There is a case to be made, I think, that where I am sitting now is the most important place on Earth. It is a place that hasn't just appeared once or twice on the world stage but keeps popping into the headlines again and again. I am sitting high on a bluff in a small green meadow. Some jagged ruins of a castle (Ottoman, I am told) sprout up here and there like the jagged trunks of old oak trees. In one direction the hazy blue expanse of the Black Sea stretches into oblivion; in the other, a narrow ribbon of water threads its way south to the Mediterranean. I am standing in Asia and just across the way on the other side of the water is Europe, the West.

The mighty continents of Europe and Asia stretch toward each other across the meridians, and (if you'll join me in conveniently ignoring for the sake of argument landmass of the Urals in Russia) it is only hear in Turkey that they brush up against each other, coming within a few hundred meters in two places: right here at the Bosporus (the 20 km stretch of water from Instanbul to the Black Sea); and at the Dardanelles (the small opening at the southern end of the straight near the Mediterranean, where Asia is nearly touched by the Gallipoli peninsula).

This waterway's first appearance in our collective history might have come in Biblical times. Some scholars believe that a massive geological event in pre-history suddenly opened up this passage, allowing water from the Mediterranean to flood what is now the Black Sea and providing inspiration for the Noah myth. Stepping forward a millennium or two we come to Homeric times, when the Dardanelles (also known as the Hellespont) played a prominent role in the Iliad and the Odyssey; the city of Troy rests on the Asia shore at the entrance to the waterway. Every Asian army that has wanted to invade Europe (or the other way around) has used this narrow passageway for their armies. King Xerxes I of Persia moved more than one million of his troops across the channel in 481 BC on a makeshift pontoon bridge of boats and rafts, and shortly thereafter Alexander the Great brought his army the other direction on their famous march to conquer lands as far afield as Egypt and India. The Roman empire set up shop here while crumbling into the Byzantine empire, the Crusaders came through 1000 years ago; and even this century we were reminded of its importance during World War I. Standing here today in the quiet of the farmer's fields and looking at the steady stream of oil takers gliding through the channel it is hard to imagine such epic battles ever took place.

Our friend Pete flew in for a week's vacation, and together we settled on a travel route that more or less followed the waterway from Istanbul to the Mediterranean and then further along the Aegean Coast.

Our first stop was Gallipolli, which we toured with a van-full of Kiwis. Our guide took us over a series of hills and valleys, pointing out the battlefields and the meager Anzac advances. We saw the usual smattering of cemeteries and monuments. The most interesting part of the tour was a walk through the actual trenches that were used by the Turkish and Anzac soldiers. Today a small paved road runs along the ridge that marked the no-man's land between the trenches, and in many places the armies were positioned only 15-20 feet apart. The story goes that once the battle settled into a stalemate of entrenchment, the Turks and the Anzacs became almost friends: instead of throwing grenades back and forth the Turks (most of whom were farmers) threw fresh vegetables into the Anzac trenches and the Anzacs returned the favor with a barrage of chocolate bars.

War memorials are common worldwide but Gallipoli is unique, I think, because it exudes a strong sense of mutual respect. There is a feeling that both sides were "good guys," the Turks fighting to protect their homeland and the Anzacs fighting bravely despite almost certain defeat. Whether or not the chocolate and vegetable stories are true, the feeling of all Turks, Australians, and New Zealanders today is definitely one of a shared history, and of honoring the troops from both sides. It is rare that a battlefield tour or a graveyard can instill such a positive feelings about the inherent goodness of humanity.

After Gallipoli we ferried across the Dardanelles from the European to the Asian shore, then bused south the to town of Selcuk. The main attraction of Selcuk is the nearby Roman town of Ephesus, perhaps best known for letter Paul wrote to the Ephesians, now a book in the Christian Bible. Ephesus was a seaside town that reached its apex under Roman rule, when it had more than 250,000 inhabitants. The town had all the components of a typical Roman town -- the paved main streets, large theater, temples, baths -- but it also had some elements we'd not seen before. There was an ornate library and a huge brothel with an elaborate common room and a series of smaller private chambers. There was unusual public toilet consisting of a large square room ringed by a low bench cut with very recognizable toilet holes. The most impressive part of Ephesus was a section of tightly packed houses on a terraced hillside. The houses were decorated with elaborate frescoes and mosaics, still bright and still impressive after 2000 years.

We continued down the coast to Bodrum, a beach and yachting town that in peak season turns into a hellish nightmare of disco's and laser shows. In May it is still a mellow little Turkish town, with the added benefit of slightly better restaurants. Turkish food isn't bad, but it is extremely repetitive so any variation is a welcome change. One day, in desperation, we went to a pizzeria that "specialized" in Chinese, Indian, and Mexican food. Figure that one out.

After a couple days of hardcore rest and relaxation, we flew back to Istanbul. Like the rest of Turkey, Instanbul exhibits the odd confluence of western and oriental culture. Overall, I was surprised by the cleanliness and order-li-ness of the city. I had expected a Cairoesque, smoggy, mumbo-jumbo of a place, but most of Instanbul was clean and tree-lined and (all things considered) more European than eastern. I have decided that in Turkey the Muslim culture is lumpy, not pureed. It doesn't permeate all aspects of society. The broth of the country is thoroughly western, but you hit the odd chunk of Muslim in the Turkish cultural stew.

Instanbul was catapulted into prominence in the 4th century when Constantine, emperor of the decaying Roman empire, moved his capital here and renamed the town Constantinople. It remained the political and religious capital of the eastern, or Byzantine, empire all the way up to 1453, when Ottomans finally overthrew the city.

Most of the sites in Instanbul are magnificent mosques and palaces built by the Ottomans. Some of the best sites, though, are from Roman and Byzantine times. There is a huge mosaic sidewalk from around 400 AD, and also a unique underground water storage tank known as the "sunken palace" because its vaulted ceiling and ornate pillars resemble a cathedral or a palace more than a water tank. Most impressive of all is the mighty cathedral Aya Sofia. Built about 550 AD, it completely dwarfed any other building on the planet. In fact, it was the largest indoor space for almost 1000 years. The Ottomans converted Aya Sofia into a mosque, but its Christian mosaics were preserved and are still on display today.

We saw all the major sites in Istanbul, and not a small number of the minor ones, but we had one task that remained to be done: we had to buy a carpet.

Sarah and I haven't bought much on this trip. We decided to put our money into seeing stuff rather than buying stuff. But we knew even before we left the States that we wanted to get a Turkish carpet. Carpet shops are everywhere in Turkey; they are more prevelant even than pictures of Ataturk (and that's sayin' something). Over the last month we have made preliminary forays into shops to get some idea of price and quality, but here in Instanbul it was for real. With time running out, we had to get down to business.

All carpet shops work the same way. The owner or his touts stand on the sidewalk and heckle everyone who walks by, trying to lure them inside. The shops are usually just a large room with a few chairs on one side, an open space in the middle, and stacks or piles of carpets tucked against the walls. You are invited to sit in the chairs, given sweet Turkish tea in the little Turkish glasses, and then the show begins.

The main salesman guy speaks good English, and he always has two quiet assistants who stand in the background and handle the carpets. They begin by unrolling carpet after carpet, piling them on top of each other at your feet. You give a little feedback about what you like or don't like, and your new best friend barks out orders to his lackeys about what to unroll next. They will gladly unroll every carpet in the shop if you so desire. Once several dozen have been laid out they begin removing them one by one and your job is to give a "yes" or a "no" to each. By the time you get to the bottom of the pile you are down to 5 or 6 finalists, which they unroll again, and you narrow it down to the 1 or 2 that you are really interested in. This is where things get fun.

You casually ask what one costs. The salesman looks at the tag on the carpet and then goes to his calculator. He performs what appears to be an elaborate series of calculations complete with much furrowing of the brow, frowns, sighs, and heavy pounding of the keys. All of this is designed, I think, to give you the impressive he is fighting a battle to try to get you the LOWEST POSSIBLE PRICE. He eventually finishes with the calculations, looks up, and manages to keep a serious look on his face while he says some ridiculous figure. $1100.

If he sees even the slightest flicker of reservation on your face he immiediately gives the "$50 off" line. $1050. I can't imagine anyone caves at this point, but perhaps some do. Who knows. Our strategy is to give him a big smile, thank him profusely, and head straight for the door.

He tries to get an offer from you. "Please. I would like to sell you a carpet today. What is the most you can pay?"

I very respectfully tell him that I appreciate his desire to help us, but that the amount I can pay is so low that it will greatly offend him. I glance at the door.

"No, no, no, my friend, I will not be offended. You are my first customer today and I would like to make a sale. You tell me what you can pay. No problem." I tell him that although I know the quality of the rug far exceeds what I can pay I had only budgeted $250 to purchase a rug.

He is offended.

"Please," he says with disgust, "this is not a serious offer. Do you not want to do business with me?" He launches into his Mock Anger monologue. I head for the door.

Sensing the need for a different tactic, he next begins the Quality speech. "You have a fine eye, my friend, and good taste. You have selected the finest carpet in my store. Do you know that this rug takes 2 women 12 months to weave?" (They always quote you the supposed women-hours.) He throws in statistics about knots per square inch and gives you the line about Turkish carpets being double-knotted. I nod in agreement with all of this, shake my head in empathy with our hopeless situation, and head for the door.

Now comes the You Win act. He throws up his hands, goes into the next room, pretends to have a heated argument with someone, and returns to say that his LOWEST POSSIBLE PRICE is $700, but he is not happy about it because he paid more than that for the rug himself. I thank him again, express my gratitude for his bending over backwards to help us, but, gosh, I really couldn't spend more than $300.

The pace of negotiation quickens. He comes down to $600, then $500, I come up to $325. Each step involves the usual slathering of hurrumphs and guffaws. He occasionally throws in some cryptic saying to try to confuse you, like, "Better a chicken today than a camel tomorrow." Finally it comes to this: the salesman lowers his head and say "OK, I will pay $100 dollars out of my own pocket to help you get this rug. $400. I will lose money, but I want to sell you this rug."

"$350" I say. He immediately pops out a hand, we shake, and the deal is done. He snaps his fingers, the lackeys bundle it up, cash changes hands, and we walk out wondering how we're going to tote the thing all the way through Italy and back to the States.

Rug in hand and Instanbul sites seen, Sarah, Pete, and I decided to spend our last day in Turkey taking a city ferry up the Bosporus. We boarded our boat in the busy harbor in central Istanbul and cruised up the narrow channel for 2 hours. From there, a short hike brought us up to this lovely vantage overlooking the Black Sea.