Istanbul: This is what the head cheerleader must feel like.

Istanbul: magical snowy wondrous fairy-tale city. I can't even describe how lovely it is- but I arrived in a gorgeous snowstorm. I'm staying between Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque; I was out the door in no time to start taking snow pictures. Quaint winding streets and minarets everywhere; beautiful Turkish language, spiral strings of lanterns hanging from doorways, windows full of rolls and cubes and sugary stacks of Turkish delight. And snow!

I'm having a different sort of tourist issue here than in Indonesia. I have been warned by numerous people about attracting attention from all of these Turkish men; I was not warned that it would be this much fun. These gentlemen are charming, every last one- not remotely lecherous, more "I am falling over because your American beauty has pierced my heart" kind of thing. I mean seriously, when was the last time anyone kissed my hand? Most of them, of course, are trying to sell me a carpet, or a leather jacket. Two different guys tried to engage me in a snowball fight. Some just call you princess, or look stricken and whisper that you are beautiful. The most severe cases actually blush and stammer while trying to entice you for a drink somewhere. I do not have this affect on American gentlemen, mind you. And I also don't care that it's a sales tactic- I'm going to enjoy the flattery. My self esteem could use a boost. And have mercy, these men are devastatingly handsome. I have instituted a policy of not looking into their eyes- snake-charmer eyes, mesmerizing, for sure. One of my all-time favorite movie lines, from Moonstruck, when Cher has just slept with her finace's brother: "You got them bad eyes, like a gypsy, and I don't know why I didn't see it yesterday!" I totally get it. I have to look away.

In more cultural news, I spent the morning at Hagia Sofia. Difficult to overstate the scale; I've never been in a space that huge that wasn't a giant stadium. It has the huge central dome, flanked by two half-domes; seriously, they've made some good educated guesses, but I don't think anyone's sure exactly how that ceiling stays up. It is spectacular. My favorite thing, apart from the domes, is the twisty stone ramps that wind their way to the top instead of staircases. Hagia Sofia, I think, is Turkish for "beautiful unheated building." I sketched for about an hour in the same spot, and had to stop because I realized my fingers were blue and I couldn't feel my feet. Worth it- I'm sure I'll have to go back.

After thawing: decided to go wandering, a habit that drives my mother insane, but it's the only way to get to know a place, as far as I'm concerned. There's no great risk of getting lost here; I'm staying 150 from one of the great landmarks of world civilization, so if I get in a jam I will hand some Lira to a cab driver and say clearly, "HAGIA SOFIA." Anyway, followed the tram line on foot till it reached the waterfront, and accidentally reached a bridge to the other side of the city, just as the sunset turned everything on the far shore golden. Unbelievable vista. I crossed the bridge just for fun so I could visit the other side for a minute, then walked back at dusk into the Spice Bazaar. Riotously beautiful. So glad to be staying a few more days.....

Day 10: Jakarta. Pay for a peanut, get a monkey (or two.)

Jakarta. Low, low expectations- actually, I've sort of been dreading this leg of the trip. It's the only place I didn't really want to go, and was only there for travel logistics. For starters, it's giant, hot, and dirty. When I talked to the Dutch guy who owned the hostel where I stayed in Jogja, I said, "It's one of the biggest cities in the world, right? And he said, "If it earned the distinction of being called a city, it would be- it's certainly a huge collection of people, but by any other definition of architecture, planning, or infrastructure, it's definitely not." Add a few other dimensions: conservative Muslim city, anti-American sentiment, female traveling alone, recent terrorism...you know. Not many selling points.

And so. Arrived at the airport ot check my luggage for a long 12 hour wait between flights, and was dreading trying to pick one out of the mob of cab drivers in the crowd to haggle about a ride into the city and back. A couple of guys at the luggage office offered to be my chauffeur and tour guide- so what the heck, I talked them down to 3 hours for $30 (exorbitant for Indonesia, but what the heck.) They were fun- Ilan and Iwan, although I'm sure it's not spelled like that. We started out at Old Batavia, the original colonial city wtih a collection of crumbling Dutch buildings. Then we went to the Monas, or Independence Monument- neither of the guys had ever been in, so we toured the museum at the bottom. (2 hour wait to get to the top of the needle, for which I was not willing to pay my expensive guides.) Drove past the White House and then, my favorite stop, Obama's elementary school, where there's a lovely statue of him as a child. I learned all kinds of things- Jakarta is not a beautiful city but it is very lively, and would be a fun place to get to know in a gritty kind of way.

The monkeys: Ilan was laughing about tourists being ripped off here, and he said there's a saying that as a tourist, you pay for the peanut and they give you the monkey. I think it loses something in translation, but I'm taking that to mean that they charge you so much for the peanut, they throw in the whole monkey for free. Kind of like my exorbitant tour: $30, three hours, and two monkeys (and I mean that most affectionately.) Toward the end of the tour Ilan started to give me long penetrating looks- you can always tell when things take that turn. Of course he knew from the luggage office my flight wasn't until midnight, so he came and "bumped into me" a couple of hours later at the airport and insisted on buying me a lemonade. I had to pull out my first fake boyfriend story of the trip. Totally harmless....a little dramatic there at the end, "Oh stay just a few minutes so I can keep talking to you....I know you are going to forget all about me...." Oh my. I think he was just feeling guilty about overcharging me.

Cute vignette- waiting for my flight at midnight, hot tired, disheveled again. Decided to pull out my Ipod and had enough time to watch an episode of "Arrested Development." I was just at the point where the mom says, "Would you just look at what the homosexuals have done to me?" and the son says, "Can't you just comb that out??" (can't even type that without snickering,) and I was indeed snickering in my seat when I felt someone staring hard at me. I heard a little, "Hahlooo!" and at was the cutest, tiniest little lady next to me, of totally indeterminate age. She was wearing a headscarf, but with some structure behind it- she atually reminded me more of Yoda than anything else, mainly because of being so tiny and so wise looking. She was delightful- she has six children, and is professor of education, and wanted me to come stay with her in her village, and then asked for my Facebook info. I love it. Another moment of solitude, diverted into a much better use of my time.

And then, glory of glories, an overseas flight- with a whole row to myself.

Day 9: Paparazzi, religion, and rickshaws

One last climb up Borabudur- I had admittedly been racing past the famous stone reliefs for a couple of days, unable to figure out exactly how they represented the stories and tenets of Buddhism even with a map. These thousands of panels are integral to the whole instructive spiritual significance of the temple, but I confess I've found them a bit...dull. Last night I was lazing about in my room and discovered a continuous-loop video which brought the panels to life a bit; I was anxious to go bak up and pick out a few key scenes I felt I cold identify. Again, it was not to be. 7:30 is alarmingly early for me- but the hordes of tour buses were already there. Today's school children were armed not only with an assignment to interview foreigners for practice, but also with laminated instruction cards, checklists of questions, and speeches about Borobudur. Before I reached the first level, I'd been interviewed and photographed a few times, and halfway around I met a group with the lamitated cards. They were adorable. They asked questions, recited some information, and asked, "Do you like dancing?" and I said, "Nope." And they laughed and said, "Yes, yes, you do!" And I said, "I like to watch dancing." And they insisted on teaching me some Indonesian dance steps- actually, quite elegant and beautiful, Bali-style. By that time I'd already wilted in the sun and my time was up. Slipping back down the stairs and heading towards the hotel, I started to hear an alarming sound of frantic flippety-flopping feet- Miss! Miss! - and the crowd got bigger, and I feared a Beatles-style mob. I was photographed about a dozen more times and had kids with leaflets following me as I backed away slowly, saying "Thank you! You speak very good English! My time is up...." And by 8:30 a.m., I was spent.

The rest of the day: a dizzying array of temples and world heritage sites. I am so, so grateful- my hostel asked what I wanted to see and put together a tour for me and sent a driver. For $15 I got 8 hours with a private guide, and he was a really good storyteller so I got all kinds of information about Indonesia, and everything else. Adi will be one of the highlighs of my trip- he told me about his family, and his home in Sulawesi, and his wife who works in the rice fields, and how he learned English working at the U.S. Embassy in Jakarta- he was finally let go because so few Americans visit here these days. He was actually working in Bali in 2002 when the bombs went off- he was headed to pick someone up in Kuta Beach where the explosion happened, when he got a call on his cell phone to turn around, fast.

So- Adi drove me first to the two smaller temples which form a straight line to Borobudur. If you were making a pilgrimage, you'd start at Mendut, where the stone carvings tell stories of the foolishness of animals- meant to remind us of the contradictions within ourselves. Inside there's a huge, graceful Buddha with dangling feet. Next you'd make your way down a hill to cross a smal river, then up and down again to cross another; then you'd stop and rest at Pawan temple, very small and simple. Then you'd begin the final climb to Borobudur. By car all of these temples are in a straight east/west line within about 2 miles; on foot, with two rivers to cross, it would have been a much more significant effort.

After the temples: 45 minute drive to Prambanan, a huge Hinu temple complex. We had to drive across the foothills of Mt. Merapi, an active volcano, to get there, and through the rice fields in the countryside. Prambanan, for sure, is spectacular; three large temples to Bramah, Shivah, and Vishnu, and many smaller temples all around. Unfortunately I got the rock star treatment there, too- I could not go more than a few steps in any direction without photographs and stares and giggles. On the grounds there are also three Buddhist temples, mostly ruins, one of them huge. Then on to a place called Ratu Boko: I have no idea what I was looking at there, as it was kind of a bonus and I was totally unprepared and all the signs were in Indonesian, but it was also huge. It was a giant complex containing, I think, a palace throne room, sacred pools, women's quarters, a temple, and several other structures. Pretty much all that was left was foundations- I still need to go back and study up on what I saw. By that stage of the game I was a little hot and tired and had temple fatigue; at some point I wandered through a patch of something with sticky seeds, so my long black skirt was covered from the knee down in little cling-ons; generally disheveled and hot.

Was sorely tempted to stay in for the evening after that, but Yogyakarta (Jogja for short) is a funky, gritty little city, and knowing I was not likely to pass through again, decided to venture out alone. Adi drove me down to the main drag, Malioboro Street, to a crazy little side alley known as a backpacker's street. It looked like the kind of street that would have opium dens. Adi warned me to stay from a few buildings which housed "ladies of the night." The hostel owner had assured me it was perfectly safe to be out alone at night; Adi was less convinced. He gave me about 20 instructions- passport locked up? Money safe? You don't talk to anybody long. You need something, some cab, you tell the restaurant people for you, ok? Adi is exactly 2 years older than I am- but I appreciated the fatherly wisdon.

Dinner was unremarkable, but the ride home was fun. I had instructions, typed in Indonesian with a map, to give to the bike rickshaw guy I found on the street; I assumed that would be sufficient, but didn't take into account that the driver might not be able to read. Anyway, with a few stops along the way to assure him that no, we were not yet anywhere near my destination, I got a nice ride down the "Champs Elysees" of Jogja, with the Sultan's Palace all lit up in the distance, and the crazy, loud conglomeration of people crusing by using every possible form of transportation all around us.