Elliott pressed his nose against the giant glass panel, watching an airplane taxi down the runway.

“Is that the plane we take to Tanzania?”

“Not that one,” I said, “but we will fly in one like it.”

My wife came back from changing Mateo’s diaper again.

“I don’t think I packed enough diapers for him. Do you think we can find some in the airport?”

“We probably could, but you know how airport prices are.” I said. “They would be extremely expensive.”

“Maybe we could stop at a store during our tour in Istanbul,” she said.

I nodded.

We were about to board our first flight on our way to visit my brother and his family in Tanzania, East Africa, and we had a 12-hour layover in Istanbul, Türkiye. Turkish Airlines offered a free tour during the layover, so we had decided to take advantage of that.

When we arrived in the Istanbul airport, we were exhausted. During the 10-hour flight our boys had gotten precious little sleep. Tara and I had slept even less- just for a few minutes.

At the airport, we tried to find our stroller, which they told us we could use during our layover. It was around 6:30 am, and we needed to be at the tour desk by 8 am. We had plenty of time. But after waiting at unhelpful “help” counters and trekking back and forth across the airport without finding anyone who could tell us where our stroller was, we were running out of time. We gave up on getting our stroller for the layover and headed for the tour desk. We were supposed to be there by 8 o’clock and it was now 7:45.

An airport map showed a maze-like path to the Istanbul tour desk. Plus, between us and the tour desk was the ominous passport control and dreaded airport security. Could we get to the desk in time or would we be stuck in the airport for 12 hours? Not an appealing prospect, especially with two restless and cranky little boys.

We made it through passport control without any trouble and headed for security. The time was 7:59. I dreaded the thought of spending hours on unforgiving airport chairs with two cranky boys. On top of that, we’d have to scour the airport for diapers, and if we were fortunate enough to find some, pay the exorbitant price.

We got through security and made a beeline for the tour desk. We arrived at 8:15. I tried to act nonchalant as I handed over our boarding passes. “We’d like to take the tour.”

The attendant looked at me, then over at her manager and they exchanged a few words in Turkish.

She turned back to me, “The registration time has passed…”

I held my breath.

“But we will make an exception.”

I exhaled gratefully and took the lanyards she handed over.

We sank into our seats in the back of the tour bus. Five minutes later, and we likely would have missed the tour.

Our first stop was a sea-side restaurant where we were served a proper Turkish breakfast. Cheese, hard bread, tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, and a boiled egg. And, ahh, dark Turkish tea in a little, curved glass cup.

We visited orthodox churches, ancient mosques and markets overflowing with spices and sweets.

Standing outside the Bulgarian St Stephen Orthodox Church, I asked our tour guide if there was anywhere nearby that I could buy diapers. He told me that there might be a store close by at our next stop.

We were walking up a cobblestone street toward an ancient Orthodox college, when our tour guide stopped and stepped over to me.

He leaned in and said in lowered voice, “Down this street you should be able to find a store that sells diapers. We will be coming back down on that street.” He pointed to a large green door. “Meet us over there in 15 minutes.”

It was 11:45. I needed to find diapers and get back to that green door by noon. I set off with my eyes peeled for a shop that looked like it might sell diapers. After a minute or two, I was a little concerned. All I was seeing were restaurants, cafes, and trinket shops. Then, I happened on a little variety store. The owner didn’t know English well, but I managed to communicate what I was looking for. He pulled down a pack of diapers from a top shelf. Size 3. Much too small, but that was all he had.

I set off down the street again. Five minutes later I came across a small grocery store. I hurried inside and scanned the shelves for diapers. Up the first aisle, down the second, around the third. Milk, juice, bread. No. Fresh fruit and vegetables. Canned goods. No. Lotion, soap. Diapers! Yes, finally! I had never been so excited to find a pack of diapers.

I snatched a pack and stepped into the checkout line. A glance at the time: 12:01. Oh, no. I should be meeting the tour group back at the green door right now! I made my purchase and dashed out the door.

Pedestrians dotted the sidewalks, and I weaved my way back and forth to get around them. I abandoned the crowded sidewalk for the cobblestone street to gain speed. A car came along, trying to make its way up the narrow street, and honking its horn at people in the way. I dodged around it and kept on running.

I was nearing the place I had diverted from the tour group. Would they be waiting for me? I didn’t suppose the guide would continue without me, but it would be quite embarrassing to arrive at the meeting place if the group had been waiting for 10 or 15 minutes.

There it was- the green door. And there were my wife and boys… and the tour guide… and the rest of the group. Some of them were still walking down the street toward the meeting place. I relaxed a little and joined the group, trying to look casual as if toting a large package of diapers around on a tour of historic Istanbul was normal.

We toured the gold plated interior of another church and then stopped at a restaurant for lunch, which was the conclusion of our tour.

Back at the airport, we made our way through the scanners and metal detectors. We were even more exhausted now than we were when we left that morning, but we hadn’t missed the tour of Istanbul and we had diapers. It was a good day.