Bumping into an old friend in the airport at Marrakes(c)h airport was one coincidence. Meeting someone from my North-eastern childhood on a bus in India was stranger still, though we were in the same tour group and the trip had been booked through the same travel agency Up North. But surely the latest chance encounter in a far-off land defied longer odds ...
Midnight was approaching in Istanbul and my wife had a sudden craving for mint tea.
Dodging those restaurant hustlers still attempting to lure passers-by to their tables – “my heart will be broken if you don’t eat here,” cried one – we entered a side street, ducked into the Enjoy cafe and came face to face with a man who lives four doors from us in London.
In a typical suburban street full of working couples, Greg and I have been on no more than nodding terms for two decades. Our daughters babysat for him, but the two sets of parents have never socialised.
Before the trip to Turkey, the last time I had seen Greg was in the street. He welcomed me back from France and suggested we should find time to have coffee together. It sounded like one of those very British “sometime/maybe/never” invitations; I certainly didn’t think it would be fulfilled so soon in, of all places, a far-off city where Europe ends and Asia begins.
Greg was there with a friend from university. Since graduation thirtysomething years ago, they have made an annual date for a few days away, preferably somewhere out of the ordinary.
Low cost flights have made Istanbul less out of the ordinary than it once was. Perhaps I should have expected to bump into someone familiar, if not necessarily a neighbour.
After all, I had been prepared for such coincidences, as some readers may recall, by having found, in the seat in front of me on a bus in the Indian city of Jaipur, a woman who not only came from the same small English town but had lived in the next street and attended, with only one year between us, the same school.
Coming home from Istanbul reminded me of my first weekend break in Oman while living in Abu Dhabi. I knew I’d be back. It is one of a select group of place names that light up knowing faces when mentioned, and 48 hours from touchdown to takeoff is an absurdly short time to explore its treasures.
A friend had said: “Make a list of 10 must-do things and put the rest of hold for next time.” Even that proved an optimistic target, but we did manage to pack a lot into our stay.
We marvelled at the Blue Mosque, lunched on a terrace of the Topkapi palace with fabulous views of the European and Asian banks of the Bosphorus, visited the spice market and the fascinating railway museum, enjoyed a traditional oriental show, climbed to the upper gallery of Hagia Sophia and cruised on the river. Even that, I know is barely scratching the surface.
As a melting pot of cultures, Istanbul seemed in a class of its own. Little wonder that, even in November, the flights were full and our hotel was turning people away. The next visit should really take in rather more of Turkey than one city, but I am sure that visit will take place, probably before Greg and I get round to having a drink together in London.
* From the East/West column in The National, Abu Dhabi
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