The first thing that hit me was the smell. An earthy musk, a mixture of wool, dust and age, enveloped our little band of carpet hunters as we set foot inside a hidden warehouse on the top floor of a decaying former school. Nebil Basmaci shuffled inside, flipped on the lights and gestured toward the woven treasures he keeps stored just beyond the hubbub of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar. Read full article >>