An Istanbul market, lots of spices and strange foods.
I wrote this post, but failed to post it earlier:
Its a familiar feeling when I travel, but one I readily forget as soon as I return home. I board an airplane, have a meal, fall asleep, and wake up in a foreign land. My mind is foggy, even though the sun is up it's still 1:00 a.m. in my head. I debate whether I should try to sleep some more or acquiesce to my new time zone and start on the local version of caffeine.
Paris - Charles De Gaulle Airport (CDG), a monument to modern, glass and steel architecture. It's a cross-roads and people from all over the world move down the carpeted terminal, stepping over those that are not moving quite so much. I feel as if I'm the only one that does not speak French, highlighting the fact that I should have paid better attention in high school french class.
The French seem intent on selling you either a bottle of wine, cologne, or chocolate, lending credence to their reputations as world-class romantics. Duty Free, I've decided, would be a good place to bring your wife on a weekend get-away. Having said that, it took me twenty minutes and several stops to find a toothbrush. I guess the French have their priorities.
I'm off to Istanbul (IST) in a few hours, more to follow.
