The remains of dinner littered the white linen tablecloth. Mackerel skeletons, cherry pits, Blackberry stains, crusty bits of bread, glasses filmed with the musty dregs of strong, red, homemade wine and empty bowls spooned clean of Aunt Hatice's rice pudding. We leaned back into our chairs, arms cruciformed over the seat backs. Sated. Contented smiles as big as the night's full moon plastered on our collective face. Out in the darkness, the dim lights of ships plying the Bosphorus levitated along the Gallipoli peninsula. A cool Aegean breeze had sprung up and Uncle Neuzat dug through his closet for thick sweaters to hold us against the chill. We looked at each other and smiled. All of us old enough to know that life rarely gets better than this. When our couchsurfing host, Tolga, learned that we
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