So I met this woman. I won’t give her name here, since she is a perfect stranger. We met online through Craigslist. Many people use Craigslist here in Istanbul. Foreigners rely on it to find flats because they can be reassured that the landlord speaks at least some English; Turks who use it are usually looking to have an “international” flat, and to practice their English.

Anyway, Istanbul, like any major city, is an extremely crowded, busy place. Everyone is working all the time. Meeting people can be difficult, especially if you are in your early forties and not especially enthralled with haunting the bars like some lonely undergraduate or permanent case of arrested development.

So the thought was: why not try Craigslist? I mean, you use it to find a flat, right? And that’s not to be trivialized; after all, your flat is where you breathe, the roof over your head. You don’t just go out and blindly wander the streets looking for a place to live. You have certain specifications, and so you use Craigslist to help narrow your search. Why not, then, the same with people? So the reason goes.

I posted, stating simply that I was looking to meet a “nice, educated Turkish woman, who speaks English, likes the company of foreigners and isn’t too conservative.” By “conservative,” I simply meant in a religious sense, although this was probably unnecessary, since a conservative Muslim woman probably would not be looking to meet people on Craigslist – she would probably meet someone through her family – but I digress.

The responses came surprisingly quickly. A sample email from a “dominant couple,” read:

“I’m 40. She’s 32. She seeks a lover. I seek a ‘special friend.’ Come on, not too ‘conservative,’ right?”

Eh, no thanks.

Another email read:

“Are you a black American man lol??? Sorry, I am not racist but I LOVE black American men!!!”

Other emails arrive. Most send photos. They are dowdy, blowsy spinstresses with a “MARRY ME RIGHT NOW PLEASE!” sign all but hanging over their heads. Not ready for that ever.

Finally, a promising prospect. She’s “29” (aren’t we all?), an attorney for a big firm over in Levent, on the city’s European side. We meet for dinner one evening at an outdoor cafe in Karakoy near the ferry station. She seems friendly enough, a looker, wearing a pink split skirt and high heels. She’s tired and stressed (“Work,” she says). Over dinner and wine she relaxes a bit. We talk. She confesses that she’s just broken up with her boyfriend (YELLOW CARD).

“So are you into cocaine and ectasy?” she asks (SECOND YELLOW CARD, SEND OFF).

After that encounter, I decided maybe it was best to lay off the online thing and just focus on my “real, living” relationship –- you know, students, colleagues, friends, neighbors, dolmus drivers –- for a while. I forgot about the posting. Occasionally, I did get offers, again from “dominant couples.” (Just as an aside, are there really that many bored married couples out there? Husbands who don’t care who screws their wife as long as they don’t have to? Wives looking for a “dynamic love triangle” to spice up the conjugal bed? Anyway …)

Then, out of nowhere, a message arrived. She worked at one of the national galleries in Istanbul, was working on her master’s degree. Her photo showed elegance, taste, style. Just “happily” ended a long-term relationship? “Happily?” Well, hold the yellow card for now, but keep it ready.

She says she agrees that dating can be a real hassle. “It feels like a subtle job interview,” she writes. She lives in Kadikoy. I live in Kadikoy. We’re practically neighbours. She says she prefers the Asian side of the city, even if “other people say it has no real character.” She says she finds the Asian side more relaxed. She likes to stroll through the street markets, with their endless offerings of the world on display.

So, she writes, we can meet during the bayram next week. The bayram is a four day religious holiday honoring the sacrifice. We can meet and have “just one glass of wine.” If after that one glass of wine we find that we are OK, then we can have another, and just “go from there.”

The key is to keep expectations low. I couldn’t have agreed more, since my expectations were already there.

At the school, we had a barbecue on Friday to kick off the bayram, and to welcome new teachers. We all sat out on the balcony and had sucuk, a Turkish sausage, and bulgar and a lot of other stuff. Fueled by a few beers, I decided to sound out my colleagues, who I trust with my life, paying special attention to the views of the ladies present. They asked the usual questions, and then inquired as to the plan. When they heard the part about “just one glass of wine,” one of the women screeched out the theme from “Psycho.”

“I don’t know,” one of them said. “This girl sounds like a control freak.”

They all concurred that it should be I, as the man, who should take the lead on the first date, come up with the program.

“It shows you are decisive,” a male colleague posited.

“Well, let us know how it goes,” they said, as the evening broke up.

That gave me the weekend to sort of toss the issue about, to formulate, reformulate. A plan. Hell. There’s something deliciously thrilling in the prospect of encountering a perfect stranger – one of the brunette, elegant variety – in the big city of Istanbul on the first day of the holy bayram. Sure, there are risks – on both sides, but if you can’t give yourself up now and again to the mysteries of life, then what’s the point of it all? As an Irish friend often reminds me: Lad, we live on a rock that floats in the sky.

So here’s the plan, folks. She lives in Kadikoy. I live in Kadikoy. Being neighbours and all, we can meet up at the Bull Statue, say, in the early afternoon. She likes the markets? Great, we can have a leisurely stroll through the markets and check out all the world’s offerings on display. Then, weather providing, we can walk down to the Bosphorous and look at all the ships passing through on their way out to sea, and look at all the people out enjoying the bayram.

Then: We go and have our rendevous with destiny, that famous one glass of wine – upon which the fate of empires may rest – and drink that mother down.

After all, one must find some way to enjoy the holidays.

James Tressler, a former Times-Standard reporter, is the author of the recently published book, “The Lost Coast D.A.” He lives in Istanbul.