In 1965, Istanbul’s Galata Bridge, which spans the Golden Horn, was still a floating bridge. And the cars and street signs made the whole scene look like we were on U.S. Route 66.
Istanbul was just an impromptu part of our trip to Romania and Bulgaria with our 6-year-old daughter Cécile. In the lobby of our hotel in Varna, Bulgaria, there was an ad for a three-day cruise to Istanbul, where we’d never been. We decided to go, but once on the boat, a slightly panicked thought hit me: We had left our home 2,000 kilometers away, our Peugeot was still in a hotel parking lot in then-Soviet Bulgaria, and there we were sleeping on a boat in Turkey.
But fortunately, everything went without a hitch. Ah, to be young!