Istanbul Diary / by Cyrus

In Istanbul airport, listening to techno at a starbucks next to a mosque. a scene that would surely bring thomas friedman to joyful tears. incidentally, my seat mate looked a lot like a turkish thomas friedman, whispering through his moustache that he made the mistake of drinking the tomato juice and now suffers from "very painful gas, my friend." boldly testing the bounds of friendship with that statement, but we all pulled through. landing in istanbul, flying back and forth over the isthmus, circling both the black sea and the marmar sea, i thought of tehran, culturally so similar (everyone disobeyed all the rules on the plane almost genetically) yet on the whole so much more fucked. also lacking the great sea views...and freedom.

Getting off the plane I thought I recognized all the young Turkish Airlines ladies directing us to international transfers. I realized I only recognized the "Turkish youth aesthetic" from so many hours of watching illegal satellite broadcasts from this country in Iran. They looked like the girls from all these Turkish TV commercials. Amazing to see that they exist in real life.

Flight to Nairobi boards in 10 minutes and i'm still sitting here, drinking turkish coffee "black," which is a bad idea, and atoning for the sin of eating "tilapia" on the plane, which was a worse idea. Gotta get out of Turkey--I have enough regrets already.