We heard it countless times. At first we thought it was us – three American girls just like the movie, one Asian, one with Drew’s hair and me, the blonde – but after the 15th Turkish man used some variation of the reference to get our attention, we realized it wasn’t individual.

We had been a bit worried to go to Istanbul, just us three girls, because we assumed (as did our mothers) that it was culturally safer to travel with a guy or two (the Turkish population is almost entirely Muslim). But we were wrong.

Istanbul is, culturally as well as geographically, a gateway between Europe and the Middle East. On the path to becoming part of the European Union, yet with a distinctly Middle Eastern feel. Women in fill Islamic dress walk by women exuding that European je ne sais quoi in flowing strapless dresses. You could see a television with the Turkey v Czech Republic game anywhere you where looking, with people cheering and drinking (they won – surprisingly – 3 to 2), yet five times a day Muslim call for prayer would reverberate across the city through loudspeakers on the top of the city’s many mosques. I loved the unique feeling this mesh of cultures gave the city.

Well, except for the 4:30am call for prayer which consistently woke me up.

However, what surprised me most about Istanbul was its families. Everywhere we went where happy children running around, playing with siblings, cousins or friends and smiling from ear to ear at their parents. Growing up in Southern California I couldn’t help but think: I have never seen so many happy families outside of Disneyland.

When a little girl’s brother accidentally fell into the fountain in the park and found himself soaked up to his knees, she jumped in not long after him in an attempt to make him feel better. With two wet children under 10, the laughing father decided it was time to leave, and walked back through the park with a child on each arm skipping along.

Outside our hotel window on the day before we left was a group of five little girls. It only took me a split second to notice what they where doing – they were playing Chinese jump rope. I had loved the game when I was their age and had played it on the streets of Beverly Hills with my friends, just as they were doing now, 15 years, and half a world away. It was nice to know that no matter when or where, somethings – like the joys of childhood – are universal.