New York to Istanbul - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Two Nights in Bebek

It looked like a regular Starbucks from the outside.  The prices were definitely the same as back in the States, at least.  So there I was, walking down the stairs to the patio, muttering about paying four and half million lira for a iced coffee... and then I looked up.

"Holy ****!"

The Bebek Starbucks is widely considered to be the best in the world, at least the best in Istanbul.  Occupying an ungodly amount of real estate on the shores of the Bosporus, it has a dock where the nouveau riche of the city can park their boats as they stop in for a Frappucino.  Everyone is sheik, sexy and simultaneously typing on their PDA's while they converse across the table and check their cell phones for the next text message.

And suddenly, I thought back to the last night I spent in Bebek...  My friends and I had bought a backpack full of cheap Turkish malt liquor and were subsequently followed home by half the employees from the liquor store.  After consuming our supply, we were invited to go down to the water for more late night booze and debauchery.

After looting their store of another dozen tall cans of Efes Pilsen,  our new Turkish friends launched their car onto the sidewalk, threw the doors open and started blasting the radio.  We drank on the streets of Istanbul, we listened to centuries old folk songs about drinking on the streets of Istanbul and (when it got cold around 4am) started lighting trash on fire to keep the party going.

Around sunrise I was stuffed in the back of a Toyota, and the driver's laisse faire attitude towards traffic laws was making me wonder if I shouldn't just blackout to maintain my sanity.  That's when the life-long Istanbul resident next to me punched my shoulder and pointed with unabashed amazement at the Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge.  The FSM was soaring through the cool night air, stretching from the two medieval fortresses that once kept these two shores apart.

"Bak, bak. Istanbul!"

"Look, look. This is Istanbul!"