to market, to market

Five hundred and fifty-three years old? That is one of the oldest places I've been 

in--anything older was also on our trip to Istanbul. 

The Grand Bazaar, inside the walled part of Istanbul 

was just amazing--and busy and hot--and easy to get lost in. 

The Gardener was ready to sit down and have a coke. But I knew if I was going to shop 

it would have to be now. Our guide gave us very little time as we had colleagues to 

get to the airport. She gave us tiny maps of the maze of corridors, 

all looking the same, and pointed to the fountain where we would meet in 40 minutes.

We all split up and I sped off, totally bewildered. I could not even see the
 tiny map to follow it;  I didn't find much for little girls and nothing for little
boys . . . all the while the gorgeous scarves and pottery kept calling me. 

I seemed to have lost my skill in bargaining, and not knowing the language 

never helps. Crowds, pushing, noise, while all the time sweat running
down my back and feeling thirsty, yet wishing for a WC … I pushed forward,
 keeping an eye on my watch and wondering what I'd do if I got lost (no cell phones here). 

I did buy a scarf, and some small dolls and then rushed to 

find my way back to the fountain. I had memorized some landmarks near it.

I was so glad to see the familiar-looking fountain. But no one I knew was there,

and then I realized the landmarks were also not there. More than one fountain?

Of course that made sense. Mild panic set in as I set off again, breathing a prayer

and trying to use some innate sense of direction.

And I found "our" fountain, and our friends, and my Gardener.

And I was so grateful to have experienced the amazing Grand Bazaar.

Joining Mosaic Monday