Travel117
Sultanhamet in the rain on Sunday, light weight hooded jacket and waterproof Australian boots nearly if not quite broken in but keeping me dry the three of us are walking through the shuttered empty Grand Bazzar talking to cats, so many street cats in Istanbul and a lesser amount of dogs, some of which have ear tags signifying their caught neutered and released status (this we learned much later in the day or actually early 2a.m. the next morning from the young molecular biologist bar back at the Pera Palace, we were its only customers), some or all of this out of sequence.
There is a flu moving around, all three of us may be having it. After that night at the Metal bar we lost a whole day, no one waking up before three in the afternoon, the snub by the Muslim guard at the Blue Mosque and subsequent admittance only to be fleeced by the tour guiding rug salesman's cousin a fading memory.
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