Between Europe and Asia, immersed in vibrant colors, the rich aromas of spices and coffee, and an unvarnished friendship that knows no borders or time zones.

My latest work trip brought me back to a destination that has always held a special place in my heart: Istanbul. It is a genuine leap into a world where daily rhythms, hospitality, food, family, and human bonds carry a profound, almost ancestral meaning. What better occasion to reunite with Gokhan, a trusted partner from many two-wheeled adventures, who recently returned from his time in the United States?

On day one, we treated ourselves to a classic foot-tour de force, the kind that leaves you with that satisfying, well-earned exhaustion: over 30,000 steps logged across the timeless majesty of the Blue Mosque, the solemn grace of Hagia Sophia, and the subterranean mystery of the Basilica Cisterna, where flooded columns and overturned Medusa heads have defied the centuries. From there, we took in the bustling waterfront around Karaköy port, the vibrant labyrinth of the Grand Bazaar, and the electric pulse of İstiklal Avenue up to Taksim Square, pausing along the way to admire the monumental neo-Gothic facade of the Church of St. Anthony of Padua.

Between stops, we took essential breathers to sip scalding black tea from traditional tulip-shaped glasses, enjoyed rich Turkish coffee, shared freshly baked pide, and capped the day with a memorable dinner at the Turkish Military Officers’ Club—set inside an imposing historic building with a sweeping terrace overlooking the city’s shimmering skyline.

Right there at the table, between stories, Gokhan sparked the idea:

“How about we head out for a motorcycle ride tomorrow in the hills around Istanbul?”

I paused, momentarily caught off guard. On what bike? And in what gear, considering I had only packed business attire? But Gokhan had already engineered the entire plan: a colleague and fellow riding buddy had generously offered his KTM 250, fully outfitted with everything I needed—technical jacket, helmet, and gloves. In the unwritten code of motorcyclists, brotherhood works exactly like that.

The next morning, I took an hour-long metro ride beneath the Bosphorus to meet him at his place on the Asian side. Crossing continents below sea level holds a unique charm: descend in Europe, surface in Asia, as if it were the most natural commute in the world.

At the station, Gokhan’s friend was waiting with the bike. A quick rundown on the controls, helmets strapped on, and we were rolling.

The opening half-hour was a head-first dive into Istanbul’s untamed traffic: an explosive mix somewhere between Naples and Rome at rush hour, with delivery scooters splitting lanes and buzzing past your mirrors by inches. Gokhan spearheaded the way on his new Honda with a dual-clutch transmission (DCT), proving to be the ultimate weapon for tackling urban congestion without breaking a sweat; it was impressive seeing how naturally he has adapted to local riding dynamics, reading traffic like a veteran.

Once clear of the highway, the concrete skyline dissolved and the hills unfolded before us. The road narrowed into a winding ribbon carving through lush greenery, slick with the damp scent of recent rain. In the bordering woods, local families were scattered about foraging for wild mushrooms or gathered around coals for traditional open-air barbecues.

It was a continuous rhythm of linked curves—the kind of technical, rolling tarmac rarely found along America’s long, straight highways. On the lightweight KTM 250, I was grinning ear to ear: flickable, nimble through transitions, and driven by an energetic single that delivers real excitement whenever you hold the throttle open.

Deep in the hills, our route brought us through Polonezköy—literally “the Polish Village.” Established in the mid-19th century by Polish emigrants, it has preserved its distinct heritage amidst traditional farmhouses and dense canopy. With my wife Maggie being Polish, coming across this hidden pocket of Poland tucked inside the forests of Asian Turkey was one of those serendipitous travel moments that keeps you smiling inside your helmet.

Midway through the loop, we stopped at a hillside country inn. Out on the patio looking into the woods, a wood-burning stove. The weathered wooden tables bore faint pencil tallies from card games, and the vintage ashtrays told stories of long evenings spent by local elders over decks of cards. As the evening chill set in, we shared two glasses of hot Turkish tea—the perfect pause before pointing the front wheels back toward the city.

A clean 100 kilometers of fresh asphalt, crisp air, and damp pine needles. Who would have guessed that a routine work trip would turn into an impromptu ride through the Turkish countryside? To round out the trip in style, we headed out for an evening walk followed by a feast at Günaydın, the celebrated Turkish steakhouse where Salt Bae originally learned his craft: outstanding cuts, meticulous aging, and deep, savory flavor. Full, authentic, unforgettable days. Huge thanks to Gokhan—I owe you one, and hope we share the road again soon.