Protesters keep warm in the early morning hours in Taksim Square, Istanbul.
Like thousands of other protesters, I had spent the night sleeping in the square. I had lost my tribe of tattooed Spartans somewhere in the great mass and due to lack of cell phone, I was unable to find them. I was on my own at that point. I slept on a board for a few hours at some point, face into the wood to keep out the light. At dawn I woke up, found some hot tea and simit bread, and watched the young men dance the horon and others keep warm around makeshift fires which dotted the encampments. As I warmed myself by this fire, others lying the in bushes started chatting with me, as humans do in most places under these kinds of circumstances. They were students which was a relief. University students who spoke some English were easier to handle at first light with just one cup of tea down than friendly but enthused Kurdish gangsters looking to compare hand tats and tell me their kill stories in Turkish, assuming I had the faintest idea about their world.