If you're interested in Oriental rugs, Istanbul is one of the places to go. There literally are thousands of them here. There are streets full of stores full of oriental rugs, and they all seem to employ people that our son Michael came to call “Pullers.”

“They're supposed to pull people into the store, so they're 'Pullers,'” he announced. They can be very persuasive.

They will greet you on the street, shake your hand, ask where you're from, offer you tea, and on and on. It's nice in the fact that they don't get too upset with you when you don't come in, but I have to admit it: some of the rugs they display are absolutely spectacular.

One gent stopped us coming out of the Spice Market.

“Where you from?” he inquired.

“Washington DC,” we said. Okay, we lied a little, but how many of them would know of Orlean, Virginia?

“I love America!” he said. “I love Washington! I love your wife and son! Come! See my carpets. Money means nothing! Friendship is everything!”

We went and looked. We had seen better, but his was such a winning personality, we just had to stay a bit.

“This rug,” he motioned to a small Oriental. “This rug I sell for $800 in America. Here, you can have it for $290.”

It was a rug that looked very much like a rug that could have been made by Native Americans in the Southwest, maybe lending some credence to the idea that our “natives” actually came from Asia in the first place. We really weren't looking for rugs as we have three cats with claws, and they managed to tear up two other Oriental rugs we had at home already, so I didn't want to offer them fresh opportunities to get their exercise. We demurred and headed out. He gave us his card and continued shouting as we left.

“I love your wife and son! (Hey, what about me?) I love America! Money is nothing! Friendship is everything!”

We got up early last Friday to take our son to the airport to catch his flight home to America and then, back to school. The connections in Paris were a lot easier this time. Coming in, he had a 45 minute window of opportunity between landing on one plane and catching the next one to Istanbul. Going back, he had hours to spend in Charles deGaulle International before catching the flight back to Washington Dulles. A reader by nature, he had a 1,000 page book – “Infinite Jest” – to keep him occupied, and some jingle in his jeans if he felt the need to frequent the duty free shop. (Those places, by the way, are hardly as inexpensive as one might imagine. I doubt that I have ever been in one where I couldn't buy the items offered more cheaply in stores at home. Now if you are from a place that doesn't offer what you want – say, liquor, then I understand why you might go in. Otherwise, there's not much reason to go in.)

We zoomed through the early morning rain, the van driver completely ignoring the slick pavement, the curves in the road and the fact that we had plenty of time before the flight. We made it, of course, and the check-in was a breeze. Then came that awful time when he had to go through security – there were three levels of security at the Istanbul airport – and we couldn't go with him. It doesn't make it any easier if you stand there, trying to think of something to say that will prevent the coming separation, so the best tactic, we think, is to simply ... let him go. Michael put his carry on bag onto the belt to be scanned a second time, turned and gave a jaunty wave to his parents, and soon was out of sight behind the screen.

We had seven hours to kill before we were to be back at the airport for our return flight to Dubai, and we hitched up with a couple of friends and went to the Hora, a church with fantastic Christian mosaics that date back to 1300. we had an artist with us, and he pointed out just how fine they were, and how much effort went into putting them up and keeping them up. There was a lot of gold leaf on the tiny chips of stone, and the domes were probably 30 feet high, so putting them up – and keeping them up for 700 years – was quite a feat. Well worth seeing.

One of my favorite things to do here is to sit in the breakfast room at the top of the hotel and watch the harbor traffic. There are all kinds of ships, old trawlers, modern tankers, tiny fishing boats, ferries and tourist boats. I haven't seen any pleasure craft, but in a city this big, there has to be a posh yacht club somewhere with impressive sailboats and power boats that are probably used ... about once a month, if they're anything like American boaters.

We had a last lunch – it was, surprise! Kebabs! – at a place overlooking that harbor traffic on the Bosporus and then we caught the tram for the last time to get back to the hotel. It was a tad crowded, so my wife sat down with her female friend while we two guys stood up. No big problem. As we approached the first stop, the guy next to my wife got up – he was getting off, anyway – and offered his seat to me. I declined, but then he said something that made the Americans roar in laughter.

“You should sit down,” he said to me, “because you are,” he was stumbling for the right word, “old.”

I argued back that I wasn't old, but only that living in the Middle East had made me seem old, but he laughed and left. I sat down.

So we left Istanbul, carpetless, and arrived in Dubai where it's about 90 degrees and where the air conditioning runs almost all the time now. It's the middle of March and it's 90. What will the middle of July be like?

We had lunch in Asia today. Took a ferry across the Bosporus and ended up in the Asian part of Istanbul. Even though it's 15 minutes away, there was a different feel to the place. There seemed to be fewer people who spoke English as we wandered through the streets looking for a restaurant that had been featured in a story in the New York Times, and the people looked different physically. The ones we saw seemed more Slavic, more Russian looking They all looked like they could be Chicago Bears fans, but then again, we were only there a couple of hours.

We did find the restaurant, and the food was quite good, though I hesitate to add that it didn't seem any better than most of the other meals that we've had here. They were all quite good, though I think I'll have to spend some time soon in a kebab-free zone. On some menus, that's all they had.

We also found a classic old bookshop, the kind that used to be in every big city, the kind that said out loud, “Yes, we are a major metropolis.” It carried a strong scent of tobacco, though nobody in the place was smoking. The books were in Turkish on the first floor, but downstairs there were a ton of English language books, from Shakespeare to the latest trashy novel, they all seemed to be there. I found one that I couldn't resist. It's called: “I Paid Hitler,” and it's the story of a major German industrialist who bankrolled the Nazis and Hitler in the 1920s and 1930s but who broke with him when he invaded Poland, and who left Germany – and all his possessions, it seems – and went to Switzerland and then to France, where, I think, the Germans finally caught up with him and pitched him into a concentration camp with the usual results expected. The book was written before America got into the war, so it is interesting to read a contemporary account of what Hitler and the Nazis were like, from an insider.

Standing outside the bookstore, I chanced a look across the street and saw a pleasant sight. It was a small shop with a picture of a couple of horses racing to the finish line.

“Ah, a betting shop,” I said as I walked over. Inside were all the familiar sights. An electronic odds board, racing papers pinned to the bulletin boards on the walls and denizens of my world – though a world away – trying to figure out which horse was going to win the next race. I looked around the room and a thought came to me: I can take these guys. Even though I'm 7,000 miles from home, and I can't read the Turkish racing paper, and I've never set foot on a Turkish racetrack, I was confident that if I stayed there, I could walk out a winner. But, alas, I didn't get to prove out that confidence. The first race was more than an hour later, and we had to keep moving.

Another good day in the area of the Golden Horn. One more and then we head back to the UAE.

It was chilly today in Istanbul, with a breeze off the Sea of Marmara. The temp probably never made 50 degrees, and the wind made it feel something like late October in Virginia. Yet we still had a great day.
We went on a long bus tour around the city to make certain that we saw everything important, and then we stopped off at the fish market. There were thousands of fresh fish and fresh veggies, and we three ate copious amounts of both. The bill? About $10. We walked back through the city near the Blue Mosque and the Hippodrome and found a place that does terrific hand-made ceramics. One of the artists even threw some clay onto the wheel and made a piece while we were there, and then my wife Rita put on some dirty work pants, sat on a stool, pushed against the wheel to get it spinning properly and worked some clay herself. She made and decorated a bowl that ... we didn't keep. We did, however, buy a couple of things – they gave us a 50% discount – so, if you're lucky, maybe you will see what we bought when we get home, or even get something we got for you! (Forget I mentioned that 50% discount thing. We think so highly of you that we'd have bought it for you, discount or no discount. At least that's my story, and I'm sticking with it.)

Later, just around dinner time, we went into the famous Spice Market where they have ... spices of all kinds, teas, leather goods, candy, pots and pans and on and on. My wife is so adept at bargaining now that I'm sure that she will suffer withdrawal symptoms when she gets home and she goes into a store that has the price already set. Now she bargains over items that she doesn't even want to but, just to keep her skill set in good shape. We bought a few minor items. No, we did not buy the "Love Tea," nor did we buy any “Turkish Viagra.” Should we get some for you and your spouse?

Then we walked under the bridge that goes to the other side of the city, and there were probably 10 restaurants there. People were fishing from the top of the bridge above, and we could see their lines going up and back down into the water. Nobody seemed to be catching anything, which was odd, considering the fish we had seen at the market earlier in the day..

Walking by the restaurants, we were approached by a guy or two at each place. They all wanted us to frequent their place. They asked us where we were from, and not one of them guessed that we were from America. If anything, they thought that we were British. The restaurants were not expensive, but my wife couldn't help herself.

“Will you give us a 10% discount if we come back?” she asked. The guy at the first place promised to do that, and she had him sign a card – a tiny contract – that said as much. Then she took that card to each of the other restaurants and tried to do better. By the time we finally settled on one, the owner was promising a 10% discount, free salad and French fries, coffee after the meal and a dessert. We chose that one and enjoyed the meal and the maritime views right outside our window. The ferries were operating from both sides of the city and the harbor was filled with commercial traffic. Lights twinkled in the hills that rise gradually away from the harbor, and the evening was mighty fine.

Istanbul is a great city to visit. The people are hard working and pleasant, and even the ones that try to get you to buy something don't get mad if you turn them down. For the most part, Turks like Americans, and the city isn't expensive to visit. Most cab fares are in the $5 range or less, and there are modern trams that are even cheaper. The meals have been very reasonable, and the hotel we're staying in is about $70 a night, and that includes three free breakfasts every morning. Americans don't get here for a vacation much, but there are a lot of attractive things to see and do here, and maybe more Americans should consider this place. There is a culture here that goes back thousands of years, and the place is genuine. There's a lot to like in Turkey.

We went into the Blue Mosque today, which is an enormous house of prayer for Muslims. Astonishingly large and beautiful, the place is open to non-Muslims as well, which isn't the case with many mosques in this part of the world. The only thing is that you have to remove your shoes before you enter. They give you a little plastic bag for your shoes before you go in, and you see people carrying them around like they're ancient relics. There you are, looking up at the incredibly beautiful and colorful arches, with your trusty pair of boat shoes by your side in a plastic bag. Takes something away from the moment, I think.

Today was cool and rainy, so you can imagine what sort of odor a couple of hundred people wearing wet socks and carrying wet shoes could make. Think of your dog having been outside all day in the rain, and now he's come in and lain by the fire. Now let's say he brought 100 of his doggy friends with him. It was something like that.

We also went to the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul and spent several hours wandering around in that place. It seems that Istanbul has 8,000 years of history, and this place has items from pretty much every era. There are a ton of sarcophagi that Turkish archaeologists found in places as far away as Lebanon and then shipped to Turkey and put them in the museum, a curious pattern as the Turks passed a law more than 100 years ago that banned people from coming to Turkey, finding some antiquity and taking it back to their museums. That discrepancy aside, they are impressive. They have Egyptian tombs, Turkish tombs, Roman tombs, Greek tombs ... about everything but the Tomb Of The Unknown Archaeologist Caught Trying To Smuggle Something Out Of Turkey. One is called “The Alexander Sarcophagus,” in honor of Alexander the Great. No, he's not actually inside the thing. He was killed in Babylon – or died of malaria, poisoning, typhoid fever, viral encephalitis, or from the consequences of alcoholism, the encyclopedia isn't sure. I mean, it was 2,331 years ago, and the encyclopedia writers' memories aren't as sharp as they used to be. Think you could do better? What did you have for dinner last Tuesday?

It's called “The Alexander Sarcophagus” because there is a carved relief of Alexander killing someone on the thing, and what the hell, why not throw the guy a bone? He may have been poisoned, after all. Or he could have died at the age of 32 from too much booze. In either case, let's show a little sympathy to one of the greatest conquerers who was married to two princesses at the same time. “Alexander Tomb” it is.

Walking back in the rain, we passed the Hippodrome, where they used to hold chariot races to amuse the sultan. He could sit high above the crowd in a little box attached to a palace, eat dates, drink tea, crack jokes with his posse and win bets race after race, even when his horses didn't finish first. Who would be man enough to say, “Hey, Sultan, you know, your chariot didn't actually come in first in the last race?” You do that, and I'm betting that your spouse wouldn't have to worry about what present to get you for your next anniversary. The Hippodrome sports a great obelisk in the center of the track, sort of a miniature Washington Monument, but with hieroglyphics on it. Not withstanding the Turkish law mentioned before, it originally came from, that's right, Egypt. You know, there are laws and then there are laws. And somebody other than you, Mr. Foreign Archaeologist, gets to decide which ones get enforced and which ones get winked at.