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My Turkish Delights
First impressions: 10 days in Istanbul
The 19th September 2009. Up at 6.30 am, racing around to water my mimosa tree, amongst other things. The garden is in shadow and silent except for single crabapples falling haphazardly with a hollow bong onto the metal tray of the barbecue - but there is that sense of growing momentum, of the day opening up. The car has been borrowed by our daughters and is hopefully even now speeding towards the Channel Tunnel en route to the south of France. It will appreciate a good long run after being incarcerated so long in its city hutch. Last bit of ironing, all switches off, loos flushed, cases bearing coloured ribbons in the hallway. Leaving home is always a nightmare for me. I don't want to go, I think of all the things that could go wrong. The taxi arrives, the driver picks up our bags and we are dragged out of our burrow... it is agonizing. We turn the corner at the bottom of the street and all at once I have forgotten about our house. We are on our way. It's always best to look forward for the most part and my natural instincts seem to mainly work that way. Now I fiddle neurotically in my bag, checking passport and tickets. The ride to Terminal 3 is smooth and we arrive in good time. However, there is an enormous queue and a high percentage of lumbering bodies plonking around. I hope I am not sitting next to one of them. I am rewarded with a window seat. Turkish Airways give us the best airline lunch I've had in a long time, finishing up with a piece of plum cake and a glass of cherry juice. All prettily presented and delicious. SLIGHTLY SINISTER Last week I went to see Francis and Christine Kyle at their gallery in Maddox Street. Ramsey Gibb, who shows his paintings there, has just completed five or six oils of Istanbul, which are to be part of a large 'Byzantium' exhibition, starting on the 11th November. There is one of the waters of the Bosphorus, which I think is outstanding. It's edgy. Viscous, heavy water with a slightly sinister swell below a pinkish blue evening sky, silhouetting the dark minarets of a domed mosque on the opposite shore. I am unaware now that I will soon be sitting on a boat with this selfsame view before my eyes. John took a photo of it, which I must compare with the painting. Three quarters of an hour to go. Some children are starting to squawk like jackdaws and the scene outside is rather Daliesque. Pale blue lakes and eruptions of cumulous clouds, like forts or fairy castles, rising out of an otherwise deserted landscape. I can imagine a posse of colourful, turbanned janissaries on horseback, flags flying, galloping across the white, pristine plain... far down below are countries I have never been to. Full of dragons, I expect. The plane drones on and the sun coming through the window makes me drowsy. At last I can see the waters of the Bosphorus, alive with a myriad of boats, great and small. After interminable waits to get visas and find our bags, we are in a bus going to the city centre. Ribbons of scarlet flowers like supine snakes garland the middle of the dual carriageway. Our hotel welcomes us in the lobby with drinks of soft, pastel coloured syrup. Mine is pink, John's is appropriately green and there's orange and blue to make up the disparate colours of the rainbow. Our room is on the sixth floor, looking out over the street, with a rooftop glimpse of the Topkapi Palace in the distance. There's a shop/café on the opposite side of the street, selling all kinds of delicious sweetmeats. I am immediately seduced and can't wait to be sitting at one of the inviting wooden tables outside. John is more interested in sorting out the various cables he needs for his computer. There are two low, narrowish beds with firm mattresses. I lie down feeling completely flattened by the travelling and queueing. But happy and rather astonished to be here, in the heart of Istanbul. The hotel dining room is on the top floor, enclosed in glass with a spectacular view of the Golden Horn. The mosques and bridges are illuminated at night and the anticipation of what lies ahead tomorrow is almost unbearable - especially as I am so dog tired at the same time. Luckily, I am completely blotto as soon as my head touches the pillow and stay that way until the dawn wakes me, lighting up the cherry and ochre petals of the large green stemmed flowers on the curtains. This is going to be a long entry - but, of course, you can skim it........ I skim things all the time because there's just so much interesting information around and I am, by nature, a fast and greedy eater of words as well as all sweet and toothsome delicacies. But now I'm on the other side, being the writer, it's rather shocking to think how quickly somebody can skim what it took so long to write. Perhaps you'll get the feel of atmosphere at least...... suffice it to say that Istanbul is now right up there in lights at the top of the tree for me. Before and after can often completely change your attitude to a place - in a positive or negative way. Moreover, there are some places that are not even on my list to visit - ever. I have always been curious about Istanbul, but not knowing Turkish made me hesitant. However, Hania had said I must go and her insistence was the catalyst in making me do it. Winging to Istanbul  Click image to enlargeAerial view, Istanbul Click image to enlarge OUT AND ABOUT On the first day, Çamil, our esteemed and very knowledgeable Turkish guide, takes us to an old area of the city......... First day exploring Click image to enlarge Gravestones Click image to enlarge The first picture shows wall paintings - one of whirling dervishes. In the second, the turbanned gravestones indicate men, those with veils belong to women. The number of flowers carved on the veil shows how many children the woman bore. A fez indicates a public servant. John is adopted by a cat which falls asleep on his lap. Not a devotee of cats, nevertheless, they all seem to be drawn to him... John with a ginger devotee Click image to enlarge class="clearcaption">  Street with view of Bosphorus Click image to enlarge
Blue skies and geraniums Click image to enlarge
Lunchtime and Çamil suggests a restaurant, once beloved by hippies in the 1960s, called The Pudding Shop. However, John and I are attracted by the steaming, grilled yellow corn cobs, sold in the street from wooden carts. Another man is selling 'simits'. One lire buys a ring of crispy bread, rolled in sesame seeds. The first bite has the surprise that they are deliciously soft inside. Some of the men balance a pyramid of them on their heads, while others stack them on long wooden poles, even poking them through the windows to the drivers of cars in traffic jams. As we sit on a bench near the Haghia Sophia, eating our street food while being ravenously befriended by several cats, I feel myself being woven into the make up of Istanbul. It is a fine, ancient carpet.
Simits. One lire apiece Click image to enlarge
John with minarets Click image to enlarge
FOLLOWING THE YELLOW UMBRELLA
After lunch, Peter, the leader of our expedition and the fount of all knowledge (!), takes us to the Blue Mosque and the Haghia Sophia, which is now designated a museum. Massive crowds but Çamil holds up a yellow umbrella as he forges his way through the melée and we unerringly follow its uneven progress in our thirst to learn more...
The Blue Mosque taken from the Arasta Bazaar Click image to enlarge
Archway inside the Haghia Sophia Click image to enlarge
The cat at home in the Haghia Sophia Click image to enlarge
Where we ate corn cobs and simits Click image to enlarge
BEYOND THE WALLS
Next stop, the impressive city walls. The air was heavy as a storm approached. The busy dual carriageway started to stream with water. A large brownish black dog was standing on a broken bit of wall, oblivious of the downpour, its tail outstretched, looking like a statue, watching the traffic.
There used to be a moat below the city walls but it's now an area of allotments, verdant with carpets of mint and parsley, abundant with beans and lettuces. Fortunately, the rain stopped and some of us got out of the bus and crossed the motorway to get a closer look. After the rain it was muddy and slippery to negotiate but worth the effort. Crossing the motorway was quite dangerous too. I held up my umbrella, which is covered in red roses (and doubles as a sunshade) - to make sure I was visible! Here are some photos of 'green' Istanbul.
Cool and contemplative Click image to enlarge
Flowers at British Embassy Click image to enlarge
City walls Click image to enlarge
Leafy mosque Click image to enlarge
An early night for me, trying to digest all we have seen today. I lie on the bed for a while, listening contentedly to the regular warning bell, followed by the metallic sound of the approaching tram outside our window. It's one of those street noises that I find comforting simply because it does come at regular intervals and your brain becomes attuned to daily life going on - so it doesn't wake you up - unlike the sound of drunken brawling, which, happily, doesn't seem to be a common occurence here.
The shower is interesting, as besides the fixed head, there is also a tap half way down the wall, which you can switch the water to. One of the group was complaining about the design to me. I replied that I liked it because you could step in and just wash your feet without getting totally wet. Wonderful after tramping around the streets. Also, you could wash out your knickers overnight and hang them over the tap and they would be dry by morning.
I probably should have been a hotel inspector as I spend a lot of time thinking about how rooms could be improved upon. This one is short on hooks but is light and spacious and has a full length mirror in the right place and a long shelf in the bathroom to lay everything out that you need. And there is a welcome bowl of sweets at reception in the lobby, which is a nice touch. Except they ran out and didn't get replaced. Greedy tourists to blame, no doubt.
CITY OF CHANDELIERS
Next day we visited the famous Chora church, which has many fantastic frescoes and should not be missed. After a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, we were then whisked off to the Yildiz Palace, which is set in enormous grounds, where feral cats and dogs roam. My top memory of this is of the ballroom, which has a beautiful carpet the size of a football pitch. It was woven in one piece and the whole outside wall had to be opened up to roll it into place. No photos allowed inside but I have one of the gardens, plus the glorious interior of a Greek orthodox church we visited on the same day. I have never seen so many lustrously sparkling chandeliers in such a short time as I did in Istanbul. A chandelier in French is, (appropriately), 'un lustre'.
At Yildiz Click image to enlarge
At Chora Click image to enlarge
Just gorgeous Click image to enlarge
Peter, our perfect diplomat Click image to enlarge
At the end of each day, we are dropped by the bus at the Sirkeçi station, which is the final destination of The Orient Express - and happens to be within five minutes walk from our hotel. To go further east by train, you must cross the Bosphorus by boat to the Asian side, where the grand looking Haydarpasa railway station, which stands close to the water, will take you on into the Orient. There is something at once romantic and nostalgic standing here in Sirkeçi by the buffers at the end of the line, thinking of how many famous people have passed through this very space, some of whom have written eloquently about their travels.
Before I came here, I had just finished 'Ghost Train to the Eastern Star' by Paul Theroux, where he makes the same journey thirty years on that he wrote about in 'The Great Railway Bazaar'. Both books keep your attention and make you feel you are with him as he travels. It is good to feel that connection of being a fellow traveller and not just a tourist. So many famous writers must have stood where I am standing now! Both books are much recommended reads.
I must just add that, at this moment, a tunnel connecting Europe and Asia is being built under the Bosphorus. It is a massive and very difficult undertaking. The waters are very deep. During excavations, a harbour dug by the Emperor Theodosius has been found, along with many artefacts. This has held up proceedings for a while until as many as possible of these treasures can be retrieved and displayed in a museum.
The Orient Express restaurant- Sirkeçi station Click image to enlarge
A CONSTELLATION OF PALACES
There are so many palaces, sumptuous both in their size and construction and in the treasures that lie within. Many of them are built close to the water's edge, which adds a romantic atmosphere to their splendour. Here are photos of some we visited.
Beylerbeyi by the Bosphorus Click image to enlarge
Mosque by the waters of The Bosphorus Click image to enlarge
Interior Click image to enlarge
In the gardens of the Beylerbeyi palace Click image to enlarge
Sultan's view from the Dolmabahçe Palace Click image to enlarge
The Sultan's garden Click image to enlarge
Peter and the yellow umbrella Click image to enlarge
Çamil is a master of social diversity and the next day sees us in an older, poorer quarter of the city on the Golden Horn, called Balat. I felt as if I was in somebody's private, tribal enclave. We definitely stood out as foreign. But we were tolerated, along with our cameras, noted by old men, sitting drinking tea outside small, run down cafés. Large, tired dogs lay in the street, cats roamed, checking out opportunities for crumbs or fish ends. Satellite dishes, TV aerials and washing all competed for air space.
Balat - washing day Click image to enlarge
Balat - corner shop Click image to enlarge
The mysterious room... Click image to enlarge
Quincaillerie Click image to enlarge
Stuffed full of pillows?! Click image to enlarge
PERA-GRINATIONS
Next, we had the treat of an invitation to the British Embassy, which is built in the style of a European country house, surrounded by greenery. The garden is tended by the wife of the ex-Consul General, who was killed in the 2003 bombing of the Embassy, along with other members of staff. A memorial has been built where the bomb exploded and it made me both tearful and proud to be here and see how well they had reacted to mindless violence by being constructive and creating beauty out of horror.
The gardens are ambassadorial with a vivid green lawn and a deep herbaceous border running along the terraced front of the house. They befit the grandeur of the embassy, yet at the same time the garden feels like a retreat, where one can reflect in peace, away from the hurly burly of the city streets, just outside the wall. See John's blog for a photo of the reflection pool.
Nearby, there is the Pera Museum, whose design in glass and black marble is very stylish. As are the pristine loos! There is an airy café attached at one side, decked out in dark wood with brass fittings and spirals of green ferns. I was enormously impressed by the Turkish landscape painters and felt they mirrored Turner with their talent of free brushstrokes and vibrant colours. Peter was especially fond of Zonaro and I agreed with his taste.
We got here via the Tünel, an underground railway system, built in 1875 - the third to be built in the world. Near it is a warren of beautiful, narrow alleyways with antique shops and restaurants. One of our group fell over here and was rescued by waiters, who sprinkled rosewater over her and took her in to a comfortable chair in their restaurant to recover.
Entrance to Le Tünel Click image to enlarge
A quick bite to eat Click image to enlarge
Paintings, antiques and coffee Click image to enlarge
That day, we all went our own ways for lunch. The Grande Rue de la Pera with its old fashioned tram is now called the Istiklal Caddesi. We searched for a small restaurant without much success and were just returning to skim along the other way when I made for somewhere called Midpoint - as it was, number 187. Just a hunch...
The entrance took you up a flight of stairs, which always slightly panics me, in case I have to make my excuses at the top and turn tail. However, it turned out to be a fabulous surprise. There was an airy and spacious room with tables and two bars but outside was an enormous terrace, with beige canvas sunshades and one of the best views of the Bosphorus. The food was delicious and served with panache. The sun was shining and the Bosphorus glowed blue, and my cocktail was luminous green with bordeaux coloured cherries. A place to remember for next time, which there will surely be.
TAILORS TO THE SULTANS
That evening we sat and ate bakhlavas with dark, Turkish coffee outside the shop opposite the hotel. One of our group is trying to find out something about her grandparents, who lived in Istanbul. She has an old photograph album found in her mother's attic but not much else to go on. The story has a happy ending. She finds the building they lived in and is even invited in to the apartment by the writer who now lives there. And she also finds out that her antecedents were tailors to the Sultan. Great detective work here...
Arrival at the British Embassy Click image to enlarge
John, busy at British Embassy Click image to enlarge
Bust of 'cunning' or 'canny' Canning, British Embassy Click image to enlarge
If you would like to know more about the period of history around Canning, who was a very successful diplomat in Istanbul, you will have to look him up on the Internet. The historian in our family is John. I remember history best by reading about the lives of individual characters. The sequence of what happened when has also been very much helped by a one year course in the History of Art, which I did in The Linnaean rooms at The Royal Academy more than ten years ago. I don't forget paintings and who painted when, while, for some reason, chronology by itself with no visuals, peels away rather worryingly into the void.
Later, we visited Ihlamur Pavilions, where the Sultans came to have upmarket picnics, rest and relaxation. They are small pleasure domes that look like ornately iced wedding cakes. The rooms are small by Sultan standards but perfectly formed and adorned like a mini palace. The washrooms show how difficult it was for the Sultan to be casual. In the middle of busy roads all around, this pavilion is a haven of peace and quiet - we even saw a rabbit hopping about. Çamil led us to a small café in the grounds where we sat at elegant tables outdoors and ate choc ices and drank tea in a very casual manner.
The Sultan's washbasin Click image to enlarge
Tranquillity - Ihlamur Pavilions Click image to enlarge
FLYING CARPETS AND LION'S MILK
Then we had a day full of surprises, ending up at The Grand Bazaar. The route passed the Haghia Sophia, then turned abruptly and continued its way by some amazingly colourful houses, small hotels and cafés. Soon after, with Çamil's yellow umbrella held aloft triumphantly at the entrance, we were welcomed into 'Punto' of Istanbul - a truly astonishing carpet emporium straight out of 'The Arabian Nights'.
Punto is in an old wooden building with blue painted doors. Inside, is a cavernous rabbit warren of rooms on different levels with carpets on the walls and rolled up in large piles everywhere, with young men leaping up and down the stairs like whirling dervishes, miraculously unfurling rugs of all sizes and patterns in front of us. We sat round the edge of the room and were offered tea, coffee and lion's milk (raki). The proprietor was elegant and charming with a knowing twinkle in his eye. John nearly succumbed but we had no floor to put his favourite carpet on. Some of the others did buy but no carpet was big enough to fly home on.
Kodachrome Istanbul 1 Click image to enlarge
Kodachrome Istanbul on the way to The Grand Bazaar Click image to enlarge
Tea (çay) for two Click image to enlarge
At the Punto carpet emporium Click image to enlarge
Magic, flying carpets Click image to enlarge
The spell is cast....... Click image to enlarge
THE SPICE MARKET
In the evening, John and I decided to go and explore the spice market, which wasn't far from our hotel. It is smaller and more intimate than The Grand Bazaar and we finally bought spices at Ucuzcular, at No. 51, known for high quality and the genuine article. Rose coloured peppercorns, turmeric, spices for fish, black cumin (nigella), hibiscus and apple teas......and a large quantity of 'lokhoum' (Turkish delight), which is less cloyingly sweet here and delicious with pistachio nuts.
The mosque by the Spice Market Click image to enlarge
The Galata bridge Click image to enlarge
The spice market is very near to the Galata bridge, which is always full of fishermen above and, on the second tier below, the treats of freshly grilled sea bream or bluefin can be enjoyed. Çamil told us about horse mackerel, which are small fish, roasted, with crispy skin. I had them with a tomato and onion salad. These are the fish most likely to be caught with a rod and line by the men standing in a continuous row along the bridge. His opinion was that horse mackerel are both plentiful and stupid and taste good. I can vouch for the latter.
Find the horse mackerel... Click image to enlarge
CITY OF CATS
Talking about fish, I must mention the huge number of semi feral cats who inhabit everywhere, from slums to palaces and mosques, restaurants and gardens. They resemble a sort of parallel population, of infinite variety, from beggars to queens, all trying to survive and make a living. They seem to have infiltrated every hidden space, many of them like wraiths flitting across the cobbles or lurking in the dark entrails of tenement buildings. Or sunning themselves by the mosques, unashamed to confront you and share whatever you may be eating. Here is an example of this motley but bewitching crew.
Topkat - Eastern beauty Click image to enlarge
Harem beauty Click image to enlarge
And so it goes........ Click image to enlarge
Becoming streetwise Click image to enlarge
Longpaws Click image to enlarge
The discreet charm etc...... Click image to enlarge
Cool cat 1 Click image to enlarge
Cool cat 2 Click image to enlarge
Cool cat(s) 3 Click image to enlarge
Bosphorus cat Click image to enlarge
Literary cat Click image to enlarge
No point in pussyfooting about - it's a tough world out here! Click image to enlarge
Antique cat! Click image to enlarge
A splendid place to be...... Click image to enlarge
Cat's cradle Click image to enlarge
Surprisingly, I am neither a cat lover nor loather but I feel that the cats of Istanbul deserve to have a section dedicated to themselves especially, as they are, for the most part, a tough tribe of streetwise survivors, unused to soft beds and gourmet dinners, although one or two have found generous owners and sit smugly outside antique shops or smart villas. One of the photographs I took (not shown here) was of two cats looking at one another. It wasn't until I enlarged the photograph on the computer that I saw what was in the shadows between them. A large, dead rat! They are probably of more use to the city than the many mongrel, roving dogs!
Midday in the city Click image to enlarge
In his book 'Lords of the Horizons'. which is a history of the Ottoman Empire, Jason Goodwin devotes an epilogue to the stray dogs of Istanbul, which is fascinating. At one time, they were nearly all made into gloves... It is an odd coincidence that I met this author when he was about seven years old. I was an assistant to his film maker father in their house. Jason used to come and sit with me after school and draw. I thought then what a bright enquiring mind he had and am not surprised that he has now written several best selling books.
TOPKAPI
To get back on track I'm putting in a view from our bedroom window over the rooftops to the Topkapi Palace, which would be our next port of call. There was also a pretty roof garden opposite the hotel, where two old ladies sat and had their morning coffee and fed the large gulls which swooped down fiercely, seizing the crumbs of bread almost from their fingers.
I had a morning rendezvous with one of these birds myself, who came up close on the other side of the window in the dining room and even tapped on the glass with its deadly yellow beak. It watched me eat as if it hoped to eat me. John and I sat at the same table for three days and it was always there to greet me - probably because I did manage to find a way to open the window and thrust out one or two tasty morsels- without getting pecked, I'm glad to say. You can see my fierce adoptee on John's blog.
The Topkapi Palace of the Sultans looks out over the Sea of Marmara, the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn. I could have easily spent lots more time here but we were only allotted half a day. No matter. I like the thought of more to see another time. It is difficult to convey the exotic splendour of this place. The first lines of Coleridge's poem kept running through my head "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure-dome decree"...
Topkapi is a place you could visit every time you went to Istanbul. If only to sit in the gardens and enjoy the atmosphere. Take it all in slowly. Do not miss a visit to the harem, which is an enormous part of the palace. It costs extra to enter but make sure you do. When we arrived it had been raining but the sun was already warming the gilded air, as we strolled through the courtyard gardens and along wide terraces past fountains leading from one exquisite room to another. This is high octane stuff, drinking in the mind- boggling, priceless and glittering treasures in this breathtaking setting, high above the waters of the Bosphorus.
A.S. Hisar (1887-1963), wrote this memorable sentence in his book 'Bosphorus Moonscapes'. 'When there is not a breath of wind, the waters sometimes shudder as if from inside and take on the finish of washed silk'. The water, in its many moods, is a living entity in itself, giving the city energy and lifeblood: the unknown depths of the dark and dangerous undercurrents fascinate us as much as the sunlight playing with shadows on the blue water, the Claude Lorrain trees edging the pathways along the shore, the variety of seafaring vessels from tankers to small rowing boats in constant competition with one another and the fresh gusts of sea air, filling our lungs and tangling our hair as we travel by ferry, gazing over the rail at the riffs of the current and at the beautiful 'yalis', while listening to the waves slapping up against the stone quays.
Topkapi itself has a powerful and languorous beauty, with savage undertones, an accompaniment of power and opulence. It's like coming face to face with a tiger in the jungle. I looked in awe at the prized, world famous 'Topkapi' dagger, whose handle is studded with three emeralds - one of which is the biggest in the world. I notice that Paul Theroux makes the point in his book 'The Great Railway Bazaar', published in 1975, that many of the jewels on the daggers and swords are fake, the real ones having been pilfered years ago. However, they looked the part to me, genuine or not.
I was especially taken by a suit of ceremonial armour, embedded with sparkling diamonds. It somehow hits all the wrong notes but is hypnotically fascinating at the same time! I was glad I didn't have to please the Sultan in his harem this time round, or be one of the slaves who spent a lifetime creating intricate mosaics and tiling for the pleasure of others. Including my pleasure and that of the many visitors who have come and gone since.
Topkapi Palace and Haghia Sophia taken from the Galata Tower Click image to enlarge
Dawn view of Topkapi Palace from our hotel bedroom Click image to enlarge
View from Topkapi Palace after rain Click image to enlarge
John, in his sixtieth year, stands next to Methuselah in Topkapi gardens Click image to enlarge
Tiles at Topkapi Click image to enlarge
TULIP FEVER
I noticed the recurring theme of tulips on many of the tiles. Tulips were first found growing wild on the Asian steppes and there is now an annual tulip festival in Istanbul. The Dutch imported and propagated tulips and became completely obsessed by them in the 1600s. There is a very good novel written by Deborah Moggach on tulipmania in Holland, called 'Tulip Fever'. Read this and you will see that tulips had their very own South Sea bubble moment.
Another book, by the gardener and writer, Anna Pavord, called 'The Tulip', will tell you everything you would ever want to know about the plant. In Turkey, Ahmet III (1703-30), was besotted by tulips during his reign and had them planted and strewn everywhere. Even the curtains in our hotel bedroom were prettily bedecked with them!
A sunny place for pleasure Click image to enlarge
Topkapi after the rain Click image to enlarge
A quiet moment Click image to enlarge
The biggest oleander I have ever seen... Click image to enlarge
A view from the harem Click image to enlarge
Free as a bird... Click image to enlarge
Topkapi at dusk from our hotel room Click image to enlarge
We walked back down a steep, narrow, cobbled street, stopping once again at the shop/café opposite our hotel to be revived by dark, sweet coffee, accompanied by lokhoum and bakhlavas. A perfect end...to a perfect day.
Dark and sweet... Click image to enlarge
FLORENCE IN ISTANBUL
We awoke to yet another early start and our first port of call was the Selimiye Barracks, where Florence Nightingale set up her Scutari hospital, during the Crimean War. She lived in the northeast tower, from the top of which are panoramic views of the water and the city. Sadly, no photos allowed - security was very tight. But it was wonderful to see original letters, laid out on her desk, asking for medical supplies, - and astonishing, just to know you were standing in the place where she worked so tirelessly. It all seemed so tranquil now, with no cries of badly wounded and dying soldiers filling the air, no odour of death.
The tower is on three levels, which are reached by a steep, spiral staircase and is now a museum dedicated to The Lady of the Lamp. By the time she returned to Britain in 1856, at the end of the war, the mortality rate of the soldiers had decreased from 20 to 2%. It seems we are now having to learn all over again about the efficacy of handwashing with soap and hot water. Florence Nightingale established the fundamental principles of modern nursing and went on to open a training school for nurses.
Back to the bus, which spirited us away to pastures new. We did seem to get very lost for a while, with the driver trying to negotiate smaller and smaller alleyways, and the possibility of squashed pedestrians ever more likely... we were not popular but persevered until the bus struggled up a high hill, sounding like someone with emphysema. Perched on the top, in lovely gardens, is Khedive's Palace, built after the design of an Italianate villa. The entrance hall is shaped in the round, with a central fountain. After the travails of getting here, we were rather more keen to sit down at tables in the gardens in the hope of lunch - which appeared just in time. I had thought I might faint with hunger and made a mental note that I should keep a little something sweet in my handbag to fall back on, should the need arise...
The whole garden was filled with billowing white tablecloths, looking like so many fallen cumulous clouds, with waiters tending to each one, putting down place settings, glasses and vases of flowers. We had to hurry because a wedding party was about to float in for the afternoon and evening festivities, as the palace is now an exclusive restaurant.
Khedive's Palace Click image to enlarge
Wedding party flowers Click image to enlarge
The uninvited wedding guests Click image to enlarge
MEETING OF WATERS
Hoping there was time to find a loo before the bus left, I espied an embroidered curtain in the shadows. Behind it was a vast, carved, wooden door with intricate lock. However, suffocated, muffled cries seemed to be coming from behind it. A harem moment? It turned out that one of our party was panicking... she had got locked in and was worried she would be left behind. We finally managed to retrieve her and were soon all back on the bus - sated and relieved! She did complain a lot afterwards... I suddenly found it all ludicrously funny and had a 'Mr Bean' moment. To stop myself bursting into uncontrollable laughter, I had to stare studiously out of the bus window and ignore everybody.
Peter had said that if we had time, we could go and see where the Bosphorus joins the Black Sea. The bus stopped at the bottom of a steep hill and it took about twenty minutes to climb to the top. We passed lots of goats on the way up and finally reached a ruined tower which was the perfect lookout post. This was truly spectacular - the sky reflected the deep blue colour of the Bosphorus, as it was constantly refilled by the waters of the Black Sea, water which would finally end up in the Mediterranean. Looking out at this view is a moment I will always remember.
Where the Bosphorus and the Black Sea meet up Click image to enlarge
SOULS AND SQUID
Çamil said this was the place to fish and there were many boats out there to back him up. For some reason I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with something like nostalgia - but for what in particular? I suppose I was also thinking about Byron swimming the Hellespont - after Leander - and that is not very far from here, down by the Dardanelles. Much later, when we had been home for some time, John bought me a book by Orhan Pamuk, the Turkish Nobel Laureate, about his memories of being brought up in Istanbul.
Pamuk mentions hüzün, a communal melancholy, which belongs to the city's citizens, but not to outsiders. It also comes through in Turkish poetry, after the foundation of the Republic, expressing a grief "that no one can or would wish to escape, an ache that finally saves our souls and also gives them depth". (Orhan Pamuk - "Istanbul. Memories and the City"). If you don't read anything else about Istanbul before you go for the first time, you should read this excellent account, which tells you so much about the history of the city - but in a way which is very accessible, personal and, most importantly, memorable.
I once did a test (Myers-Briggs), to see what sort of a personality I possessed. It's used all the time in business to assess how and why individuals do or don't get on with their colleagues. I came out at the end of the spectrum where people rely more on instinct than logic to make decisions. I do have strong feelings for places and situations which I cannot sometimes explain - so maybe I picked up 'hüzün' in the atmosphere or by osmosis. During that trip, I sometimes felt close to tears but always in a good way and Pamuk's book led me to a greater understanding of why I might have felt like this.
I learned later that one of our party was eighty-six years old and had managed that climb without a murmur. I mustn't complain about steep hills again - at least not until I am eighty-seven and counting..... our companion seemed to be the perfect example of a 'Cotswold' lady, taking tea, perhaps, in picturesque Burford. So you just never know quite what's behind the façade. She was as sharp as a tack and didn't miss a thing. We are blessed with our own Miss Marple!
Having clambered down, we all finally ended up in a café in the village at the water's edge, eating fried squid and drinking something citrussy and sparkling. This is where I took the photo of my ginger coloured, boss-eyed 'Bosphorus' cat, who very nimbly jumped from boat to boat, which were tied next to one another and separated by large tyres. The group was content and the view over the water was magical. The spell this city has cast upon me seeped into my bones with the evening sun.
Twilight by the Bosphorus Click image to enlarge
AWAY WITH THE FAIRIES
I slept so well that night. Away with the fairies, long before John had finished with his computer. I woke up refreshed, took off my nightdress and flung open the curtains to greet the day. A young man in the building opposite seemed to have had the same idea. The moment of truth... decided I needed to do more exercise to look as fit as he did! I smiled - he waved!
Only three days left but there's a boat trip to the islands where we stay over for a night. That meant we had to pack up our cases, leave them in the hotel and take an overnight bag. I am impressed at how our group always seems to be ready on time and we haven't lost anybody en route. Probably due to Peter and Çamil's assiduous counting system.
I'm going to put in some photos of the wonderfully romantic villas (yalis) and palaces which line the Bosphorus. I don't think I had a clear picture of what Istanbul would be like before coming. It is much more impressive than I had ever imagined. Also, I feel that as it is such a melting pot between East and West, it is the perfect location to become internationally celebrated for learning - science, literature, philosophy, art and architecture. It could be like Florence, during the Renaissance period.
It is exciting, the possibility of great opportunities here, waiting to blossom. And the time is ripe. The search for knowledge is of the essence, particularly now, and could thrive in this beautiful historic setting by the water, without too much interference from religious dogma. The city thrums with life and energy and appeals to all my senses. It has depth and civility and a strong sense of spirit of place. I have embraced it and don't want to leave!
Bosphorus villas with views! Click image to enlarge
Being a member of Gavin Pretor-Pinney's Cloud Appreciation Society, I had to put this skyscape in...
Villa in the sky Click image to enlarge
This is not taken during an earthquake - just from a bumpy bus... to show the intricate and lovely fretwork.Fretwork Click image to enlarge
John in contemplative mood Click image to enlarge
A weekend palace for leisure pursuits Click image to enlarge
Side by side... Click image to enlarge
By the Sweet Waters of Asia Click image to enlarge
This last picture is taken just by the Sweet Waters of Asia. There are two rivers here and it is a place where people came - including Sultan class - to take picnics in the meadows between the rivers. The elegant villas lining the Bosphorus are called ' yalis ' and I noticed that many are in the process of being renovated to their former glory. They are timber framed and often painted in pastel shades.
Dolmabahçe Palace from the water Click image to enlarge
If you look to the left, you can see the top of a modern, luxury hotel, rearing up behind the palace. Some new buildings have been sensitively designed to fit in with the old grandeur. But it's a tricky process to get it right. I'm not sure they did here.
END OF THE LINE FOR THE NO. 52
The Rahmi Koç museum is by the water and has collections of cars, aeroplanes, a 52 double-decker London bus, as well as many boats and their paraphernalia. We stopped off here for an hour. It is very well laid out, both inside and outside, and worth exploring. And there is an inviting café by the water's edge.
A cornucopia of transport delights Click image to enlarge
And then we swam on... Click image to enlarge
Another museum had a cornucopia of jars in the garden and beautiful Iznik tiles and plates inside. By now, my head was beginning to whirl, so on the return journey I drank tea on the boat, then covered my eyes and dozed a little.
A MEDITATION ON SCARVES
We had been told to bring headscarves for visits to mosques. This filled me with delight as I've picked up silk scarves here and there in charity shops, vintage shops and in sales over the years and now I got a chance to wear a different one every day, without feeling like a Sloane Ranger of yore.
Scarves can transform what you are wearing in the twinkling of an eye. I felt my scarves were delighted to be out and about here, instead of hanging forlornly at home in a dark cupboard. By their very nature outgoing, nimble, flexible and observant of all around them, I see them as having different personalities which can reflect your mood. They can be fun loving, serious, elegant, eccentric, boho, mysterious, chic, alluring, warm, - always creating a stamp very much their own. Often being second hand, most of mine have an unknown, hidden past. They will have much to gossip about between themselves on their return home. And they will have served a very useful, cultural purpose.
This last paragraph may seem frivolous. I am well aware of the headscarf controversy and would never wish to offend. For example, I would always cover my head going into a mosque and would think it rude and insensitive to wear clothes that were unsuitable. It is a privilege to experience other cultures and ways of being and I hope that I learn something new from them, especially since I am always curious to find out new things. But I am also aware that I bought my headscarves over the years because I thought them all beautiful in their various ways and I enjoy wearing them.
A bevy of beauties Click image to enlarge
OFF TO THE ISLES
So the last big treat is coming up. We sail for The Princes' Isles in the morning. They make up a small archipelago off the Asian coast of the Sea of Marmara and were popular as retreats from the city with Arabs, Greeks, Turks and Armenians a hundred years ago. Turks mostly live there now. And they are very popular with city folk for weekend visits and summer holidays.
Boats on The Bosphorus Click image to enlarge
We are all assembled once more in the hotel lobby, carrying small knapsacks, holdalls and in one man's case, a plastic bag from a well known U.K. supermarket. I have a large bag that scrunches up into nothing, weighs nothing but at the same time is very strong and infinitely expandable. And, in case of disaster, can be washed and dried almost instantly. These kind of bags are wonderful, especially as I find carrying heavy things much more difficult as I get older.
I have written a few postcards and given them in at the hotel reception. They say they will post them for me. It's better than looking endlessly for the right box. I once put cards in what I thought was a postbox in a village in Italy. They did turn up but about nine months later. So some kind person finally found them and sent them on their way but they had lain a long time with the spiders and some were nibbled at the edges.
How fabulous to live in a big city like Istanbul, when only a forty- five minute ferry ride transports you to a car free island home, with fresh breezes, sandy beaches and a holiday atmosphere. The ferry is full. I am sitting opposite a rather fat boy, being indulged by his mother with bags of sweets. Trays of tea come round in glasses and I buy one. A man approaches me as I obviously look like a tourist and asks if I would honour him by coming to his restaurant. His name is Ali Baba. When he sees I am part of a group, his attentions increase tenfold. I am sorry to have to tell him that I am not in charge and cannot see our dear leader. Ali Baba then gives me his card and continues to flash me smiles as we journey on. John is oblivious, deep in his book.
I think the most memorable meal I had was of a sea bream, grilled to perfection, as we sat outside at the Mavi restaurant by the water on the island of Heybeliada. The owners are friends of Çamil.
At the Mavi restaurant, Heybeliada Click image to enlarge
After lunch, we were taken to see the house of Ismet Inönü, who became Prime Minister after Atatürk. He had rented a modest holiday home here first in 1924, when he was recuperating after an illness and bought the house ten years later. He was known to everyone as Ismet Pasha and was held in great affection. The house is now a museum showing his life. He was a good man and it was touching to see photos of him on holiday, swimming and enjoying the summer with members of his family. I love the way that Peter and Çamil have included these very personal visits, alongside the major sites.
The largest of these islands is Büyükada, which was our next port of call and where we would stay the night - in the Splendid Palace Hotel. The air was balmy and warm as we disembarked and started to follow Çamil up the hill. This island is very popular in the summer and there are dozens of very beautiful villas. In the south are lovely groves of pine trees, cliffs and sandy coves.
These islands are car free except for service vehicles. I had noticed a warm aroma of horses and horse manure borne on the air and was suddenly aware of the great number of horses and open carriages - called 'faytons'. If you don't want to walk, this is the way of getting round the island.
A SPLENDID STAY
The Splendid Palace Hotel, shortened by me to The Hotel Splendido, is very old fashioned, with enormous rooms and wide staircases of faded grandeur. Our bedroom is spacious with a balcony overlooking the water. There is an odd, brown plastic structure like a space pod in the middle of the room, which turned out to be a bathroom the size of the police box in Dr. Who. It was a struggle just to get in and out - and a surreal experience as one stepped out of extruded plastic into the past glamour of the 1930s. The hotel, with its vast inner atrium, conjures up the lost worlds of both Hercule Poirot and Monsieur Hulot.
As ever, a posse of cats are there to greet us in the lobby and investigate our luggage as though they were customs officials. Istanbul and its surroundings are so full of original experiences for me. It is like being with somebody so eccentric that you are not sure of what they will say or do next but you know it will be infinitely fascinating and idiosyncratic and you are duly seduced.
The Splendid Palace Hotel Click image to enlarge
Reception - Splendid Palace Hotel Click image to enlarge
Inner atrium, The Splendid Palace Hotel Click image to enlarge
The silent pool invites... Click image to enlarge
Çamil gave us no time to think about sitting in the Agatha Christie lounge and ordering a cocktail or two. We were soon walking up the road, faytons flying past the grand villas on either side of us. The island is very green and the lack of traffic beguiling. I felt both soothed and energised by the fresh air, warm sun, and the background clopping of horses' hooves. Nosily, I peered into the gardens of these vast houses of yesteryear, many of which are in the process of being renovated. I think this is partly to do with Istanbul having been chosen as City of Culture for 2010.
Sole means of transport on Büyükada Click image to enlarge
Avenue of green Click image to enlarge
Major renovations in hand Click image to enlarge
Yet more beautiful oleanders Click image to enlarge
A garden hideaway Click image to enlarge
Çamil was trying to hurry us along but finding it difficult as we were distracted and curious and behaving rather like feral cats, straggling far behind the yellow umbrella.
ASSASSINATION AND A FRIENDLY COLLISION
He was keen to show us the house that Trotsky lived in from 1929 - 1933. It was here Trotsky wrote his autobiography and his 'History of the Russian Revolution'. His house was right by the shore and he spent a lot of time fishing. However, his bodyguards had to accompany him everywhere, as even on this peaceful, small island, he was paranoid about being assassinated.
It was maybe something more than a coincidence that, who should suddenly hove into view but my oldest friend, who I have known since I was four years old. I knew David was in Istanbul, staying with a family and learning Turkish but it had been difficult to find a spare moment to meet. David studied Russian at university and is fluent in various Eastern European languages, so it seemed perfect timing that we should meet him and his wife on our search for Trotsky's house.
Remains of the house Trotsky stayed in Click image to enlarge
Tools of the trade... Click image to enlarge
When we got back to the hotel, I noticed the fire escape route and the rather sinister looking tools on the wall, which presumably could be used in case you had to hack your way out. I couldn't help thinking about how Trotsky met his end.
Next morning, the sun was up, warm and inviting. John and I explored the village and meandered along the water's edge, before getting ready to catch the boat back to the city. The air was gentle and soporific, relaxing my face muscles and making me feel in holiday mode, as we sat looking out at the sea and the city, far away on the opposite shore.
Peter and Çamil, between them, have given us a wonderful introduction to Istanbul. Peter's son lives and works here and it was an added bonus to meet him and his lovely wife one evening, when they joined us all for dinner.
There are so many good memories of this adventure to try and hold on to. I have found the inhabitants of Istanbul to be welcoming and helpful and extremely civilised. No doubt there are no-go areas, as in any city but I never once felt uneasy or unsafe. I did go exploring by myself in the evening on a number of occasions and always felt free to roam in an atmosphere of goodwill. And I was so aware of that capacity to enjoy the pleasures of everyday life, despite the downsides. It's a great feeling and one that I sometimes lose at home. But to be without it for a while makes it even better when you experience it again!
While we were waiting for the boat, I bought a guide to the Princes' Islands. It is written by John Freely, a New Yorker by birth, who came as a teacher to Istanbul in 1960 and seems never to have left. The guide is packed full of information with excellent photos and detailed maps of the islands. We were early at the ferry terminal and had time for a coffee and little sweetmeat in the wonderful café upstairs which stretches out into the water. I could have sat there all day. I definitely possess 'flâneur' genes.
On the waterfront, Büyükada Click image to enlarge
Café at ferry terminal Click image to enlarge
Until the next time ... Click image to enlarge
THE END IS NIGH
This is our last full day. The bus, with its ever patient and reliable driver, was waiting for us at the ferry terminal and we drove back through the more modern part of the city, which is full of grand designer shops and expensive apartment blocks. However, Peter had a very different area in mind to show us that afternoon.
We were off to see a museum, dedicated to Adam Mickiewicz, a renowned Polish poet, who came to Istanbul in September 1855 to help organise Polish forces under the Ottoman army. He was both a political activist and a poet but his life was troubled in many ways, not least because his wife became mentally ill for some years before her death. The house in Istanbul, where he lived and died, is in the Tarlabasi neighbourhood near Beyôglu, on the European side of the city. In 1955, it was converted into a museum to commemorate the hundredth year of Mickiewicz's death. There is a bronze bust of his head. He was a handsome man.
There is an enormous flower stall in Taksim Square and Peter had told us that it was mainly run by Romanies. Many of them live in the area we were about to visit, which is poor but where street life is vibrant - full of groups of people and children. As we approached the museum, a wedding procession was in progress and people were calling to one another, shouting and dancing in the street. Groups of excited children raced up and down, staring at us curiously all the while. I felt that we were encroaching on tribal territory, caught up in the middle of their extended family celebrations. But even though we were mixed into the melée, they seemed to bear us no ill will. The children found us a novelty and otherwise we were peacably ignored.
Tarlabasi neighbourhood Click image to enlarge
Greengrocer - Tarlabasi Click image to enlarge
Poor but vibrant... Click image to enlarge
Feeling quite weary now, we climbed the steep hill and made our way back to the bus. We've seen so much in the ten days but it's made me realise how much more there is to see. I hope we manage to come back before too long. Walking back along the street we passed lots of policemen. I asked if I could take a photograph of them all together but they said it was not allowed. So I took a photo of this dog chasing the birds instead.
Dog chasing birds Click image to enlarge
The very last evening. John and I decide to go up to the Haghia Sophia one final time. It is only ten minutes walk up the hill from the hotel. The light from the carpet and jewellery and souvenir shops floods onto the pavement and the small cafés look busy and welcoming. People are enjoying promenading in the evening air. John takes some stunning photographs of the fountain in front of the Haghia Sophia. My camera isn't so good in the dark but I take one also - see below - and a minute later the fountain is switched off for the night! Perfect timing...
The last evening... Click image to enlarge
MENAGE A TROIS
We meander over to a green space, and sit down under a café awning and choose golden coloured bakhklavas, oozing with honey, in contrast to the strong black Turkish coffee served in dark blue and gold scrolled cups. As ever, the cats lurk behind the trees, making forays to snatch crumbs from under the tables. I compliment the waiter on the bakhlavas. He smiles and says thank you and that his are special - with better results than Viagra. I assume this remark is directed at John, who is busy looking at his Blackberry. We are a trio rather than a couple. However, I would never think of throwing his Blackberry into the Bosphorus...?
I kept hearing somebody playing a zither in the distance and we followed the sounds to the Arasta bazaar behind The Blue Mosque. The music was haunting and melancholic but also harmonious and captivating. I asked a man what it was and he showed me the CD cover. It was called 2010 Café Anatolia Instrumental. I was listening to number four - An Umbrella over Vosporos. I bought the CD for fifteen lire, and have enjoyed playing it many times since. Music is often a good way of stirring old memories.
The faces of the men flickered, strong and brown, through the flames of the brazier, as they smiled and talked quietly amongst themselves. They have a camaraderie, a familiarity and trust between themselves as friends, which is very appealing. We began to retrace our steps down behind the Haghia Sophia to the steep cobbled street that led the way home. The minarets were illuminated in soft blue and gold against the darker indigo of the sky - punctuated by white seagulls still wheeling overhead. John took an amazing photo, stretching the camera's limits in the darkness.
We passed by a stall, piled high with pomegranates, which a man was juicing and then onwards past the intricate portal outside the Topkapi Palace, which lies at the entrance to this picturesque, narrow street.
On one side are beautifully painted wooden houses with hidden courtyard gardens. I know the gardens are there because a shutter was ajar and I was able to peer in. Further down the hill are two restaurants. The one on the right hand side, called Sarnic, is deep down in what used to be an underground cistern, of which there are many in Istanbul. The cisterns I will have to leave for another time. And a visit to a hammam for scrubbing and massage will also be at the top of my list.
I am told there is a secret underground tunnel covering three kilometres which stretches from the seventh century church of St. Mary of the Mongols to the Haghia Sophia. Istanbul is built on seven hills and goodness know what else lies beneath them.
The Sarnic restaurant can be viewed from above. Far, far below, spied on through a window at street level, were about ten people sitting together at a round, polished wooden table, eating and drinking in a convivial manner, illuminated by hundreds of candles. It looked very inviting. On the other side of the street is another restaurant, where tables are set out under the trees in a peaceful garden.
SADLY, THE HAREM PANTS DON'T FIT
Further down the steep slope on the right is a shop, like a low cave, selling clothes and jewellery and small ornaments. I tried on some harem pants but felt I was a bit 'over the hill' for them - especially as there were only scarlet ones left. I love scarlet but will have to make do with a scarf instead. The shopkeeper also seemed to own an array of what look like Bedouin tents, which stretch one after another all the way down the hill. Inside, and open to the street, people were playing backgammon or somesuch, sitting on velvet cushions at low tables and drinking tea out of gold etched glasses. Everyone, both young and old, looked content. I wished I spoke Turkish and could join them for an hour or so.
I hope the lively and civilised culture we have discovered here is not spoiled, either by extremism or by joining the EU. At the moment it is in the ascendant and is a fragile joy, much to be treasured. The people I have met on the street are positive and good natured - and although the traffic is often heavy and the pavements crowded in places, patience for the most part wins out over road rage. This is a city of infinite variety, exciting, fascinating, open yet mysterious. Pamuk's book goes a long way to explain its paradoxical nature. It has survived many disasters and now has much to offer on many fronts. May it thrive... and may I return before too long...
I leave John with his computer and go exploring for last minute presents. I find a pretty necklace for his sister. It is a piece of amber coloured resin, wrapped in very thin, rolled silver at one end which is traced with delicate arabic script. A good luck charm!
Back at the hotel, John is still tapping away, while I start to pack up the cases, ready for the airport tomorrow. I don't like goodbyes but I've learned to be pragmatic over the years. It's best to look forward to the next time, while keeping the good memories.
FAREWELLS
The next morning finds us all prompt as ever, ready and waiting in the lobby. Peter's son and his wife are there to bid him - and us - farewell. A few email addresses are exchanged between us all and then we are on our way homewards.
Au revoir... Click image to enlarge
The bus bowls along by the Bosphorus. Çamil accompanies us right to the gate at the airport, where we thank him once again for a fabulous time and wish him all the best. Next week he is expecting a group of Americans. Peter is coming back with us on the plane.
As much as I didn't want to leave home, I now really don't want to leave this place. In the aftermath, so I wouldn't forget all this in the mists of time, I decided to write things down. I hope my photography has improved a bit along the way too! This first trip to Istanbul turned out to be a perfect introduction to the city for me and I've seen and done and learned an enormous amount in the last ten days. Many thanks to you both, Peter and Çamil, for a truly memorable time. In the hopes that we may meet up again...
and farewell... Click image to enlarge
END
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