Throwing the Egyptian Spice Bazaar behind me as quickly as my aching body would allow, I emerged from kilometers of chaotic sweetness at Eminönü port, on the Golden Horn. The Bosphorous was as blue as ice. Its cool salty breath combed through my hair, blowing the sugar flakes into the puffy white clouds above. New Mosque sat on my right, grey and steady on its stone-stair crown. Istanbul unraveled behind me like a scroll.