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This weekend was so much fun, I honestly am having some of the best days of my life here. I got to see Gina, one of my favourite people in the world, and managed to have a couple of raging nights. An action-packed weekend, with several memorable events. In no particular order:
  • Went out with a friend to 607, a spectacular bar in my neighourhood, where the view is stunning and the bartender makes a competent dry martini. A fellow at the bar, a little misty-eyed, commented how proud it makes him feel to hear us speak Turkish. The bar was quiet when we arrived, but eventually the dance floor got a bit going, and when "Don't stop 'til you get enough" came on, I pulled out the Michael Jackson high kick, à la Donny Mac. Yeeeeah.
  • Went for a run in Maçka Park, and noticed how hilly Istanbul is; comparable to San Francisco. By the way, I think I'm in the worst shape of my life, presently.
  • Table-dancing at Cezayir. At this Beyoğlu bar, my friends were up on the tables, shaking it, and I was able to practice my Turkish because one dude spoke no English. Also, I ran into various people from the neighborhood, one of whom I had met just a few days previously. That place feels like someone's living room.
  • Sumptuous meal at Mikla, admiring the gorgeous view and the excellent food. Istanbul really has some fine dining.
  • Having a quiet dinner in Nevizade Sokak, a street that is filled with restaurants and bars, while a particularly important soccer match was being played, keeping people off the streets. We later went to The Hidden Bar, an establishment which is on the first floor of a non-descript building, and is one of those places which, unless one knows about it, is impossible to find. The chillest bar in the city.
  • Stayed up until 5:30 AM listening to the Senators suffer a 7-6 loss which featured four goals in the last 1.5 minutes.
All in all, a crazy weekend.


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About me

  • I'm Sunset Shazz
  • Living the dream in Istanbul, Turkey
  • I grew up in the hardscrabble streets of suburban Ottawa, Ontario, committing petty crime, insulting the elderly - basically the classic misspent youth. When I was 19, I moved to West Philly, where I put myself through the Wharton School by dealing crack and hustling. After stints in Paris and London, I eventually graduated and moved to San Francisco, where I put in eight years hard labor working for The Man. But now I pop bottles with models, deciding cracked crab or lobster - who says mobsters don't prosper?
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