Encounters color the perspective of a country. A bad encounter on the first visit can lead to a bad decision regarding the next visit. Take Istanbul. I briefly broke away from the safety of the group to wander a bit and take photographs, a passion that is best fulfilled on my own. With my eye focused through the lens, I was oblivious to my surroundings. This is not my usual state as I am a big city dweller, but Istanbul can mesmerize so I took no notice of the man following me. Almost. The excellent peripheral vision made note. I would walk, stop, lift camera, shoot, move on. Oddly, every time I stopped, so did that subtle little flicker. Two times, then three and it was time to stop shooting and move out. As I speeded, so did the man. My Turkish is non-existent but all the warnings I had ever heard about women traveling alone made me wish I had learned, at the very least, the phrase telling someone to leave me alone. So, as we stood side-by-side at the street crossing, in my very loudest voice, and my friends and family will tell you it’s a very loud voice, I shouted “Buzz off!” the emphasis on those zzzzz’s. Shocked, the man looked up, as I am quite tall, hastily veered left and out of sight. The rest of that trip was spent in the company of others and my opinion of Istanbul was formed.

Years later, I received a request for an apartment exchange in Istanbul. This is a wonderful new way of seeing the world and I have had many successful exchanges but that’s another story. My immediate reaction to the request was, “Why wouldn’t I want to do that?” The deal was made and, remembering that first encounter, I went in search of a travel mate for extra safety. Few of my friends have the time or desire to travel the way I do so the search had to extend beyond my circle. The internet. A like-minded individual, we spoke and planned for several months, seemed a perfect match, ready and able to go. Only an occasional reddish flag but nothing major and usually centered around finding places to stay in the other cities on the itinerary. Mostly the plans were mine and she was tagging along. So I thought.

I would have been quite content to travel on my own to all the other places we were to visit except Istanbul. That first visit again. By the time we finally reached Istanbul, it was clear that we were not the perfect match. There are other stories here in all those cities but this is about Istanbul and I was not happy with my choice. Throwing fear aside, I began leaving the apartment early, before she woke, and returning late. We rarely spoke, food purchased together I left for her to eat and went out to explore, solo.

What a brilliant decision. Istanbul is a vibrant, exciting city filled with the possibility of friendly, positive encounters. I am a wanderer by nature and this is paradise. The apartment was in “new” Istanbul, a mere 500 years old, with a view across the Bosphorus of Topkapi, Haghia Sofia, all the major sites of the city. New Istanbul has few of the tourist destinations but it does have Istiklal Caddesi, the lively shopping, eating, everyone eventually gets here street, making it ideal for changing that earlier perspective.

I joined the table of two young men playing backgammon, a national past time. Drank coffee and smoked. Heard their stories. Moved on. Totally turned around and confused by my map, a man offered to assist. I told him where I was headed and, rather than try to find it on the map, he volunteered to walk with me as it was on his way and he wanted to practice his English. He was getting married in two weeks and moving to the Black Sea. I wished him luck and a good life. He said I should come visit him and his family on the sea when I returned.

On a visit to one of the Princes’ Islands, three old friends invited me to join them for a cup of tea. We told jokes, laughed, I told them about America, they told me about island living and their friendship. I almost missed the ferry.

But my favorite encounter was brought about by the camera. A picnic on the shores of the Golden Horn, three chador and scarf-clad women barbecuing with families nearby. I couldn’t resist so I shot the scene. The women looked up, startled, not happy. I apologized and, in sign language, asked if I could photograph the children. That was agreeable and the children lined up one-by-one, then in groups for their photos. The men, who spoke English, joined us and asked if I could e-mail them the photos. I agreed. The women offered me a piece of their exceptionally delicious chicken.  I ate it, thanked them and moved on.

My color of Istanbul is different now.