Stu's visit to Egypt.
01/14/02
New Year's Eve
Our excitement was palpable. New Year's Eve in Istanbul, one of the planet's most cosmopolitan cities. Crossroads of Europe and Asia, sharing the best and most exotic of both worlds. The world's most famous travelers have sought refuge here since the days of Marco Polo. Surely we would find adventure, intrigue and romance in such an international setting. Short of that, we were willing to settle for a good meal, western music, and at least one other tourist who spoke English.
Our plan was simple. Take a taxi to Taksim, ground zero of the trendy Euro pop-culture, and ask around for a good place to go. At first it seemed undaunting, but we found a lead on our second inquisition. The desk clerk at the Best Western Hotel was describing a Turkish dinner show to us as a guest of the hotel approached. He was a Canadian who overheard our conversation and just happened to be the DJ at a nearby club called Babylon. He described it as a hip, techno-club that was sure to be packed. In fact, tickets were sold out, but maybe we could get in after twelve-thirty. In the meantime, he suggested a restaurant called Dulcinea. It turned into a bar after eleven o'clock and played jazz music. He gave simple directions requiring only one right turn. We wrote down the name, thanked him and off we went.
It was raining, but we had light hearts because Dulcinea was a five-minute walk and sounded like the perfect place for us. It didn't require reservations, served great food, played good music and would have a bar-like atmosphere where we could celebrate. Ten minutes later we hadn't found Dulcinea and doubts began to set in, but our resolve was still strong.
The people we asked never heard of it. Determined to find it we returned to the hotel and asked again. The desk clerk wrote the name for us, we had misspelled it, and reiterated his simple instructions.
"Go straight down street turn right. It is there."
"To the end, then go right?" I asked.
"Ya. Go right." He repeated.
"First right? Or at end?" I specified.
"Go right, to end, ya." He clarified.
Off we went, again. We trudged on with wetter shoes, but renewed confidence. We walked up and down side streets, through puddles of water and a sea of revelers, but no one had ever heard of Dulcinea. Our resolve melted away with every raindrop on our bare heads until thirty minutes later we still hadn't found Dulcinea. We finally succumbed to the fact that we would have to find a different party. Disappointed, we visited a couple of pubs, but couldn't get in without reservations.
Throwing her arms up in disgust, Michelle suggested with an air of defeat that we just go to the nearest place across the street. She pointed randomly at a cozy restaurant with attractively lit letters spanning a large picture window.
"That one, called Dulcinea? Nah, let's grab a doner and call it a night," I said without missing a beat.
Somehow, serendipity had paid us a visit on this blessed night as we quite literally stumbled into Dulcinea. It was the panacea for which we searched. After an elegant meal, good wine and pleasing music we retreated to the dance club downstairs. We had a few more drinks, toasted at midnight and thoroughly enjoyed New Year's Eve. Until an obnoxious Parisian named Denis, with his close talking ways and foul breath, drove us out the door.
But that's another story.