' Çuuuuuuuuuşşşşş !!' she blurted out as I held onto the airplane's steal toilet with all of the strength I could muster. The stewardess couldn't stop herself from a disgusted ejaculation standing on the other side of the door listening to me heave and projectile vomit. I, on the other side of the grateful divide, was retching my guts up into the Pegasus airlines toilet. Just moments after touching down I had rushed to the back, with no paper bag in sight. The change of air pressure at the end had been too much. Such a ride. As I got off the plane after creating such unearthly noises, even a small child looked at me afraid and pointed me out to his parents, revolted. Before I got violently ill and clawed my way step-by-step back from the Ankara of bureaucracy and secularism to the evocative and classical Stamboul, I had been interviewing the first person who I had hoped to classify as a Turkish 'traditional healer' in a piece of work that is still ongoing. She...