Flying to Turkey with a mind prepared to bargain, search and fight for imperial accessories, as well as a wallet freshly stocked at the ATM with crisp euros: dangerous. Oh, and an insatiable hunger for all foods Turkish? Even more risky.

With a tendency to center all my travels around eating and shopping for the gem (often quite literally) of the trip, Istanbul was an ideal trip. I was constantly being stimulated- be it through a melting bite of baklava, touching a handmade pair of intricate, antique earrings, or taking in the sounds of 5-times-daily prayer. Looking at the current stamps in my passport, I can firmly say that the Turkish emblem is one I'm most fond of.

Once I entered the gates of the Grand Bazaar, all I wanted in my hands was a gorgeous, patterned, vividly colored carpet bag. I sprinted from booth to booth, most conversations ending without settling on a fair price and me storming away from the vendor in a purse fueled rage. I had a price in mind and my own it-bag imprinted in my thoughts. Apparently, it wasn't meant to be. I flew back to Paris with several additions to my scarf and jewelry repertoires, but lacking a new bag. Damn it...