Dark, brooding, and silhouetted against a crescent moon, Ataturk glowered at us through the bus windows. For three weeks, I will eat, sleep, and drink, in a land that has outlawed insults to his memory.
Last year’s Turkey crew paraded the portrait past the bus as they waved farewell. “Forty-nine weeks,” Dr. G commented, “since I last departed on this trip.” This year’s itinerary loops through Istanbul and back again. Most of all, I look forward to the chance for rest.