Tomorrow I leave Istanbul for 8 days, leaving all the hurly-burly behind for a while. I'll be on the Mediterranean coast. I'm trying not to feel guilty in saying this. One of my sabbatical challenges, I guess. Not feeling guilty, that is.

Oh, the weight I bear! (Yeah, I know. Tough life.)

I won't be taking my laptop with me next week, so I won't be sending an email like this again till sometime in early October.

Ramadan (or Ramazan) starts tomorrow. It's the month during which Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. Not all Muslims, but the more observant ones, I guess. Lights are strung between the minarets of some of the big mosques, with messages that say things like "Mubarek Ay" which I'm told means "Holy Month." I assume they start lighting the lights tomorrow. And workers are setting up little miniature Ottoman-style row-house facades in some of the public squares, with little tables and chairs on platforms behind them. At first I thought it looked like some kind of children's park or Main Street in a Turkish Disneyland. I hear different stories about them. Most people say they're like food courts, where people come in the evening to buy food and break their fast together. It's a big party, like a festival. One woman told me it's a place for the poor to come and get free food in the evenings. Those aren't necessarily contradictory. I'll let you know what I find after I get back from the coast at the beginning of October.

I've had some fascinating conversations with Turks and Kurds in the past few days, and I'm learning a lot. I think it'll take me quite a while to process everything I learn in these next few months. Maybe the timing is good for me to get out of the city for a while.

On a lighter note, a few other observations, in no particular order.

There are cats everywhere in Istanbul. Lots of dogs, too, but cats seem to win the census by a long shot--on the streets, in the hotel, hanging out outside the restaurants. I had dinner with my friend Terry today in a sidewalk restaurant (not as charming as a bistro or cafe). He ordered fish. When he'd finished the waiter took his plate, removed the fish skeleton, and led a cat across the street, where he teased him with it before setting the skeleton down on the sidewalk. I've also seen little piles of kibble that people leave on the sidewalks for the cats and dogs. Terry calls cats and dogs the sacred cows of Istanbul.

I've been staying in Sultanahmet, which is just crammed with historic treasures - Haghia Sophia, the Blue Mosque and several other mosques, Topkapi Palace, the ancient Hippodrome, a Roman cistern. You get the idea. It's also where all the tour buses come, and where the carpet touts go trolling for tourists. The more people they can get to go into the shop that employs them, the better their chance of getting a commission. Some are so persistent as to be obnoxious. Other carpet shop owners are genuinely friendly. My long conversations with Turks and Kurds mentioned above were all with carpet dealers and not about carpets--rather about world events, Islam, Iraq, and how everybody treats the Kurds (as well as the economics of carpets). I'm reminded again and again how, while some people really are better avoided, you can't always tell if the person asking for your attention is actually going to turn out to be a very thoughtful and genuinely friendly person. I'm getting a little practice at extricating myself from people who are pretty obnoxious, but for the most part am finding that if you're not in a hurry, all can be resolved pretty pleasantly.

I'm also finding some calm oases tucked away, just a gateway away from the crowds. Anybody want me to play tour guide for you on your next trip to Istanbul?

Two little vignettes in closing: While browsing in a Ministry of Culture shop today, I overheard a 70ish man and a mid-20s man singing some Turkish song together. It sounded like a ballad, perhaps to the woman at the counter. They all knew each other, and seemed to work together. After they finished singing, the older man (standing behind the younger, who was sitting), leaned over and gave him a firm and playful kiss on the forehead.

And earlier this week I was drawing a copy of a Byzantine-style face that's painted on the wall of my room. Afterward I took some notes on what made it so distinctively Byzantine--the almond-shaped eyes accented by a heavy upper lid, the long nose, the narrow mouth with kind of rosebud lips. Then last night at dinner I noticed that our waiter looked exactly like that. Put a beard, long hair, and a robe on him, and he could be a walking painting from the Middle Ages. I always wondered about the stylization of those old paintings, but here was living proof that people in Byzantium probably looked just like that.

No world-shaking moments there. Just a couple of life moments filed away in my brain.

Be well. I'll write again in a week and a half or so.