TURKEY
Turkey is one of the best places I know. I love the people, the food, the colors, the textiles, the landscape, and the wine. The coastline is vast and stunning. Its cities are vibrant and friendly. Markets are flush with local produce, exquisite carpets for sale on every corner.

Men sit outside drinking tea for hours, women push baby strollers in front of the Hagia Sofia at dusk. The juxtaposition of Islam and Christianity is inherently confusing, as is its claim to both Europe and Asia. It’s conservative and liberal; a place where you can meet family at the mosque before friends at the bar. Turkey is loud, its unfamiliar sounds eke out from cracks in the facades of its old, imposing architecture.

Where else can you slip into the mystical age of the Ottoman Dynasty while snapping a selfie on the rooftop of the Soho House? Or listen to the haunting Call to Prayer blasting over the city’s loudspeakers while sipping on an afternoon raki? Turkey is mysterious and surreal and awesome. Not in the surfer dude way, but in its actual, intended definition: inspiring an overwhelming feeling of reverence. If you choose to go, beware, it will wrap you up and suck you into its strong, seductive arms. I loved it when I went, I still love it now, and I think about returning all.the.freaking.time.