The muezzin’s soft wails over a crackling loudspeaker broke our girlish chatter.

As he strained to reach the top notes, calling to pray at the edge of daylight, we were ducking the seagulls that took flight in front of the New Mosque, Eminönu Yenicam. Crossing the Galata bridge towards our hostel in Taskim, I turned and watch the golden-topped towers glint in the fleeting sunlight, reflecting on the Bosphorous below.

Turkey was just what I needed – to stretch my travel legs after a year of being dormant, to fill my belly with new tastes, to be somewhere without an Easter celebration. It beyond fulfilled my expectation with its incredible food, friendly people and views bordering on fantastical.

The Galata Bridge stretches over the Bosphorus between the European fingers of Turkey’s largest city. The fisherman are there early, displaying their catches in shallow styrofoam pools or old fish tanks, their long poles leaned up against the blue iron of the guard rails, and they stay even as the muezzin wails at the end of the day.

As seagulls soared over the tourism boats, I caught my breath at seeing a mosque somewhere in the distance. Its twin towers and dome looked like a mirage set against pastels as the sun continued to sink below the Earth. I felt like I was in the far East, far from anything occidental and familiar.

I was snapped out of my revery by the smell of pistachio and honey. The rest of the girls had stopped midway across the bridge at a small snack cart that sold a Turkish cousin to the churro. I shelled out about 72 cents for the pistachio dream, finding myself a million miles away from Spain and a million dreams into Turkey.

Never fear, readers. I know I’ve been away a bit, but I’ve got a few things in tow, including an article (that pays me!) for GPSmyCity and a new stint as an expert for The Spain Scoop. But I’ve got five articles half-finished, 800-some pictures to sort through from Turkey and a rainy weekend ahead, so you’ll get your fill!