Traditionally, it rains the most during the winter in Istanbul, but one day in May when I was there, it dumped. As in my clothes were practically paper mâchéd to my body and walking in my sandals was like roller skating on ice. Meanwhile, these little seed eaters were glued to a mosque like it was the mother ship (which it kind of was). The ever panicked pigeons fought for cover like 5-year olds trying not to “touch the lava,” body slamming each other off the wall and scrambling about as if acid rain was bringing the apocalypse. Meanwhile, the Turks carried on as usual with the same air of not giving a damn as Seattlites in April, while most Tourists fled to the Spice Market (aka heaven) to feed on samples of apple tea and walnut stuffed dates only to be coerced into buying enough Turkish delight to feed all 9 billion of the city’s stray cats. If only cats ate dried fruit. Anyways, I suppose the moral to this little tail is as follows: if it rains in the foreign place you are in, instead of whining and hiding, enjoy the free show.