest.  I ran into a similar issue about prolonged eye contact when I moved from Georgia to New Mexico for college.

Suddenly, all the stories I had heard about single female travelers being accosted by men who would not leave them alone made a little more sense.  It doesn't make sexual harassment right, but it does make me feel better about having clear and firm boundaries from the beginning.

So I spent much of the day discovering and trying to control my typically American gestures and facial expressions. 

In Turkey, the  head is nodded forward for 'yes' and nodded backward for 'no'.  Shaking the head side to side is for confusion.  So when I was approached by touts and instinctively shook my head at them, they said, "Oh, you are an American" and tried to follow me. 

I discovered pretty quickly that I need to adopt a posture and facial expression that is decidedly unfriendly by American standards but it kept the
worst of the touts away or made them give up fairly quickly.

I saw other American tourists happily chatting with touts leading them away to be fleeced and I had to fight the urge to 'save' them.

[The Turkish woman's post also made an interesting point about relative formality.  Interactions in Turkey between a man and a woman who are strangers is significantly more formal than in the United States and stays formal through the course of more interactions.]

[So it makes sense that being overly familiar or casual could make the mannerly Turkish men very uncomfortable.  So I spent the first few weeks trying to find a balance of appropriate formality and appropriate courtesy.  Considering how little Turkish I speak, I definitely didn't get it right all the time, but I did try.  And no man every truly harassed me or followed me for more than half a block.]
.

I was up at 7am and out the door around 9.  Twenty minutes by tram and I was in Sultanamet. [Sultanahmet is the center of the main historic district.]

I gave myself permission to
just wander. 


I did lots of window shopping:

I saw the  outer and inner courtyards of the Blue Mosque but didn’t go in because it was prayer time.

I came here for the depth of history.  I pretty much expected that in a city this large and this old, there would be an archaeological site or some sort of historic preservation project in almost every block.  The Turkish government has a brilliant solution for handling these active sites.

This is a perimeter set up around a site just outside the main gate of the Blue Mosque.  It's some sort of industrial cloth, over ten feet high.  It has been printed with architectural plans and historical information.

The lengths of screening are mounted on wooden frames.  The noise, dust and debris stay in, unauthorized people stay out.  It's significantly less ugly than an active construction site and they've taken the opportunity to educate.  Most of the text is presented in both Turkish and English.

I also visited
a cemetery from the 1800s that had some of the most beautiful stone-carving I've ever seen.  It began as the tomb of Sultan Mehmed II and was used as a burial place for many of the nobility as well.

One of the main purposes of my trip was to visit Topkapi Palace  (Topkapi Sarayi) to see the Harem and do research on the ceremonial caftans that are on display.

I ended up in the courtyard of the Topkapi around one in the afternoon.  I didn’t go in because I know it’s a multi-day thing and I wanted to start fresh.

I did go into the outer courtyard and got my first view of the Bosporus. 

And I saw something that made me
cry. 

A friend of mine that I used to work with had an assistance animal named Max.  Max was amazing and he was an instant source of peace in a stressful day.  When I was recovering from my accident he often had a hard time deciding who he wanted
to take care of, his mistress or me and he tried very hard to take care of us both. 

He died not long ago and our entire group has been kind of amazed at how much we miss him.

I can't imagine what my friend is going through, the grief has to be similar to losing a human family member.

So as I walked through the gates of the Topkapi Palace, I saw a dog that looked just like Max. 

He was flopped in the shade, napping on a hill overlooking the Bosporus.  I hope that if dogs go to a heaven, it looks something like this.

To the right, just outside the frame, is a guard shack and a sweet-faced young soldier with a machine gun.  He seemed kind of confused about why I was taking pictures of his dog and weeping. 

My Turkish isn't good enough to get even close to an explanation.

And he has a machine gun.

[Turkey has required military service for all men, and many end up functioning as security guards especially around important historical sites.  They all look about 12 years old to me, with very serious demeanors but they are polite and as helpful as they
can be without leaving their post.]

Also, the tulips are in bloom.

And I found the Grand Bazaar.

There may have been a scarf incident. 

You'll note that I took a picture of
the inside of the gate.  The gates are numbered.

Carla told me 'when you get lost in the Grand Bazaar...'

'If...'

'No.  WHEN you get lost in the Grand Bazaar, just keep going uphill and you will come out near the tram station.'

[This city is so old and so hilly that getting lost is inevitable and so I made it a practice to photograph street signs and major landmarks throughout the day so I could get myself found, or be able to retrace my steps to find something again.]

One day, and I am already in love with this city.

It’s really happening.  I’m on the plane, landing in about an hour.  New York City toIstanbul, business class. 

As we were taxiing to the runway in NYC, the pilot directed us to look out the window to the right.  The NASA space shuttle, right there.  Completely surreal.

Food on the plane was great, got a few hours sleep.  I studied some Turkish vocabulary.  Writing it out made it easier for me to notice the undotted I’s etc.  Just for the record, I speak enough Turkish to be politely lost and confused.

I am also reading Norman Itzkowitz’s Ottoman Empire and Islamic Tradition.  It's only about 100 pages long; clear and cogent.
 
Before I left home, I had been reading Barbara Tuchman’s On Doing History and her point about how artistry comes into play when writing about history is great and makes me understand why such a tiny little book of Turkish history is so much more readable compared to some of the tomes sitting on my shelf at home. 

Her main points were about brevity and the importance of not putting everything in; that the difficulty and art is in knowing what to leave out.  This book is very good at this, describing the big factors of the Turkic tribes' gradual takeover of Anatolia and leaving out the listing of unnecessary people and places.  After reading this, I think I will have better luck with some of the bigger volumes that currently just make me snore.  I always do a better job of retaining details when I have a big-picture framework to give them some coherence and pattern.

I landed in the afternoon, it was 75 degrees F and sunny.  No problems at the airport.  Most people didn’t speak English, just enough to sell me a visa and get me through customs.  It was very quiet at the airport, though it’s huge and new it was not busy.  It was noon on a Tuesday, though, at the very beginning of the busy season.

I exchanged $50 in the airport, the exchange rate was 1.757 (compared to 1.5 in NYC) which means that my $50 bought me 87.85 lira, each lira cost me .57.  Which means that for purchases, I can estimate at 60 cents to the lira.
 
I forgot to write down the name of the metro station for Basma’s house before I left home.  Very silly.  My cell phone will work in Turkey, but is almost unbelievably expensive.  I turned it off in New York and it won't go back on until I go back.  I have gotten used to having a smart phone and in my rush to leave I didn't print out all the information I needed.

The maps at the airport/metro station were pretty terrible if you don't know anything about the city.  One map had the tram and subway lines but no street names, districts or neighborhood markings.  The other map had main streets and districts but no public transport information.  I had forgotten the necessity of spending some money on a truly useful map before leaving home.

So I had no map and no phone number for Basma,  only an address that was in a format that made no sense to me.  But it's an adventure, right?  I made sure I had a little cash in the local currency before I left the airport so I could catch a cab if necessary.  I knew which tram station to take, but getting there was a little tricky. 

The tram line from Ataturk airport crosses the tram line I needed.  But it crosses in two places and I got turned around.  I managed to get on the right tram line, going in the wrong direction.  But I had daylight and local currency so that was kind of fun, actually. 

Only about 30% of the women I saw were wearing hijab (a scarf covering the head and neck but not the face).  Other women dressed all over the map, girls in tight leggings etc.  I saw only one woman in a skirt above the knee and didn’t notice much cleavage on anyone.

I got to Haseki station and though I was sure it was the right station, I was completely lost.  The posted map was no help since it wasn't clear how it was oriented.  Street signs are not common.  They exist, but not systematically on every street corner.

Several people tried to help me but nobody really knew where the street was.  They all assured me it must be nearby.  I knew intellectually that Istanbul is 'hilly', but intellect is no help when you've been awake for 24 hours and are dragging a wheeled suitcase over cobblestones on streets that look like San Francisco.  I started to get cranky and stubborn and that was my clue that I was too tired to think or act effectively and I hailed a cab. 

Istanbul cabbies have about the same reputation as cabbies in other major cities so I was cautious.  I asked the rate before I let him touch my suitcase and made sure he turned on the meter.  He had no idea about the address but he persevered until he found it.  He drove in circles for about 20 minutes, on both sides of the tramway, stopping and asking probably a dozen people and being cheerful and determined about it. 

But it was clear that the cabbie and all the people he asked considered me slightly daft for having no cell phone.
 
We finally found the street, one block long and narrow.  The address wasn't clearly marked and the cabbie, the corner shopkeeper and I were contemplating how to get inside a locked apartment building that might or might not be the right one when we were approached by a man who turned out to be one of Basma's guests.

"You are coming to stay with Basma?  Basma is worried about you.  Let me get your suitcase.  Welcome to Istanbul"

The cab fare was TL 8.5.    Instead of rounding up (customary) I gave him 10tl because he persevered until he found it.  Well worth the $6 USD.

I had found the flat on www.airbnb.com.  I knew that Basma was about my age, Egyptian and speaks English, Turkish and Arabic.  I had a few choices of rooms in my price and location range, but it was the profile picture that sealed the deal.  

Something about her face suggested that perhaps we would be friends.  In the photos, she wears a hijab and I was curious to experience life from her perspective.  I know many Muslims in the United States.  Some of the women wear hijab, some do not.  But living in a city where Muslims are in the majority (though the government is secular) is surely a different experience.

Basma had been waiting all morning, had tried calling and was worried about me.  Her manner, and her posture of warm worry was my first indication that fortune had sent me to a woman with the same personality as my grandmother. 

My grandmother and I are very close and when I left Atlanta she was concerned about whether I would eat well and who would take care of me.  My grandmother is a strong Baptist Christian and I know she prays for me.  I think it is marvelous that her God chose to answer her prayer by sending me to a Muslim woman.  This fits in conveniently with my ideas about the universe and a loving god.

The apartment is small, but nicely furnished, very clean and bright.  I will be sharing a room with her and she has other guests coming in as well.  She is an Arabic and English teacher and volunteers for non-profits, mostly concerned with refugee seekers.  She’s a trained social worker, but nobody has funding here (just like in the US) so she volunteers.  She also went to the American University in Cairo like my friend Majda and I want to talk to her more about that.

The guest who rescued me on the street is here with his wife Manil.  They are both Iranian, studying in London Ontario Canada.  She’s working on her Ph.d in Comparative Literature and he on his in Chemical Engineering.  I liked them immediately.  They are warm and friendly.  Their last day in Istanbul is my first day and it is clear that they hope I love it as much as they have.

Manil, her husband, Basma and I went to lunch at a ready-food place nearby.  I had read about this common type of local inexpensive restaurant and was anxious to try one.  [The standard restaurant
in Turkey (except fine dining) either has a kitchen that you go into to choose your food or a kitchen that is entirely visible, usually at the front of the restaurant.]

It's not what Americans are used to but I found that I really loved being about to look at the food before I ordered it and make my own judgement about the cleanliness of the kitchen and the freshness of the food.  [My entire trip there were only a few restaurants that didn't meet my standards and they were easy to avoid.]

For lunch, I had a flattened softball-sized serving of ‘meat’ [which I discover later usually means 'mutton'] and veggies roasted together, eggplant, carrots, peas and mushrooms, covered in cheese.  There were big plastic bins of sliced French bread on the table.  It was like the Turkish food I've had in the US, slow cooked and savory in a way that feels like comfort food to me.

I tried ayran, which is one of the 'national' drinks of the Turks, but I was not crazy about it.  It tastes like buttermilk or a salted lassi and since I don't like either one, it was no great surprise.  [It is always surprising to me to remember how socialized Americans are to only drink sweet things.  Many other cuisines have savory or salty drinks, but to my American palate it intuitively tastes 'wrong'.  This is probably something I should get over for the sake of my health, but there it is.  When Americans drink something savory or salty, we tend to classify it as a liquid 'food', like broth.  Alcohol seems to be the exception.]

 After lunch we had Turkish tea, which Basma finds inferior to Egyptian tea.  It was quite bitter, so I may agree with her.  The bill was 7.5tl ($4.50 ).  [This restaurant quickly became my favorite place to pick up a quick dinner on the way back to the flat.  They quickly accepted me as a 'regular', and I think I never spent more than 8tl on any meal.]

As soon as we got back to the flat, Basma made ‘proper’ Egyptian tea and it was much better.  
The Iranians are delightful.  They left today at 5 and I was very sorry to see them go.  They have my email and promises were made to keep in touch.  They have invited me to Iran and confirmed that the media makes things sound much more dangerous than they actually are. 

Manil was very accepting of my interest in Persia and Persian classical dance and being raised Baha'i.  She assured me that it is the government that is anti-Baha'i, not most Persians. 

Manil and I talked on the walk to the restaurant  in that very direct way of people who like one another and know they haven't much time.  At lunch when her husband explained something basic about Istanbul to me, she cut in, “She knows way more about Turkey than we do.” And later to she told him, “She knows more about our culture than we do.  She was raised Baha'i so she counts as half-Persian already”. 

[I’ve always been terrified of the judgment of the people whose culture I love so much, but, she made me feel interesting, not weird or lacking in credibility because I have the 'wrong' genes to appreciate a culture and history.  Even though Iranian women that I have known have been mostly pleased that I am interested in their culture and dance, I'm still afraid of giving offense or being insensitive.]

[Teaching Persian dance to Iranian women always makes me sweat.  But many of the Iranian women my age that I know had to leave Iran when they were quite young and many of them are eager to learn aspects of their culture such as dance and traditional cooking.]

[One community I was in years ago asked me to teach them to dance and when I hesitated they reminded me that they had all learned to cook Iranian cuisine from a Baha'i convert from Sweden.  Ok, point taken.]

After they left, Basma declared it to be nap time and so it was.  I slept pretty well, considering, waking up at 8pm and taking about a half hour to be functional.  My body is working pretty well, especially considering the trip and the dragging of the suitcase up and down the hills.  [I have fibromyalgia and some permanent damage from being hit by a bus a few years ago, so this is not a minor consideration.]

The bed is a futon with a memory foam mattres, it’s not luxurious but it is comfortable and will be just fine.  The house has a Western 'regular' toilet and the Turkish kind, and a shower.  The kitchen is small but clean and functional, the refrigerator is in the flat's foyer. 

It is a third floor walk up.  I know I am out of breath when I get to the top.  Not a question I thought to ask when I was making reservations.  The stairs are steep, dark and curving, with motion activated lights that go out too fast for someone unfamiliar with the them.  The stairs are a mottled stone and concrete and it plays havoc with my depth perception.

I have to make sure I have enough energy at the end of the day to make it up the stairs and I am very glad I brought a small reading light with a clip to help me manage when the lights go out.  [Within about a week, my body knows the stairs and I navigate easily, but in the beginning it was something I had to concentrate on.]

The apartment is in a little back alley, charming but hard to find. [ I only see other tenants a few times while I am there and never hear them in the flat.]  The neighborhood is working class but feels reasonably safe. 

[I was taught early on to be street smart: carry yourself as if you know exactly where you are going and have a right to be where you are, be aware of everything around you, keep your hand on your bag at all times, the keys in your hand can be a weapon.] 

[I am also not afraid to ask directions or tell somebody to go away if they are bothering me and not too stubborn to seek help in a well-lit and populated place if I need to.  There is a careful balance in urban living anywhere in the world: be cautious and aware, not meek and frightened and not too trusting.  I quickly learned that the only real danger in the neighborhood is gossip.  It's like a tiny village and I blend in just enough over the time that I am there that the grumpy grannies in the neighborhood scowl at me if I wear the wrong thing.]

[I quickly learn that 'tourists' and 'Americans' are in their own categories and are beyond interest and understanding.  But if you might be a local girl and your hemline is an inch or two too short, they will tell you so.  They keep an eye on Basma as a single Muslim woman living alone who has many guests and it makes her absolutely crazy.]

[I have the very American reaction that I don't really care if I meet the approval of everyone on my block. I'm not suggesting I am right or wrong, it's just my immediate reaction.  And I get to go home in a few weeks, she doesn't]

I planned to use only public transportation while I am in Istanbul but I had been warned about Turkish driving patterns and I'm glad I knew to what to expect.

Rule 1: Pedestrians do not have the right of way.

Rule 2: see above.

Rule 3: driving and parking on sidewalks is completely normal and expected.

Rule 4: horns are a communication method.  If a vehicle honks its horn at a pedestrian this translates to, "I hope you start running soon because I am not stopping."

[For the first few days, I cross the streets by following clusters of older women, or women with children and baby carriages.  My presumption was that they would be the most cautious and risk-averse.  Toward the end of my trip I followed a group of jay-walking teenage boys across a rush-hour intersection.  That was a bad and scary plan.]

 The side streets and allies are very narrow and the cab driver made a maneuver today that I intellectually knew he was capable of, but the minimum safe distance between cars, and cars and pedestrians is measured in fractions of inches, not feet.  It will take a little while to get used to, especially since the bus accident I mentioned earlier happened while I was a pedestrian in a crosswalk.

Manil and her husband came to take tea with us before they left at 5pm.  I liked them very much and was sorry to see them go.

The balcony door is often left open for the breeze and I hear the call to prayer echoing from numberless mosques in the dusk and I realize that I am really in Istanbul. 

The call to prayer is recited in refrains.  It seems that the Blue Mosque, in the center of the old city, begins first.  The call expands in widening circles, each muzzein pauses to let the first refrain fade, then continues the call and the evening descends.

Well, I am back from three and a half weeks in Istanbul.  It was a life-altering journey and while this was somewhat foreseeable, the alterations were mostly positive.  While I was there I took several thousand pictures and kept a pretty detailed journal. 

Unfortunately, my internet connection wasn’t particularly fast or reliable so I decided to post everything when I got home.  

My intent for this website is for it to be a repository of my research
and to foster conversation and debate about medieval Central and Western Asia.

I am a graduate student but I don’t go back until the fall, so I will have time to get much of the information I have online so that it will hopefully be useful.

I have begun a blog on this website for research, but I’ve decided to add this second blog, about travel.  I felt that many people would be interested in one topic but not the other so I thought separating them might make this more
readable.

I do feel that I need to express some gratitude.  I have wanted to make this journey for many years but my dear friend Melissa Wolfley gave me the kick in the pants that I needed.  She works for an airline and offered to make me her designated travel companion for the year.  This is incredibly generous and brought the most expensive part of the trip, the airfare, within reach.

As I began to gather the resources I needed to make the trip, unexpected generosity arrived from many directions.  Two ladies who have asked to remain anonymous chose to sponsor my stay in Istanbul, each for several days.  They have both been mentors to me since I was a very young woman and I am still stunned and grateful for their generosity.

Two other wonderful mentors from the Society for Creative Anachronism founded a memorial grant in honor of a mutual friend who passed away recently.  The MacGumerait Grant is in memory of Ld. Aoghann MacGumerait (Lonnie Harvel). The grant is for SCA artisans and researchers in the areas of costuming, performing arts and food.  I am excited and honored to be the first recipient of this grant and I hope that I have done them all
proud.  
 
A professional photographer and dear friend, Tamara Di Firenze, asked me what camera I planned to take with me and when I shrugged and said I was taking my small point and shoot she objected strenuously.  She loaned me a wonderful cameral with all the gadgets and toys and I am honored that she was willing to trust me with her equipment.  I am thrilled with the pictures I took and want to say right now that they are the result of very good equipment and brilliant subject matter, not my skill.  Tamara and her husband Finn also gave me wonderful travel advice including a source
for affordable travel insurance and loaned me several wonderful travel
gadgets.

My husband, though not able to make the trip with me was incredibly supportive although I know he was not happy to have me away for so long.  I missed him terribly and can’t wait to take him back with me.

My first dance teacher, Carla Monnich, and her husband Ted, a museum professional saved me endless frustration and opened many wonderful doors for me in Istanbul and I adore them both.  Carla spent a lot of time on the phone with me and on email, giving me very specific instructions about how to find the things in Istanbul that were important to me and saving me endless aggravation with advice on how to function as a foreigner in Turkey and deal with the maddeningly aggressive and persistent touts that try to lure you into‘their’ restaurants and carpets shops. (More on those guys, later).  

Carla and Ted's website with travel information
was really useful, too.  They are part of a fantastic band called Turku, here’s their website.  http://www.turkumusic.com/

They also provided an introduction to their friend Bob Beer, an American who lives in Istanbul.  And I have to say that Bob is one of the most charming people I have ever met.  He generously provided practical advice, friendship,  social and historical context, a tour of the music and knitting scenes in Istanbul and several invitations to parties with interesting, charming people.  He was my guide into the parts of  Istanbul that made me feel that I could find a home there.

After airfare, lodging is generally the most expensive part of any trip.  Carla introduced me to airbnb.com.  It’s a website that connects travelers who want a non-hotel experience with locals who are willing to rent rooms in their homes and apartments.  Providence led me to Basma and her wonderful
flat, convenient to Sultanahmet and all the places I wanted to be.  Not only were the accommodations incredibly inexpensive compared to a hotel or hostel, but she provided local knowledge and advice, wonderful food and
made it possible for me to meet many locals as well as other travelers from the
USand all over the Middle East.  It would not have been as rich and wonderful a trip without her and I am pleased to say that when the trip began, she was a gracious host, and when it ended, she was a friend.

The purpose of my trip was to conduct research for a book I am writing on Ottoman tailoring methods for ceremonial caftans and other garments.  Most of the published research on Ottoman clothing has focused on the social and political uses to which these garments were put and the incredible skill and virtuosity required to weave the textiles from which they are made.

I have been pulling together information about the caftans for many years.  I have studied as many books on the subject as I could find, visited museums and traveling exhibits in the US and attempted to reconstruct these garments using the most appropriate methods and materials available to me.  (Check my 'photos' page for a few examples) 

But it is the construction and tailoring methods that have been the hardest to document.  When garments are displayed in museums and photographed for books, they are generally displayed to show the fabrics to their best advantage.  This means that many details of cut and construction are obscured.
 
I spent a total of 14 hours in the caftan gallery at the Topkapi.  I was not able to gain permission to work in the collections not on display, but I was able to learn a great deal from the items that were on display.  I will continue to work to gain access to the collections as Topkapi as well as the Victoriaand Albert in London, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Smithsonian in Washington D.C.  I’ve been told by my contacts that it just takes
persistence.

I will be providing details of my work in the past and on this trip on this website and I have invitations to give several presentations over the next year in the Southeastern United States. (If you have an interest in hosting a presentation at one of your events, contact me privately and I will see what I can do.)

So the results of my research and the sources I was able to study will be made available on my Silk Road Conjectures blog.  This travel blog will with deal with my travels and additional interests.  I’ve been involved in the international dance community for many years and I love world music and
dance of all types.  I had the opportunity to dance with the Romani (‘gypsies’), explore antique shops, acquire antique textiles and textile tools and shop in the bazaars.  

I’ll tell you all about this stuff, and the food and street life and wonderful folks I met here.  I’m going to arrange this blog in chronological order, and then afterwards there are several topics that I want to discuss separately like Turkish women’s fashion and modesty, expat communities, food, practical stuff you might want to know if you want to make a trip like mine, dance and probably some other stuff.  I would appreciate it if you would leave comments to let me know what you want to hear more about and I’ll do my best.

I am also hoping to fit in another trip before my travel
  benefits expire at the end of the year.  To that end, I’m creating a page on the website to sell a few of the things I brought back, as well as some stuff that I’ve had for awhile and possibly some clothing commissions.  I was really inspired to de-clutter while I was there and so I hope to use that impetus to give me the start of a travel fund.

So, here we go.