My 4th floor apartment is on the main taxi line from Istaklal to Kurtalus so it's noisy but by the time get there its usually 4am am or later and is pretty quiet. The sounds of gypsy clarinet drift up to my window where I look out to see a demolished apartment , one many in the reconstruction of this historic neighborhood for Roma Kurdish and other marginalized people. In search of inspiration, I spend my days and nights walking , sometimes to my favorite haunts; Badehane , the tiny club where you could once see the likes of Selim Sesler, one of the worlds greatest clarinet players, has closed but Araf is still here , always worth the climb up 5 flights of stairs to hear great bands blend Turkish and Balkan sounds. On the way to Araf there is the street where there are 7 or 8 open air bars blasting the pulsating sounds of violin and guitar and vocals into the street, competing for sonic space, while inside the dance floors are full....here it seems it is not possible to live without dancing! The late night rambles prove fruitful; following my intuition leads to extraordinary nights of unexpected encounters. From jams sessions with black sea komenchi players and Roma violin players, stumbling upon late night concerts, to a couple of nights playing with musicians of the Kurdish underground cafe, once again, Istanbul, while intense and aggressive, continues to prove itself as one of the greatest music cities in the world. Returning to the relative quite of Tarlibasi , the sounds and events of the night swirling , the 5:30 am call to prayer is a lullaby to put me to sleep.