Dreaming in Ottoman
BY LAWRENCE OSBORNE
TEATIME IN ISTANBUL IS NOT OFTEN a Proustian moment. It is hardly Proustian at all, in fact. But in the palatial home of Serdar Gülgün in Cengelköy, on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, that precious adjective earns its keep. The slender, boyishly elegant Gülgün arrives at the door of his house on the fancifully named Feyzullah Street dressed in blue-velvet tasseled slippers and matching socks. The street's name, he explains at once, is almost a joke—his house was built by an exiled Hungarian officer in the 1850s, a man who took on the pseudo-Oriental name of Feyzullah.
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