Gulag goulash

My curiosity about Turkish people began to build in Amsterdam at the appearance of those gathering at the gate for my flight to Istanbul. Other than an older couple American and myself, there was an Aussie gent and a handful or Euro types in the frequent flier group. The remaining hundred plus were of dark complexion and a surly, burley crowd, ladies included. Of the male majority, some may have been to Europe for businesses as they had the robust stature from over consumption. While the younger ones, who knows?
My amazement came in the nonresident lines upon arriving in Istanbul. It was like someplace filled with Gulag caricatures, Borat look-a-likes, a multitude of Gypsies, and several Arial Sharons. I broke the rumble of the crowd when I laughed out load at a grumpy Brezhnev looking guy in the next aisle, who was told remove his Russian fur hat in front of the immigration desk. He quickly grabbed his hat, snapped to attention, and gave a cheesy smile to the guy behind the desk. It must have been the unkempt hair but moreover, a visual of this cultural mix. I had thoughts of the Kurdish victims of Saddam and now, the Chechnya rebels, and the many republics that came from the breakup of the USSR. Was this the Ottoman Empire?

Above all, I knew there was much to be learned about the people in this foreign land.