10/06/2026
I must say—Turkey is amazing.
There’s something about it that feels wonderfully authentic. The people, the food, the everyday rhythm of life. So much of what I love is simply watching people go about their days.
We stayed in the shoe district, where the streets weren’t perfectly clean. But look closely, and some of what you’d see were leather trimmings and discarded shoes that hadn’t quite made the cut—the remnants of people making things by hand.
And the work ethic? My Dad would have been impressed‼️
Across from our second-story window was a shoemaker’s little shop. He didn’t work on Sunday, but at the crack of dawn Monday, there he was, making shoes. At 1 in the morning, when I couldn’t sleep, there he was again, still working.
We slipped out for tea and snacks at a little corner café. We sat in the moonlight, enjoying the cool air and watching people stroll through the neighborhood or settle into nearby cafés, just as we had.
On our walk home, the shoemaker was still at his bench. The steady tapping of his little hammer followed us down the street—a percussion serenade to our footsteps.
One morning, while Bre slept, I returned to a small café I’d visited the day before for fresh carrot juice. When the owner seated me, he placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head in gratitude. Without saying a word, my return had offered him a compliment, and his gesture made me feel so welcome. 🤗
A glass of fresh carrot juice and a couple of cups of tea came to just $1.95. But it’s that small moment of connection I’ll remember.
I wouldn’t be so bold as to say everyone should visit Turkey. But if you’re drawn to places where you can settle into everyday life, beyond the usual tourist stops, you might find something here that speaks to you, too.
As for me? I could see myself opening a little B&B here, with cooking and culture classes, right in the heart of this shoemaking neighborhood.
Somewhere guests could experience the food, the craftsmanship, and the sense of community that made me want to linger.
And perhaps fall asleep to the last few taps of a shoemaker’s hammer.
