The Tyranny of Choice

Stories from the road: Istanbul

Not even 20 hours into my 10 day trip to Istanbul, I twist my ankle. Airport. Hostel. Sleepless night. Breakfast. Sunscreen. Bam. Down she goes.

Marching confidently out of one of the most touristic parts of town, en route to a neighbourhood where secondhand clothing has been promised, (because somehow I ended up in Turkey without a headscarf — a mandatory item for women in religious spaces — and I refuse to spend over half a day’s budget on a scarf at one of the tourist shops closest to the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia), my right foot catches the edge of a sidewalk and buckles underneath me. I topple over.

A local man rushes to my side, urging me not to move just yet, as a second man watches nearby then strides over as soon as he sees me struggling to maintain composure. The two of them hover close as I sit on the curb in pain, collecting myself and assessing the situation. While there is no mangled or buckled pavement to blame — the gap between the sidewalk and the road can’t be more than two inches — I can already tell that I won’t be walking anywhere fast, anytime soon.

The second man offers his hand and I let him guide me up and into his restaurant just a few paces from where I’ve tumbled. It is a small, open air, hole-in-the-wall sports bar with neon signs and football…