The most magical moments happen when we travel. It’s only when we get away from the confines of our everyday lives that we clear the space for understanding. Mine occurred one night in Istanbul. More accurately, it happened one dawn in Istanbul. At around 5 A.M., my new friend and I wandered through the streets of the well-appointed Chiangir neighborhood. Just like that, his response to a declaration I made forced me to face the cruelty that lay behind a long-held belief. The experience inspired feelings of empathy and compassion that forever changed the way I experienced life and those around me.

It all began with a fabulous production of Mozart’s Abduction from the Seraglio performed outdoors at the Yildis Palace. The fact that Mozart was involved was a lovely coincidence, but one that didn’t particularly surprise me. The operas of Mozart have always played a magical part in my travels. My partner Dave and I were staying at Eklektic Guest House, Istanbul’s one discreetly gay hotel. We usually wouldn’t seek out specifically gay hotels on our travels, but I had heard great things about this place, and access to gay culture in Istanbul wasn’t immediately obvious. It is a friendly place, and the helpful hotel proprietor very kindly pointed us in the direction of where we could get opera tickets. Our plans for the evening were set.

Back in my early twenties, my European travels led to many casual acquaintances, adventurers for the day. The intensity of discovering a new place felt electric, and bonds with strangers formed quickly. The Eklectik Guest House felt a little like one of the hostels I had stayed at back in the day where I frequently encountered fellow explorers.

Markus and I connected immediately. A young German who was also visiting Istanbul for the first time, Markus had just arrived when I met him, while I had been touring the city for about four days. I excitedly told him about the places that I had found particularly enchanting so far - there were so many. Istanbul is one of the most intriguing places I’ve ever visited. When I mentioned the opera for which we had tickets that evening, Markus lit up. He was immediately excited - and headed out to get one for himself.

The opera was unbelievably beautiful - it was my first time seeing it. As is the way of Mozart’s operas, the story is rather silly. But there we were, watching Turkey’s most acclaimed young singers tripping the sublime. Markus had invited Ahmed, a fellow traveler, to join us. Ahmed was from Egypt, freshly out of his country and out of the closet - and this was the first time he’d seen a European opera. As the story of courtesans and intrigue played on, Markus translated what was happening to Ahmed. I have to admit that I have always taken my opera on the level of its music; the story never holds much interest. And normally, I would be shushing the annoying people murmuring lowly during the transcendent and glorious music. But not that night. How incredibly moving it was to see the level of story - the tale of freedom taken - through Ahmed’s eyes. At intermission, he talked about how he identified with the enslaved courtesan and made an immediate parallel to the oppressors in his own country. As we walked out of the park, we decided that dinner and then a night of dancing would make the evening complete. The four of us headed out together, found a lovely restaurant and made plans with some fellow hotel guests to hit one of the city’s most popular gay discos.

From the very beginning, Markus and I were on the same wavelength. Before long, we were excitedly finishing each other’s sentences as if we had known each other a long, long time. By nature, I’m not an argumentative person. I have my opinions, but usually avoid confrontation. But Markus and I sparked off each other, falling into the rhythm of a sparring match. We argued about politics - the future of North America; Canada and Germany’s place in the world. We debated our ideas passionately and earnestly. As our conversation continued, we found each other’s vulnerable spots - pointing out the inconsistencies in each other’s logic and beliefs. It was exhilarating and fun to feel so intensely connected. We quickly sped ahead to discuss the most intimate details of our personal lives and philosophies.

Then unexpectedly it happened. The conversation turned philosophical. With a certainty I rarely declare, I said, I couldn’t help believing that bad things happen to bad people. “There is a profound connection between behavior and destiny.” I was firmly convinced, I told him, that we brought the bad things that happened to us upon ourselves. Markus’s eyes flashed, and off we went arguing on as before.

When we arrived at the disco we were all entranced. It had been too long since I had danced the night away. Here in the most cosmopolitan city in the world - where west meets east and so many cultures come together, all of us danced to the most intense music I had ever heard. When the Arabische version of the Gloria Gaynor classic, “I Will Survive” blared, I felt convinced we would all survive; in fact we were going to thrive.

When the disco wound down around 3 A.M., we were thrown out into the streets. Bolstered by our magical evening, we walked and talked until the sun was coming up over Istanbul. Yet the real magic would come next. Out of nowhere, Markus offered this simple statement: “Just because I have HIV, it doesn’t mean that I did anything wrong; it doesn’t mean that I’m some sort of bad person.”

I was thunderstruck. I knew that he had been deeply wounded by what I had said earlier that evening. But the sorrow I instantly felt was for his HIV and the sentence I believed it imposed on his life. At first, I tried to comfort and I console him, but he didn’t take it in. As we continued walking, I grabbed Markus’s arm and asked him a question: “Do you think that you deserved to have contracted HIV?” Suddenly, he turned on me, and started yelling, “What the hell kind of question is that?”

Life has blessed and probably cursed me with the kind of fortune that has sheltered me from much of the suffering in the world. Of course, I have often seen hardships portrayed in works of art, on film and in books. And they did inspire me towards greater empathy and compassion, but the ultimate truth had never entirely sunk in. I hadn’t really been open to it. Yet as I encountered Markus, it finally dawned on me. I saw the cruelty in what I had said and more importantly in what I believed. After a moment of remorse, I took a breath and said, “Because you don’t. Nobody deserves that.”

Magic is made from illusions that momentarily challenge us to suspend our beliefs. The magic of that night in Istanbul went so much further. It led me to consider long-held convictions, how I formed them to bring certainty to life’s inconsistencies and held them as truth. Were it not for the coincidence of meeting Markus, I would have stumbled along firmly believing that at base the suffering of the world was earned. Instead, as the sun came up over the Blue Mosque, Markus and I headed back to the Hotel Eklectic - exhausted and exhilarated by our night’s wanderings. With the music of Mozart and Gloria Gaynor swirling in our heads, we made our way to our rooms, hoping for a few hours sleep before the next day’s adventure.