With 31 days behind me and 24 more hours to go in this city, I still have a lot of things I need to do. Here's a quick run-down of what could be the craziest hours of my life.

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"Will they do it now?" "Of course not! That was ten days ago. How is he's supposed to dance right after they cut that thing off?"

And that's how my first circumcision party started off. Those of you wondering what happens in these traditional celebrations, wonder no more. Here's how a typical circumcision party—sunet—goes down:

The women are in floor-length dresses and smart suits. The men's attire, a bit sloppier, ranges from the full suit to jeans and a nice shirt (my attire that night). Enter the musicians: middle-aged men, perhaps the remnants of some failed Turkish boy band, open the ceremony with loud and traditional music. The child parades in with his parents, and everyone claps. The staff then wheels out a huge cake, which the three of them cut together. Each gets a tiny bite, a sip of juice, and the cake is carted off (later to be served to the guest). Now the fun part begins.

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There's a mob on Istiklal that rivals anything seen for the elections. The police are out in force, busloads of them are waiting in the side streets. The air is heavy, people are yelling. Any minute now, something big's gonna happen.

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On my bus ride back from Çanakkale, I was handed an ad for the company's upscale bus service, Suit, in the form of this piece of candy.

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I've just added a new skill to my resume that will have employers drooling over me. Forget internships in the city and software programming: I can cook! And not just any food. I can cook Turkish fast food.

Bomba! It's known as the bomb, probably because it's about ready to explode with all of the yummy stuff packed on the inside. While a friend and I were waiting in a tiny kofte place in Canakkale (my new home for a few days), the owner asked if we wanted to cook our own orders. Unwilling to pass up my shot at Turkey's next Top Chef, I stepped up to the grill and accepted the challenge. Five minutes later, I was victorious.

"How do I become a master at Turkish fast food?", you ask yourself. As a preview to my highly-anticipated cookbook Rolling with Chef Roland (in stores in 2020?), I'm giving you the recipe, so that you too can reach culinary brilliance.

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Dear readers, meet sütlaç ("sewt-la-ch"). Sütlaç is like poor's man's creme brulee, with all of the good taste and none of the French pretension. Don't be a noob and get it baked, or firin, for the full experience.

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Saying that you're into politics in Turkey is looking for trouble. Yes, some of that trouble can be with the government. Only six countries imprison more journalists than Turkey. Turkey's most famous writer, Nobel Prize winner Orhan Pamuk, was put on trial for "insulting  Turkishness" a few years back. You can even get jailed for calling the wrong person "Mister."

Thankfully, the Turkish government hasn't clamped down on college travel writers and bloggers like me (yet). But I've still run into some trouble whenever I mention my major.

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