Istanbul's Lush Life  It's modern and Muslim, European and
Asian, cutting-edge and conservative—and though at least two
millennia old, thrillingly hip. Joan Juliet Buck succumbs to
Istanbul's potent persuasions  Eleven-forty on a hot July night
in the Dervis Café on the top of the first hill of Istanbul,
halfway between Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. Melon and
apricots in front of me, espresso at my elbow, and a strange
fragrance from the tables behind me, where men suck on water
pipes, narghiles. A server circulates with a brazier, handing
out pieces of burning charcoal with little tongs to stoke the
pipes. Every now and then the nearest narghile emits a tranquil
gurgling of bubbles, its user a contented exhalation. Squeaking
toddlers waddle and crash around the tables. This is
Sultanahmet, the Muslim Montmartre, on top of ancient Byzantium.
Couples walk past the café, women in head scarves and long
coats. A group of young girls flash by giggling, heads covered,
their T-shirts bearing the name metallica.