The Longest Day of the Year

 I would make a terrible princess.  I was born several centuries too late, so it's a moot point, but I can trace my ancestry to Edward III, and from him basically to most of the royal families in Europe, so I'm calling it a near miss.  I could have been a princess, and I would have done a shitty job of it.  I can pull off poise when I want to, and occasionally I can manage diplomacy (veeeeery occasionally), but I'm stubborn as hell and over the years I've come up with a shortage of fucks.  Don't like my cleavage?  Think it's horrible that I would invite my newly graduated students who have been slaving away for me several months to lunch in my apartment???  Sorry, I'm all out of fucks to give...I used them up on things that matter.  Like doing my damn job, or women's rights.

However, I DO have a taste for some of the finer things in life.  Good food, music, art, traveling...I could do with a princess' income, or her digs.  So I braved the swarms of tourists to visit the Winter Palace yesterday.

The Winter Palace (officially the Hermitage, but I'm a wannabe princess today, not an art teacher) was the home of the Russian emperors and their family.  Since 1917, it's been a museum, and although it did undergo some..."renovations"...during Soviet rule, it's been restored for the most part.  Some of the rooms were absolutely breathtaking.  I think the library was my favorite, although the smoking room made me regret my lifestyle for a while - there are times when (perhaps) I want a house, so maybe I could dress it up with all the treasures I've collected during my years abroad.  Orientalist-style smoking room?  Bitch, please - you should see my belly dance studio.

Okay, so I lied about not being an art teacher today.  The building itself was ostentatious, but the art collection was killer, too.  Look at this - it's a freaking room of Rubens!  Every painting in the room was by Rubens, with the exception of a few by his school.  When I went to the Louvre, they had a roomful of Rubens as well, ones that Marie de Medici commissioned for her husband, the king of France (which one?  I don't care.  Look it up yourself if you care that much).  When I saw those paintings, I may have cursed Marie a bit...why couldn't she have told Rubens to throw a few naked men in there for good measure?  This room of Rubens answered that question for me.  The central figure in the painting on the right?  That's not one of Rubens' trademark voluptuous women; it's Bacchus.  And voluptuous just doesn't look that great on a man.

I'm a little ashamed, but I didn't see the whole Hermitage.  I should be able to spend more than three hours in a palace/art museum, but my feet were swollen with museumitis, and the crowds - egad, the crowds!  There were just too damn many people there (for the record, if you're going to do this, I think afternoon is better...there was no pushy-shovey line to get in when I left around 2, and at least some of the tourists were on their way out by then.  Definitely buy your ticket in advance if you go in the morning).  I did some more wandery around-ish stuff, including hitting Starbucks and going to pick up my tickets for the ballet that night.  Extra super special performances at the Mariinsky Theater are part of the White Nights lineup and since I LOVE the ballet I had to go.  Well, I say I love the ballet.  I've been re-evaluating that statement since last night.  I think what I actually love is passionate dancing and men with nice muscles wearing tights.  The dancers last night were spectacular, and I liked the stage design and the costumes, but Jewels (the show I watched) was a little meh.  I actually had to work to keep myself awake (admittedly I was a little jetlagged, but still), and I found myself thinking about how much more I would enjoy it if they were all belly dancers, so I guess you shouldn't be surprised that I left at the second intermission.

Part of the reason why I left was the fact that it was Scarlet Sails night.  Initially I heard that Scarlet Sails - which is a St. Petersburg thing - took place in May, but when I started walking around town I saw signage for it that said it was taking place last night, so I was SUPER excited.  I walked along the Neva embankment under the twilit sky, and got to Palace bridge around 10 o'clock.  I actually wanted to go further up the river, but the police had blocked the street, so I found a place as close to the side of the bridge as I could and waited.  And waited.  And because I'd been on my feet ALL DAY, they hurt, so I found a place to sit down and pulled out my Nook.  Which wasn't working.  Somehow, between getting to the ballet and sitting down on the bridge, my e-reader had unregistered itself, right where Harry Dresden was about to confront the ENTIRE White Court of vampires.  WHAT THE HECK, NOOK???  So I sat and waited some more, albeit with less patience than I would if I were reading.  At which point it started raining.  It was chilly - did I mention the fact that I was wearing sandals and a skirt?  That factors into this fiasco, thanks to the ballet - so I put on my hoodie, but finally around 11:30 I was fed up and said, "##%# this *&$@@!, you *@&!" and left the bridge.  But my night was far from over.  Thanks to the barricades, I couldn't head back to Irina's the way I had been going (which involved a lot of walking but I didn't think I'd be able to get a taxi) and because I was cold and wet and alone and my feet hurt when I finally DID come across a taxi on the other side of St. Isaac's, I let him talk me into paying about $20 to take me home.  And it was the best $20 I've spent yet.

White Nights, White Days

I woke up at 3 this morning, and yesterday.  I never used to be a morning person, but after 10 years of teaching I've come to the point where I no longer want to kill people for speaking before 9 a.m.  These days I tend to wake with the sun, which could be problematic when the sun decides to be an insomniac.  At three, the sky was light.  Do you really, really get that?  The amount of light in the sky was approximately the same as when I go out to walk at 5:40 in UB.  I'd been sleeping for 6 hours by then, and so I thought, "What the hell!" and took my shower.  I really, really wanted to go out and do crazy things in the streets, because it was THREE AM AND IT WAS FREAKING LIGHT OUT!  In fact, I looked up St. Petersburg's erotica museum, MusEros, since that was in my plans for yesterday, and having figured out that it was open 24 hours, I considered getting up and going then, because why not?  (Well, there's the fact that going to an erotica museum in the middle of the night, no matter how light it is out, seems sketchy.  Going in the middle of the day just lends a scholarly veneer of respectability to the pursuit.  That's why not).

Just one of the displays at MusEros...

I didn't actually make it to MusEros until about noon on my second white day.  It's been overcast since I arrived, so it's been hell - can't tell the time or the direction.  I stumbled out of a street onto the Neva yesterday...I had no idea I was going north!  I'd intended to make yesterday my museum day, but after taking a ridiculously circuitous route to get to the Hermitage on the metro, only to look at the lines I went, "AW HELLS NO," and wandered off to find one of the ubiquitous Subway restaurants, then continued on my way down Nevsky Prospect to my fourth erotica museum.  Most of the labels weren't in English, but as my mom has said, "If you've seen one erotica museum, you've seen them all."  Okay, my mom actually offered that opinion about art museums, but there might be some truth in it here...it wasn't that different from the Musee d'Erotisme in Paris or New York's Museum of Sex.  In fact, as strange as it is for me to admit this, I think the Chinese did it best with the museum in Tongli.  Weird.

Also weird is the unsettling familiarity of being here.  Maybe I've been in Asia too long, but not only can I walk down the streets of St. Petersburg without getting stared at like a pink-spotted giraffe, but people actually try to speak to me in Russian.  I can't even begin to tell you how strange that is.  The first time I was told I looked Russian was in the Middle East, and rather than wondering if it was true (because I assumed it wasn't...let's face it, all us white people look the same), I questioned whether it was a compliment or an insult.  Now, I'm not sure.  Additionally, I am neither taller than everyone or fatter than everyone, and it is refreshing not to be laughed at or smacked on the ass.

The French never mistook me for one of their own (although genetically I'm closer and at least there I speak more than the handful of phrases acquired from Socrates), but I'm blaming at least part of my quasi deja vu on them.  Everywhere I look I see art nouveau embellishments, and although I'm not exactly great at picking up on architectural stuff, I can see places where the builders of the city have copped some Parisian style.

Shitty feet aside, I'm enjoying my wandering.  After coming out of the Church of the Savior on the Spilled Blood last night (more about that to come), I walked along the canal past countless stalls selling souvenirs.  In front of one building two sisters played duets on the violin and viola, and I stopped to listen, regretting the fact that I never got to travel with Lit, because she would have danced with me if she'd been there (just like we danced once upon a dream).  After my promenade on the Neva quay I steered my steps toward Irina's, through Mars Field.  Mars Field has an illustrious history as a park and military grounds, but what drew me there was the fact that you can smell the lilacs planted on it from two blocks away.  I spent a spring living in my uncle's spare bedroom waking up to the smell of sun-warmed lilacs every morning, and it's left an impression on me.  I walked across the grounds at Mars Field high on the scent, stopping here and there to just inhale, and was happy to be in St. Petersburg.

Great Success!

It's my first evening in St. Petersburg, and my feet are killing me.  I've been walking a couple of miles each morning for the last several weeks, which has been nice because I've been able to reclaim my territory for the first time in two years and my feet have actually not been punishing me for it, but today that was not the case.  I hobbled my way back to my airBnB homestay thing (I'll let you know how that goes round about the time I get back to Mongolia) and have been off my feet pretty much ever since.

It took leaving Irina's (my hostess with the mostest) for me to really start getting excited about St. Petersburg.  Getting here was pretty straightforward...I took a shuttle from the airport to the metro, and the metro to a few blocks from Irina's, which I did not quite make it to, but I managed to find an unsecured wifi network and was able to call her on Skype from around the corner, so I made it in the end.  She showed me around the flat and explained that they would be gone the next couple of days (which makes me feel like I'm in high school and need to take advantage of the situation...so, hey, if anyone can make it to Russia in the next couple of days - PAR-TAYYYYY!) then turned me loose.

One of the things I managed to learn about in my extremely limited amount of research leading up to this part of the trip is the smallest statue in St. Petersburg, a little bird called Chizhyk-Pyzhik.  I found the story of it charming and decided my first wander out into the great Imperial City would aim to find him.

Chizhik-Pyzhik, where have you been?
Drank vodka on the Fontanka.
Took a shot, took another -
Got dizzy.

The little bird comes from the poem above, which isn't actually about birds, but is rather about law students, who attended the Imperial School of Jurisprudence when it was just across the Fontanka (that would be the river) and used to wear green and yellow uniforms, resembling the bird they were nicknamed for.

I was a little worried about being able to find him...I didn't find really great directions, other than that he was by the First Engineer Bridge.  I looked up the bridge and headed in that direction when I left Irina's.

I should have been keeping my eyes peeled, but before I could even realize that I'd made it to the bridge, I saw the Church of the Savior on the Blood in the distance, and in the ensuing excitement to get my camera out I very nearly dropped my wallet into the Fontanka (no, I wasn't drinking vodka, although sometimes I wish I could use being under the influence as an explanation for the stupid things I've done).  I'd crossed the bridge and had just had time to think, "Hey, I wonder if this is the river I'm looking for," when I heard a series of clinks, and looked up to see people dropping coins onto the pedestal.

Chizhyk-Pyzhik has only been in situ since 1994 (and not continuously...apparently he's been stolen to melt down several times and now they keep back-up casts on hand).  During that time a tradition has arisen that you try to land a coin on the plinth on which Chizhyk-Pyzhik sits for good luck.

Thanks to the fact that Russian coinage annoys the crap out of me (WHY are the sizes so disparate???) I'd managed to accumulate quite a lot of it and was ready to win myself some luck no matter how long it took!  Aaaand, then I got it in my third or fourth attempt.  That 10 ruble coin on the lower right corner of the picture next door here is mine.  Apparently I have good luck coming my way now.

I went onward and wandered into the center, but it was just that - me wandering.  I have the next three days to see everything in depth at my own pace.  However, I was glad that I got to start the trip on a good note.

(Epilogue: So I was actually falling asleep writing the last couple of paragraphs...jetlag caught up to me around 9 pm.  Sorry about the typos, I've fixed them now).

Kyoto on my Mind

I always get emotional at graduation, but this year is going to be hell.  The graduating class is one of my two favorite classes, and includes many favorite students.  One of these - whom we'll call the Kawaii Kid, due to more than a few otaku tendencies - has gone from being an annoying pain in the ass to being an even MORE annoying pain in the ass, thanks in part to the fact that between work study, a free period, and art he spends 1/2 to 3/4 of each day in my room, and I don't even know what I'm going to do with myself when he's gone.  To top that, I'm ridiculously jealous of the fact that he's going to university in one of the cities I'd move to in a heartbeat if I could - Kyoto.

I haven't had much to write about since Istanbul, and thinking a lot about Kyoto thanks to the Kawaii Kid has made me realize I've never written about visiting there, almost ten years ago.  When I moved to Korea, Kyoto was at the top of my list of places I wanted to visit - I'd loved Memoirs of a Geisha and couldn't wait to walk down a street and see maiko in their makeup and kimono, so I went in October of 2005.  I think we had a 3-day weekend, for Foundation Day or something, and since there were direct flights from Incheon to Osaka I decided 3 days would be enough.

I got in during the afternoon.  If you've never been to Japan, I've got to tell you that they are the most helpful country in the world for foreigners.  This was my first time flying solo, and I was continually impressed with the facilities - easy to read maps, easy to use public transportation.  Ten years of travel later and I'm even more impressed.  Within 5 minutes of entering the arrivals hall I was booked to take a shuttle that would deliver me to my hotel.  Once I'd checked in and left my luggage, I set off, Lonely Planet in hand, wandering toward Gion and stopping at just about every shrine I passed til I made it to Yasaka Jinja.  The paper lanterns glowed in the dusk, and I rang the bell and clapped my hands.  I don't know if I've ever felt wanderlust as strongly as I did that day.

As you know, I love to see music and dance performances when I travel, and that hasn't changed.  This was another thing I did on my first night, something I probably found through LP, though I can't remember for sure.  I'd already seen geisha as I was walking down the street, and it was breathtaking.  Here I got to see one dance, as well as other performances, including a puppet show, some drama, a lady playing the koto, and a tea ceremony.  I hadn't even been in Kyoto 12 hours and I wanted to call up my Dark Lord and Master and tell him I wasn't coming back.

The next morning I was up bright and early to climb up to Kiyomizu-Dera.  From this temple you could see out over the whole city.  The building itself is incredible, but it also had a number of attractions.  There is the "love rock," which predicts finding your future love if you can stumble your way blindly to it.  Friends are allowed to help guide you (these friends being the same people who will help you find your love), but you can't use your eyes.  I figured with my grace I'd trip over it, no problem, but alas, no such luck.  The same area had little paper figures that you wrote wishes on, which dissolved when you put them in water.  But the coolest part, I thought, was the - I don't know even know how to describe it.  There's a building where you descend into the dark and feel your way through passages to a stone, lit from above, which you turn.  It was means to symbolize entering the womb of one of the female Buddhist deities, who had the power to grant your wishes.  There was a certain kind of calm and stillness in that place, that I've never felt anywhere else.

From there, I took a train down to visit Fushimi-Inari-Taisha, which is one of my top five all-time favorite travel experiences.  This shrine is built on the hillsides, a little southward from Kyoto, and consists of endless passageways of red torii gates.  It's a shrine to Inari Okami, a spirit of sake, rice, and foxes, and as you ascend the mountain, you pass numerous altars, covered with offerings, to which the crows are helping themselves.  When I got off the train and began walking past stalls selling knick-knacks, the sun was shining, but at some point beneath the tunnels of red gates the skies clouded over, and an otherworldly feeling overtook me.  It felt almost as if the pairs of foxes stationed throughout the shrine were watching me.

Eventually I came down the hillside, and somewhere along the way found a shop selling shaved ice.  I bought a cup of cherry - my favorite - and I don't think I've ever tasted anything quite that delightful.

I'd seen music and dance and plenty of shrines by the last morning, but I wouldn't have been a very good art student if I didn't visit the most famous Zen rock garden in the world, which I'd learned about when I took Asian art history in college.  It was on - I think - the west side of Kyoto, and between my trusty LP and the awesome handouts of the Japanese National Tourism Organization I found it with no problem.  October in Kyoto was serene, and I had the place mostly to myself, as I sat on the porch looking over the raked grounds, soaking in the stillness.

The last place I visited before taking the train back to Kansai International Airport was Nijo Castle, which was just down the street from my hotel.  I'd been walking past it for two days, and had just enough time to walk across the nightingale floors, listening to them chirp and imagining samurai hidden behind paper walls.  It was a great way to end my trip.

It's hard to believe it's been almost ten years since then.  I still remember things very clearly, like the light in the arrivals hall or the taste of the cherry shaved ice.  I think I just about walked my feet off during those three days - I did that a lot, I guess up until I wrecked them running in Ras Al Khaimah - but there were so many things to see, and I barely even scratched the surface.  In less than a month, I'll be revisiting my first great international adventure, that Queen of the Adriatic, Venezia.  The anticipation has literally killed most of the enthusiasm I had for St. Petersburg and Moscow, which I'm doing just prior to Venice.  I should care, but I really, really don't - I'll enjoy those cities, just not as much as Venice.  Part of me wonders if this is the stage of travel I've come to - revisiting old places instead of new ones.  Let's face it: Myanmar and Cambodia, with all their glorious temples and wonderful people, didn't cause me nearly as much excitement as seeing Bronte again and eating dolmades at a taverna in Monastiraki, or taking my young hellions to Istanbul.  So who knows...maybe Kyoto will be on the list again one of these days.  But not this year - I'll hit Greece again in October with Engrish, be home for Christmas, plan to spend Tsagaan Sar in Chennai with Fire Marshall and Domestic Goddess, take the hellions somewhere for spring break (possibly Moscow or Paris), and finally travel the old Silk Road with Blondie, if everything goes well up until then.  So many places, so little time.

Cooking Ruins Restaurants

One of the things I try to do when I travel is learn to cook something.  Bronte helped to nurture this in me - about halfway through my first year in Korea I asked her if she knew somewhere I might learn some Korean cooking, and she volunteered to do it herself.  I'm pretty sure the time we spent together in her kitchen, cooking sundubu, cucumber kimchi, mandu, and many other things cemented our friendship.

Since then, I've taken cooking courses in Jordan, China, Nepal, and here in Mongolia, as well as picking up Greek dishes from Bronte after she moved to Piraeus.  In fact, not learning to cook any Thai cuisine when Curly Sue and I went in 2006 was one of my great travel regrets, and I decided that I really needed to rectify it when I went to Chiang Mai last winter.  Baan Thai was recommended by Lonely Planet and had brochures at my guesthouse, and when Dougie Poo spoke glowingly of the cooking lesson he once did, I decided I had to go for it.

 It was heaven.  I learned to make pad thai, spring rolls, tom ka gai, panaeng gai, and fried bananas.  They also gave us a cookbook with all our recipes, all the other ones that were offered, and ones that weren't offered but that I'm incredibly grateful for.  Once upon a time I went to the Thai place in Yuldong and ate bananas in steamed coconut milk, and thought it was a dream, because I'd never seen them anyplace else.  I now know how to cook them.

However, there's a caveat to this story.  When I was younger my cousin used to talk about how she could make alfredo better than any restaurant she knew.  I found this obnoxious because - hello! - it's a restaurant.  If it wasn't good at what it serves, it wouldn't remain open.  I didn't get it until after I came back from Thailand, and considered going to Bangkok for dinner, until I realized I could make a better pad thai than they could.

It stopped me in my tracks - I had become that food snob who didn't want to go to a restaurant because my food is better.  The ironic thing is, I don't really "like" to cook.  About once a month I invite my friends over so that I have an excuse to thoroughly clean my apartment, but if I don't have someone to tell me how delicious everything was, all the effort of getting ingredients and putting them together only to have to clean it all up seems like too big a hassle.

And that thought helped me to get over my food snobbery.  In the end, my laziness is my redemption.  I may be able to cook a better pad thai, but on any given day, it's less work to order on Songo.

WHICH REMINDS ME!  Sorry, I haven't been much of a blogger lately, but ohmygosh, one of the bestest things to happen in UB in a long time is the arrival of our own Sherpa's!  In Shanghai, Sherpa's was a company that delivered food from a variety of restaurants, and it kept my lazy ass from starving on more than one occasion when it was too cold (haha) to be bothered going outside.  Well, here in UB it's Songo, but the fact that I can get lunch delivered to the school from somewhere other than Round Table0 is a lifesaver.  Apparently Pizza Hut and KFC are both coming to Zaisan, but why would that matter when someone will bring me sushi from Miko?!?

The Final Shenanigan: That Awkward Moment...

Well, the fashion show is over but after the last week I'm kind of out of Istanbul, so rather than trying to scrape something together about our last day (in which I left Time Lady and the kids at Aya Sofya to go back and learn to marble paper before taking Team Bazaar for one last bit of shopping, after which we returned to the airport), you're getting this.  See, traveling has a habit of bringing out the awkwardness even in the best of us (in the population that is already pretty awkward - watch out!)  When traveling with teenagers, it's even worse.  There were a lot of great moments on this trip...there were also quite a few awkward ones.  Like that awkward moment...

...when the bus has to stop because you've left your luggage by the curb.

...when you trip over something that isn't there.  In front of everyone.

...when you ask your student for their phone number, only to have another one accuse you of hitting on them.

...when one of them says something comPLETELY inappropriate and you really want to laugh but know you shouldn't. (More awkward?  When your art teacher proceeds to explain how erections were carved on a lot of statues because they were a symbol of power in Ancient Egypt, and how sometimes invading armies would break them off the collosi to psych out the Egyptians).

...when you show up wearing the same thing as someone else...and it happens to be a laurel crown, because PRETTY and WHY NOT??  (The one Ukulele Man is wearing?  Yeah, that's mine.)

...when your belly dance teacher makes fun of you for being too sexy.

...when you trip over something that's not there for the second time (if you're really lucky, only one student will witness it this time).

...when you forget your luggage for the second time.  At the freaking airport.  And they ALL witness it.

...when you realize that you'd rather travel with teenagers than most people your own age.  I looked forward to and dreaded our vacation together in equal part.  There was the responsibility (including for the weather, which rationally I know I can't control but when your flight's delayed or you spend your visit to Topkapi Palace cold and wet, somehow you feel like there's something you should have done), the fear that they'd be let down with something, and the diminished lone wolf-iness, but there was also the joy of watching them experience new things, of sharing my love of travel with them.  So there's all that.  But then there's moments like when you watch them pick up garbage at the Gallipoli Battlefields, and you just feel so damn proud of them.  There are also the moments when you want to scream at them, and you don't, because even when they deserve it they still don't deserve it (I swear this is much easier to do with young people, at least for me, because you still have hope that they'll grow out of whatever idiotic thing they're doing).  So yeah.  90% of people in their 30's would not be welcome on vacation with me.  90% of my students would.  I've said it before and I'll say it again - they're just that awesome.

Also entertaining.  They crack me the hell up, even when I shouldn't laugh at them.

Shenanigan-ing the Fifth: Shelter from the Storm

We'd been playing pussyfoot with the rain since our second day in Istanbul.  People kept apologizing for the weather, explaining that it was usually warmer this time of year.  Little did they realize that we hailed from Mongolia - their idea of "cold" is a warm spring day to us.  Also, it was nice to not have to fight our kids over wearing the hoodies on account of it being too hot.  That said, I have to tell you that when the weather really did catch up to us, we felt it.  The fifth day of the trip we were scheduled to visit Topkapi Palace, and while the weather held long enough for me to go ahead of everyone and buy tickets...

...just FYI, apparently those 85 lira 3-day museum passes can sell out.  As in, like, everywhere.  And that sucks...

...but by the time we'd entered the second court and started to look around rain was coming down.  This was such a bummer I hardly had words for it, because the last time I visited Topkapi Palace, it was a gorgeous autumn day, and the lovely grounds really deserve to be strolled through at a leisurely pace, rather than quickly as you shiver from building to building.  Still, a palace is a palace, and I think everyone enjoyed seeing the fantastic architecture...just not as much as they would have on a sunny day.

While Time Lady stayed back with the majority of our students who were getting their fill of shopping at their second gift shop of the day, I went ahead to buy tickets for the Istanbul Archaeology Museum (since we now needed tickets for every attraction we went to) with one of my tenth grade boys (who brought a ukulele on the trip and thus earned the moniker "Ukulele Man") who had a great sense of direction and liked to be ahead of everyone else.  The main group spent so long shopping that we bought the tickets and were half the way back to the gate before they caught up to us.  Since we were all cold from the rain we decided to go to lunch down the hill from the museum first, and we all ended up eating at The Han, where most of the kids got to enjoy another meal seated on cushions (not to mention some good food).  Afterwards we went to the museum where we were THRILLED to be able to skip the ticket line and go straight in.

Now, this is where I kinda lost it a little.  We'd already "lost" kids a couple of times - once because they forgot to check in before wandering off, once because "Can I goof around?" means something different to me than it does to one of my students.  And I had not yelled at anyone, even though at one point I promised to murder one of them, because we were on vacation and I didn't want anyone - myself included - to have a shitty time.  As we were getting ready to leave the first building of the museum, a few of the girls were straggling, and when they and Time Lady caught up to the main body of the group, we came up one girl short.  And I cracked.  It's a big enough museum that you aren't going to be able to find someone just by looking, so I waited out in the cold rain while Time Lady went on in with the rest, and I started feeling sorry for myself and got pissed off for a couple of reasons, so that 10 minutes later, when I made a lucky guess and went in looking for our girl, I couldn't actually talk to her, and had to go off by myself for a few minutes once she was with the rest to cry a little.  It didn't ruin the rest of the trip for me, but it made me ready to go home, and even though when we did get home it was disappointing to be back and I was all about planning a trip for next year, I also needed to be left the hell alone for a while.

It helped to lift my spirits that after a short walk up the hill we were visiting one of my all-time favorite places, the Basilica Cistern.  You walk down steps into a cavern of water held up by columns, lit from below by a soft golden glow.  Every time I'm there it feels like magic, like a different time or even a different world.  It's my kinda place.

We went from there back to the hotel for about an hour, where people put on dry clothes and I let myself nap for about a half hour, before we headed out to our belly dance workshop.  This was another of my ideas for something we could do in the evenings, and on bellydanceclasses.net I found Hale Sultan, a fantastic Turkish dancer who agreed to do a workshop for us for a great price, and was super flexible with our schedule and the weather.  We ended up going to her studio in Taksim, and I had to listen to both grumbles and giggles along the way, because a lot of my students didn't exactly know what to make of the fact that they were going to learn belly dance.  Once we got started, though, almost everyone enjoyed themselves.  In our two hours Hale talked about some of the history and culture of belly dance as well as teaching us most of the basic isolations.  She was a great teacher - she kept it fun and fast paced, and at least a couple of the girls told me they'd like to learn more. Afterwards we went out to Istiklal Caddesi (known as "the street" by all my students, most of whom were keen to go back) to grab a bite to eat before heading to Sultanahmet.