May 2 — From Tirana to Istanbul: A Travel Day of Contrasts
The morning started abruptly—no lingering over coffee, no breakfast buffet—just a quick wake-up and a cab ride to Tirana International Airport Nënë Tereza. It felt like we were leaving Albania as quickly as we had come to appreciate it.
I once again donned my airline “uniform”—what Tricia Tezel has affectionately dubbed my “cute little outfit.” Jokes aside, it continues to work like a charm. There’s a subtle but noticeable shift in how airline staff interact—just enough to smooth the edges of travel day friction.
We left Rick behind, unfortunately, trusting he’d be able to secure an emergency passport and catch up soon. Not the kind of split you plan for, but travel has a way of writing its own script.
Our flight on AJet was short—just about an hour and twenty-five minutes—but the descent into Istanbul made it feel monumental. As we approached Sabiha Gökçen International Airport (SAW), the sheer scale of the city came into view. Massive shipping ports stretched along the water, packed with vessels, while clusters of red-tiled rooftops filled the landscape inland. It’s a place that doesn’t just hint at history—it radiates it, layered over thousands of years.
Before takeoff, there was a brief bit of airport drama—a passenger trying to board the bus to the plane ran into ticketing issues, causing a small commotion. It was resolved, but added a little unexpected tension to an otherwise smooth departure.
Thanks again to the “uniform,” I ended up in the front row, extended legroom with Kurt —a small but meaningful win on a travel day.
Arrival in Turkey brought another moment of suspense. I went through the standard passport line, but the border agent paused, looked at my passport then me in uniform, and then made a call. A few seconds stretched longer than usual—then came that unmistakable, satisfying thump of the entry stamp. Cleared. Seems like there is a different line for “Crew” and it momentarily confused this officer.
Waiting for us just beyond arrivals were Kurt’s cousin and her husband, along with a black limo van that felt like a significant upgrade from our earlier taxi. From the airport, we made our way into the historic heart of the city—the old town of Istanbul.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Narrow cobblestone streets, tightly packed buildings, and traffic that seemed to operate on negotiation rather than rules. At one point, we found ourselves nose-to-nose with another car on a one-lane street—someone had to back up, and it wasn’t entirely clear who would blink first.
The weather carried a cool spring edge—borderline cold—but perfect for walking. As we explored, the city revealed itself through its skyline of mosques, their minarets rising above everything else. The call to prayer echoed across the streets, broadcast throughout the city in a way that felt both ancient and alive.
We checked into the Nile Hotel, dropped our bags, and headed straight out again. First stop: the bustling Grand Bazaar, a maze of color, texture, and energy. From there, we found a local kebab spot—simple, satisfying, and exactly what we needed after a long day of movement.
We wrapped up the evening with strong Turkish coffee and wandered the old city streets as night settled in. The day closed quietly, back at the hotel lobby, with a piece of baklava in hand—sweet, rich, and well-earned.
From missed breakfasts to midnight pastries, it was a travel day that delivered exactly what it should: movement, moments, and a memorable arrival into a city that already feels larger than life.
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