Signs - 4 : Tea in Turkey

The perfect vacation rarely starts with the perfect plan.
But it almost always does, in theory atleast.
This month - I drew up the plan for the holiday of a lifetime - sun, sand, beaches and feta.
Until sovereign debt, EU insolvency, inflation and a nationwide strike happened.
Greece no longer seemed like the perfect vacation and I scrapped my much beloved plans.
My travel agent provided me several choices. And as I mulled over them - I couldnt find any that seemed as exciting and could not help but wonder for a little bit if it would be too much of a compromise going somewhere else.
Yet, I continued planning with earnest enthusiasm and kept the spirits going.
And then one day last week, I decided that I needed to read a book during my commute to work and picked up a copy of "Chicken Soup for the Tea Lovers soul"
I sat in a rickshaw on a jam packed street in Mumbai, a heady concoction of dust, smoke and humidty making its presence felt and read half inspiredly about the pleasures of tea drinking in during white christmases, on quaint european squares and with cream filled scones in the yorkshire rains.
And then - I started reading a fascinating story.
About a couple that went on a holiday. And how they had a car breakdown. And just when they had succumbed to the holiday mess monster, were offered a refresing cup of tea by complete strangers in a foreign town and how they continued to cherish that one unexpected travel memory.
And the biggest surprise of it all - was that the story was set in the one city which was my top 2nd choice for a vacation. Istanbul.
And I knew at once, that it was the right choice.
Maybe even better than the oroginal choice. Because - in its own way, through complicated travels, it had chosen me.
I made a promise to go there and drink my own cup of pekoe while savoring the blue mosque and some lovely conversation. And I was at peace.
The Universe has a strange way of making itself heard.
Now if only, I always had the time to listen.
I wouldnt stress as much, I wouldnt sweat as much. I'd just let go.
Then again - I wouldnt be me.
But sometimes, in my own ditzy way, I hear its song.
And I am blessed. And I find meaning.
Amen.