JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi by Daniel Linden

lobby after everyone had showered and changed. The driver was nowhere to be found and we looked up and down the street for him. When we eventually found him I asked the driver his name. “I am Mustafa,” he said.
    “ Okay, Mustafa, we’re ready to go.”
    “ Oh,” he said. “You are much too early. Not until after five o’clock.”
    I looked at my old watch and tried to do the math. “Anybody know what time it is?”
    Christian muttered, “Istanbul is an hour later than Paris.” He looked up at the sky and then continued, “Paris is five hours later than Eastern Standard Time unless you are in Daylight Saving Time when it is six hours later.” He seemed dazed.
    “ So…” I did the switch. My watch showed 8 o’clock. “Is it still daylight savings?”
    “ It is 3:00 PM,” said Mustafa.
    Chris said. “If it’s 3:00 PM, then it has to still be DST. And it also means we have two hours to kill. See you later.” He nodded to Curtis and they took off.
    “ Mustafa, did Mr. Demiroglu say what you are supposed to be doing?”
    “ No. I am at your disposal.”
    “ Well, Mustafa, let’s go for a ride.”
    Christian and I climbed into the big van and Mustafa asked where we wanted to go.
    “ The old city?” I looked at Christian in question. “Down by the Topkapi Palace, that area. That is very near the Grand Bazaar, isn’t it?”
    “ Yes, sure,” he said. He drove off and we settled back to look at this strange and ancient city. After a bit he dropped us off at the Grand Bazaar and we wandered around for an hour fending off shop keepers and hawkers of everything from leather coats to carpet bags and rugs. The leather merchants would step up to you and thrust out their wares and snap a bic lighter into flame and lay it against the leather to show you it wasn’t plastic, I guess. It was disconcerting, but I found the rugs and the amazing hand woven carpets to be thrilling. I love textiles and to me the finest textiles in the world are oriental carpets. Some have 600 or more individual threads in a single square inch. It is an amazing art form.
    We met Mustafa by the entrance and arrived back at the hotel a few minutes before five o’clock. Curtis and Chris climbed in and we were off. Then we were there. Just like that. We could have easily walked. Celine and her family lived about four blocks from the hotel.
    I gave a questioning look to Mustafa as he opened the doors for us and he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Celine came walking out of the front door and gave everyone a hug. An older gentleman in a very good suit walked out to join us and I shook his hand.
    “ Mr. Demiroglu?” I asked.
    “ Of course,” he said.
    Celine spun on her heel and made introductions. Mrs. Demiroglu joined us as we went inside and introductions were repeated. I looked around and the only word that came to mind was opulent. The house had marble columns, plaster facades, gold leaf with embellishments, 12 foot ceilings, two staircases of marble… one to go up, and one to come down? And it was huge. This was clearly a very wealthy man.
    We went into a room at the end of the hall and a maid brought tea and fruit drinks. It looked like we were in a sitting room or maybe a library; there were books on one entire wall, but the room was very light and airy, not overstuffed and dark.
    On a large table to the rear Celine had all her trekking gear laid out and wanted me to look it over for her. It looked fine and I told her as much.
    “ But where is your sister?”
    “ Oh,” she pretended to pout a little, “She likes to make a grand entrance. She will come down soon.”
    Her father stood looking us over and seemed to decide that we were not going to steal the books so long as his daughter was present and excused himself.
    “ Papa is very busy,” she said.
    We all settled around the long low table waiting for Esra and had tea.
    “ My father is happy that three martial artists and their teacher are escorting his daughters,”