The rain lends an otherworldly mien to the thick pillars and sharp mushroom-shaped rock caps, and I decide that whoever named these fairy chimneys was thinking of Scheherazade's Paribanou.
The Mysterious Mannequin was the first Nancy Drew story my mother had given me. It had a bright yellow spine, a cover intriguing enough for the exotic tale of Istanbul it spun, a disappearance in the Grand Bazaar and a confrontation in the Basilica Cistern, messages concealed in a carpet, and throwaway descriptions of baklava and moussaka within.
