The Grand Bazaar, Istanbul Turkey

The grand bazaar is a feast for the senses, and on this hot august afternoon, all six senses are engaged to the max. Sight: colorful hand woven rugs, hookahs big and small, spices of every hew, cats and dogs wandering with some weird purpose, and the throng of people going every way. Sound: Arabic tongues wheeling and dealing, the bird section of the bazaar with their squawks and chirps, cymbals being demonstrated to a prospective buyer, children screaming as they weave in and out of the crowd, and my hands fingering the coins in my pocket, wondering what cheap things I can buy next. Smell: strong Arabic coffee, coriander, garlic, curry powder, and thousands of other mingling spices, musky standing water left over from the early morning street clean, perfumes and colognes of my fellow bazaar-ists on this day, pigeon crap overflowing their cages, and fresh pide (Turkish flat bread) scents being guided directly to my hunger switch. Feel: the rush of humanity brushing my side, on their way to make a deal or sell some goods, Jenna’s sweaty hand in mine, hoping to not be separated, the warm sweat cumulating between my shirt and backpack, and the aching desire to stick my hand in that huge bucket of dried cashews. Taste: dryness of the air on my tongue, craving for more bottled water, the ranky taste of spoilt milk particles in each breath, and the salty taste of sweat dripping down my forehead, onto my lips. Emotions: feeling insignificant in a colorful, wild world, overwhelmed and rendered dazed by the sensory overload, wondering how I arrived in such a strange, exotic place, and loving the fact that there is nowhere else I would rather be than here at the bazaar.