Last week, we were walking down Istiklal Caddesi at around 12 midnight. It was packed with mostly young, trendily dressed mixed groups, some families like us, and some couples walking hand-in-hand. It was not more than 55F, and yet the Turks were in boots and leather jackets.
Small businessmen had set up make-shift stalls on the promenade's edges, selling second-hand books, trinkets, toys, postcards...there were numerous pushcarts selling Simit, and some others offering roasted chestnuts, meaty, creamy yellow, with their black skins split open. Musicians played the saxophone, the trumpet, the lute, and the violin - mostly Turkish tunes - with a mat out front to catch their earnings. Sometimes, their children would dance, red-cheeked, twinkly-eyed and smiling, in their woolen caps and jackets, while their mothers kept an eye on errant bank notes.
We passed a nightclub almost every 10 yards - with techno and trance wafting down from the open upper floors where clubbers chilled out at tables in balconies looking out onto the street below, their heads lost in psychedelic haloes from the dance floor.
Although he is only 3, the American sure seemed to enjoy the music. He was rocking his head and occasionally stuck his arm up, with his pointy finger raised in appreciation. He actually told me, "Mommy, this is cool. I love it." (!)
I'm thinking about the age when he will want to sneak out and go clubbing with his friends...He's one of those strong and silent types who walks to his own beat :) and knows exactly what he wants. I quite like that.
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