2025 Istanbul

Welcome to old Istanbul

12.10.25

Another trip back to the past.  In Istanbul again, 32 years later.  Given the enormous strides that Turkey has made economically in that time, I suspect things will be rather different.  Reading my description of that visit, I am also struck by how little I saw.  This time, I am overwhelmed by how much there is to see, judging by the research I have done – mostly from the Blue Guide to the city.  Which ironically I had when I came before but obviously didn’t read much (although I do mention it).

Last time, I stayed in a small hotel, probably by Taksim Square, judging by my descriptions then.  This time, we have rented an old wooden-fronted house in Beyoğlu, Külhan Çıkmazı (cul-de-sac).  Very wacky design, steep internal stairs, big rooms.  Great position though, in the heart of the real Istanbul, or one of them.

Sitting in the Limon Cihangir café for lunch – self-styled “Kahvaltı Evi”, or “breakfast house”.  We saw this place on the way to the local Carrefour (shades of Tbilisi).  Wonderful district around here.  Very hilly.  Reminds me of Paris in its architecture, plus Lisbon for its gradients.  Dozens of cats everywhere.  No dogs, which is worrying.  This place was packed with families out for Sunday breakfast – a good sign.

Afterwards, out to İstiklal Caddesi – bustling, looks like a parallel universe version of Oxford Street.  Big shops everywhere, but few Western brands.  The picturesque T2 tram passes, looking rather small and ridiculous.  Along to Taksim Square, which I realise is the equivalent of Trafalgar Square, the main locus for public demos.

An elegant gallery off İstiklal Avenue

Then back along İstiklal Caddesi, passing through some of the small side galleries.  One has probably 100,000 small imitation jewels and ornaments on sale.  Like the market by Tbilisi station.  Who buys this stuff?

As we tuck in to the richesse of our breakfast platter – a Limon special of some 12 dishes – the muezzin in the mosque next to us provides the backing track.  As well as various cheeses, scrambled eggs, salad, honey, fried breads, and black olives we had kavut – a traditional Kurdish breakfast paste, and murtuğa, another Kurdish paste, plus muhammara: tomatoes, olive oil and walnut, breadcrumb paste.  All fab, and incredibly cheap.  On the way here, we passed five or six other cafés, nearly all full.  This is obviously where locals go for their meals.  

Obelisk and minarets

In the Hippodrome of Constantinople, by the broken obelisk.  After light rains, brilliant sunshine.  To here on the T1 tram, after spending 20 minutes buying Istanbulkarts once I had managed to navigate the Turkish-language prompts on the ticket machine.  By the Blue Mosque, six huge minarets soaring into the sky.  Sitting now between Hagia Sophia and the Topkapı Palace.  Past the wall towers marching down to the sea, the Bosphorus, and ships and tankers powering by.  Big queue for Blue Mosque, no queue for Hagia Sophia… very busy around here – all out for a Sunday stroll – and why not?

Back home, after some fun on the T1 tram.  We walked to the stop at Gülhane Park, and took the T1 when it appeared.  Great.  But it turned out it stopped at Eminönü.  We wanted to go further, but that tram would leave on another platform, across from our tram.  Given the speed at which these behemoths hurtle around, chancing it by crossing their tracks seemed unwise.  So we went out through the turnstiles (after an unhelpful station person gave no help), then crossed at the lights to the other platform, and paid our ₺35 (about 70p again.  Better safe than sorry.

Istanbul's Montmartre

So, a slightly strange day, in that we didn’t formally visit anything.  But I think that I have a good feel for two contrasting areas of Istanbul: here, around Beyoğlu, which turns out to be a kind of Turkish Montmartre, complete with hills, trendy cafés and rubbish.  The other area is that of the big beasts – Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, and Topkapı Palace.  They seem much grander than in my memory: Hagia Sophia is massive and monumental; the Blue Mosque soaring and majestic.  Even the Hippodrome has been spruced up beyond recognition.  For the better, I’d say.  

The transport system is immeasurably better: more efficient, and more complete in its coverage.  Which is great for me and tourists, in all kinds exciting ways.  Also vastly more cafés and restaurants than before.  Lots more money around – Teslas intermixed with big Mercedes.  Road network expanded – on the way from the airport we drove along some very long tunnels, passing under the city’s hills, which sped things up.  We also saw huge boars at the side of the road – a reminder that much of Turkey remains wooded and even wild.  Fascinating to see them so near to the acme of long-term urbanisation, Istanbul.

13.10.25

Hagia Sophia.  We are herded up the steep steps to the gallery – no access to the church/mosque itself.  From here we can gaze.  Not too bad – the majesty is evident, the huge dome, the pillars, the chandeliers floating above the blue-green sea of the vast carpet like holy jellyfish.  New, I think, the discreet covering of frescoes above what was the altar.  Better than scraping them off.

Hagia Sophia

Hard to experience the place intensely enough.  We stand, we stare, we move on.  Certainly puts every other church and cathedral in context.  Just noted the capitals of the columns in the gallery – with feathery fronds – an unusual expression of the composite order.

A feathery composite capital

Interesting the Viking graffito – that urge to say “I was here”. Reminds me of Egypt, the Greek graffiti on the temple at Dendera.  Some fine mosaics remain, especially of Emperor John II Comnenos and Empress Irene, 12th century.  Beautiful mosaic of Jesus, Mary and John the Baptist, which caught my eye last time.  Amazingly subtle skin hues on the face produced by tiny mosaic stones, they seem painted.

To the Blue Mosque, where there is a huge queue…  In the courtyard, the magnificence is nonetheless evident.  Inside, so spacious.  Four massive columns, four great arches, hemispheres everywhere, sprouting like mushrooms.  Strikingly consistent decoration over the whole surface.  Gives a very unified feel.  Never seen such big columns.  Because there are only four to support the dome.  Western churches have more columns spreading the load.  But the great Mimar Sinan's pupil, Sedefkar Mehmed Agha, really knew what he was doing here.

One of four massive columns holding up the Blue Mosque

To Hafiz Mustafa café for tea/coffee.  Noodly music in the background.  Fine array of Turkish sweets.  Tea served with a cover bearing a turkish delight; turkish coffee comes with a glass of water – and two turkish delights.  All good quality.

A view of Europe from Asia

On the boat to Üsküdar - Asia. Ship holds 600 – an A380 on water.  Sun out among clouds.  Heaven.  A fifteen minute trip, great views.  In Üsküdar, along to the Boğaziçi Balık Ekmek restaurant.  Mainly fish, as its name suggests.  Great view across the strait.  Muezzin and boats’ horns vie for aural attention.  Interesting group next to us: Asian, but not Chinese, Japanese or Korean.  Kazakh maybe?  Income rising, direct flights… Or maybe Mongolian, in a similar situation.

After lunch (not spectacular), a walk around Üsküdar.  Very lively – nothing touristy here.  Reminded me of the backstreets of Fethiye.  Tranquil Yeni Valide mosque (but only saw the outside).  Now on the ferry, I hope the right one (we boarded quickly).

Almost Venice in Karaköy

It wasn’t, because it went to Karaköy, but that wasn’t actually a problem, since that location was nearer to our accommodation, and didn’t require further transport, just a walk along the shore north from the quay.  The area felt like Venice, which is no surprise given the real similarities.  Our boat was like a vaporetto writ large, and the journey just a bigger move between localities on the water – one that just happened to be a factual journey between Asia and Europe.  Such is the quotidian wonder of Istanbul.

14.10.25

In the Basilica Cistern.  Even grander than I remember.  It looks like a huge 21st century artwork.  For example, I hadn’t noticed the corinthian capitals – which no one would ever see…  That’s real art.

 

Heavenly mathematical architecture

Failing to negotiate a taxi, we are walking to Süleymaniye mosque.  By the Grand (covered) bazaar, Nuruosmaniye mosque.  Amazing arches on each side of the building, the full width of the mosque.  After the covered bazaar, a real change of scene: lots of specialist shops selling one thing: buckles, toys, pots, glass boxes, all very cheap.

That's what I call an arch

To the mosque, passing Sinan’s tomb.  And now in Mimar Sinar café, with stunning views of Süleymaniye mosque, the Golden Horn, and the Bosphorus.  Sun trying to shine through the clouds.  Amazing view to the left.  Up the Golden Horn, the car bridge, the metro line bridge, then Galata bridge leading to the Bosphorus.  Asian side hazy, the new and growing financial district wreathed in smog.  To the right, the Süleymaniye mosque.  Its subtle architectural layers visible, surging up to the great dome floating about it all.  

One problem here: wasps, lots of them.  Fortunately, the café is prepared: a man with an electrocuting racquet – very effective as it crackles wasps to death…  In Süleymaniye mosque.  Magnificent; the striped arches of grey and red lend nice variety.  The great pillars discreet.  Big muqarnas (honeycomb vaults) in the corners.  

In Süleymaniye mosque, even the muqarnas are big

Long walk through Old Istanbul (of which more later), then T1 tram to Tophane, up the hill to our local restaurant zone, not to Limon, but Cihangir Manticisi – for three kinds of manti, plus çi borek, green beans and tea.

So, to reflect on the day, something hard to do calmly on the hoof, mostly a huge success.  The cistern was not too crowded, and so retained most of its mystery.  It’s an odd place: unmissable, and yet minimalist – there’s almost nothing there except the implausible fact of its existence and survival.  It’s the perfect sight for a mathematician – all x-y coordinates and x=y diagonals.  The modern visit well laid out, with a pathway to the weird Gorgon heads, then back.

Mimar Sinan's tomb, designed by himself

From there, we failed to find a taxi to Süleymaniye mosque.  So we walked.  Through one side of the covered market – which we will visit properly on Friday – then up north, then east to the mosque.  To give some energy for proper enjoyment of the masterpiece, we took tea/coffee at Mimar Sinan café – just by his own tomb.  Stupendous views across the confluent waters, and of the growing number of skyscrapers on both the European and Asian sides.  I predict Istanbul will become like Shanghai in a decade or so, with thickets of high-rise blocks.

A view across the Golden Horn, towards Istanbul's future

Then to the mosque.  Even from the outside its massive power is evident.  Inside, even more so.  Much better than the Blue Mosque, which isn’t even really blue.  Süleymaniye varied and attractive.  Also fewer tourists here compared to the Blue Mosque, which was heaving and smelly – all those stinky tourist tootsies exposed to the air.

Inside the tomb of Sultan Suleiman I

Then to the türbeler - the tombs: first of Sultan Suleiman I, with its circumferential band of calligraphy, and multiple tombs – sultans wearing what looks rather like a chef’s toque.  The other türbe, of Hürrem Sultan, his wife (also known as Roxelana), more intimate, covered in very fine Iznik blue tiles – a big discovery for me on this trip.

Inside the tomb of Hürrem Sultan

After the tombs, we made our way back down the hill into the old heart of the city here; passing along Fuat Paşa Caddesi.  We had already taken this route coming, noting the weird Ottoman radio/TV/microwave tower (well, Beyazit Tower actually, but bristling now with all kinds of incongruous hi-tech growths).  Alongside the road, on the east, a huge building site.  I fear this is likely to be the fate of much of the nearby area, which is a warren of streets and lanes.  Which is why I was really keen to see the Büyük Valide Han in the heart of this area.  

Once this was an important inn for travellers to Istanbul.  Today, it is an extraordinary old building, built around a courtyard, which has a mosque in it.  The outer buildings are now workshops and shops, on two levels (sometimes three).  There are stairs to take you up to the first floor, that feel rather like those of a Cambridge quadrangle and its student rooms.  But upstairs here takes you to a place that is clearly on the edge of falling down.  

Inside the Büyük Valide han

It is dark, with few lights, and all kinds of junk piled in the corridors.  On each side there is an amazing variety of small rooms.  A few are surprisingly glamorous showrooms.  Others are simple workspaces, with people cutting cloth, or making jewellery.  Some are half-bare rooms full of tools and equipment, a few men working with pieces of metal.  One or two are on two floors, with internal stairs rising to another level.  In one corner, there is a café, supposedly with a fine view of the sea.  Since we had already enjoyed a fine view from Mimar Sinan café, we gave this a miss.

Atmospheric corridors in Büyük Valide han's upper storey

The place feels like a lost, or rather vanishing, world, a reminder of similar workshops that have existed across Eurasia for thousands of years.  It was a privilege to see it now, as a still living space.  But for how much longer? The huge development nearby seemed like a premonition of the fate this one might soon undergo.  The value of the land around will be too high for this simple world to continue.  Surely the developers will move in and tear down this hidden magic realm…

Ancient buildings in the backstreets of old Istanbul

To savour this experience to the full, when we emerged from the han, we carried on down Çakmakçılar Yokuşu (meaning "slope") and then turned down Fincancılar Sokak, past some ancient buildings made of crude stone blocks and mortar.  The streets were narrow, and packed with people – but not tourists.  This is where the Istanbullular shop.  One clear indication of that was the presence of prices on goods: (a) they were shown (unlike in the more famous bazaars) and (b) they were incredibly low (again, unlike the prices demanded in touristic locations).  The sights and smells here were wonderful: goods packed to the ceiling, spices and foodstuffs spread out for customers to inspect.  This was a timeless scene, one whose roots stretched back thousands of years, and familiar to me from my travels in Central Asia and India.

Sights and smells of old Istanbul

We followed Sabuncu Hanı Sokak to the Egyptian Bazaar, and skirted around the latter.  The air here was full of the rich smell of coffee – there was a shop of the Kurukahveci Mehmet Efendi chain.  We turned left along Hasırcılar Caddesi to reach our goal: Rüstem Pasha mosque.  Alas, we had come too late, and it was closed for midday prayers.  Moving past it, and turning right brought us to the main street by the Golden Horn, not far from Eminönü and our T1 tram stop.  That took us across to Galata quickly, and could easily bring us back to try again another day.

15.10.25

A strange day.  Up at 7am as usual, down to the T1, then to Gülhane for a change.  The reason being today we visited the mighty Topkapı Palace – literally the “Palace of the Gun Gate”.  Unlike our visits to Hagia Sophia and the cistern, where we received QR codes for our money (big money), for the palace we had to be escorted in.  This meant meeting out guide outside – specifically the City Windows kiosk inside the Chimney Bistro, in Soğuk Çeşme Sokak.  The guide left every 30 minutes, and when we got there the first group had left, so we joined a growing band of tourists milling around, waiting for the next tour.  

Hagia Irene, not open, was left in peace

We eventually moved off, and passed under the ceremonial gate of the palace.  Then came the usual security.  Along the way, we passed Hagia Irene, another ancient Byzantine church – not open for visits, alas.  The gate into the second court was rather disappointing – looking like some cheap Disney knockoff.

Multilevel harem accommodation

The guide then took us into the harem – and abandoned us there, since this was a guided entry, not a guided tour.  It was a real warren of little rooms, some single storey, some double, and a few triple.  The decoration varied enormously, reaching a climax in the Valide rooms – mum ("valide" means "mother", and refers to the mother of the reigning sultan) wanted something superior – and those of the sultan.  Lots of gold here – shades of Trump’s megalomaniac vulgarity.  The saving grace is that Sinan designed the rooms for the sultan and the Valide.

Beautiful, but slightly over the top

It was hard keeping track of where we were and what we were seeing.  Things were made worse by the fact that I have picked up some kind of cold/flu [narrator: it was Covid], probably in the tram, which saps my energy.  Staggering through the harem in this feverish state was like some crazy dream, and was certainly not conducive to appreciating the beauties.

I seem to recall I had a similar reaction to the palace when I was here 32 years ago, even though I was not ill that I remember.  What’s particularly annoying is that this afternoon I had planned to visit the Kariye mosque – actually the Chora Byzantine church, which apparently has some of the finest mosaics from this time.  It's quite a way out from the centre, and not something to contemplate in my current state.  Ah well, something to look forward to in the future.

16.10.25

On the Long Bosphorus Tour with the Sehir Hatlar boat, ₺640 for six-hours return ticket.  Pretty good.  Sky covered, but some sun promised.  As usual, we took the T1, this time to Eminönü, in what is now “our” tram.”  Around 100 on the ship currently, which can hold 411 according to a notice on the wall.  There’s something wonderfully primeval about boats.  After all, the basic idea of a thing floating on water hasn’t changed for thousands of years.

Ortaköy mosque by Bosphorus bridge

Past Dolmabahçe palace, past the baroque Ortaköy mosque by the Bosphorus bridge.  Near Rumelian Fortress, a flash of dolphin fins.  Lots of river traffic, a real working waterway.  Further north, several fishing boats, hauling in their nets.  Clearly plenty of fish here.  Before, one of the many giant Turkish flags on the hills had eagles (?) soaring around it.  Very green, both sides wooded, with attractive/wealthy villages along the way.

To Kavak Baba restaurant in Anadolu Kavağı for a good fish meal, with a view of the sea.  Interesting that, like Azerbaijan, the toilets have bidets as standard.  But these are built in to the toilet, controlled by a knob to the side.  Very civilised.  Waiting by our ship, which leaves at 3pm.  Wandering through the village, mostly deserted, with few in the restaurants, there's a particular, end-of-season melancholy, as the cold wind rises.

Under the bridge to the Black Sea

On the way back, classic framing of tankers sailing out to the Black Sea, under the great, final bridge.  Some big ships: 150,000 tons and more…  Sarıyer: an attractive village on the European side.  Lots of wooden buildings, which makes sense in a seismic zone.  The Asian side here much wilder, less construction.

In the cabin, there are screens with ads.  Great way to lean new words.  Indeed, immersion in Istanbul is highly stimulating.  Striking how many ads are for the city of Istanbul.  Similarly, around the city, there are lots of hoardings and covered scaffolding with the name of Istanbul’s mayor – İmamoğlu – even though (because?) he is currently suspended from office…

Coming home at dusk

Once again, the sun is out – it has come and gone all day.  Currently, the villages are illuminated prettily.  There is a very particular style to the shoreside houses – lots of verandahs, pillars, arches.  Rather like small-scale versions of Dolmabahçe palace.  They look rather expensive…

17.10.25

Aqueduct of Valens, straddling traffic

Out to the Aqueduct of Valens, by bus. Then down to Şehzade mosque – another Sinan number.  Lots of swirling red and white arches, hypnotic.  Through the Covered Bazaar – too trashy and glitzy for my taste.  To another of the old hans – Büyük Yeni Han.  And it is indeed büyük - big, even with the later division cutting it off partway.  Three floors, and even more dilapidated than the nearby Büyük Valide han. 

Büyük Yeni han

Back now in the accommodation after a long morning spent walking.  The aqueduct was impressive, not least because it has been cleaned and repaired recently, as seen in a video shown on the boat yesterday.  But it’s a strange thing: you go there and see it, and then...what?  There are only so many ways to look at a large piece of ancient infrastructure.

Sinan's hypnotic Şehzade mosque

The walk afterwards took us past the main city hall – rather uninspiring – and past the Şehzade mosque – a hidden gem, rather off the beaten track.  Sadly, we didn’t have time for the türbeler there.  Past lots of university faculty buildings.  Beyazit Square spacious and attractive in its asymmetry.  Big Turkish flags flying there.  Passed quickly through the covered bazaar – just little of interest there.  Wandered around the real old bazaar nearby, and found another han.  

Back in the real Istanbul bazaar

One thing: in many parts the pavements are made of concrete laid down wet, with a few lines scored to make flagstone-like patterns.  But almost everywhere there are footprints – human and animal – of those in a hurry, who crossed wet cement anyway, to become caught in the act forever.

Out to the nearby Istanbul Museum of Modern Art.  Very swish – and with double security checks.  White walls, plenty of space.  The English translations of the info for each picture very fluent, unlike many foreign galleries.  Some good black and white photos of Istanbul locality not far from here, and others of the countryside – the harsh life under the harsh sun.

Welcome to the Infinity Room

One striking video piece: Refik Anadol – Infinity Room - Bosphorus – a constantly shifting immersive experience, created using environmental data from around the Bosphorus to generate graphic images in a mirrored space – swirling forms that are striking if disconcerting.  The long-held chords emphasise the infinite, floating feeling.  Very effective, unlike many such works.  Also haunting, “Beirut” – video of the windows of the hotel where Rafik Hariri was assassinated.  Nice library on the ground floor, with an exhibition of the works of Renzo Piano, the architect of the gallery itself.

Outside, in the entrance, a blue medallion with an apotropaic eye – of which we saw hundreds around the village yesterday.  Et in Arcadia ego…

18.10.25 Somewhere over Hungary

This was an unusual trip in many ways.  A return, but almost to an entirely different place, given the huge changes between then and now.  Also hugely different my travelling.  Back then, I’m not sure I did a great job of hunting out the real Istanbul.  This time, at least, I had a better idea of what was there.  It doubtless helped that this time it was also was much easier to get to these places – transport networks in Istanbul are now dense, if uneven.

Unusual, too, in that I booked three visits – Hagia Sophia, the cistern and Topkapı palace.  In the event, the first two reservations probably weren’t necessary, but it made the days easier.  Shows at least how tourism has become organised – and outrageously expensive (£105 per person for those three sites).  You can’t blame them, but I fear Istanbul will soon have a very bad reputation with travellers because of this price gouging.

Which is a pity, because it is, of course, an amazing place.  One that I feel I have gained a better understanding of thanks to this trip.  For example, the fact that even more than usual, the map is a lie: the city is one of the most three-dimensional urban places on the planet, with multiple steep hills popping up all over the place.  Lisbon may have them too, but not as many, and in as many forms.  I have also understood that the key reference points in the city are the mosques (obviously), and that Mimar Sinan is the world's greatest architect, bar none.

The other big revelation for me was the area around Beyoğlu and Cihangir.  Such vibrant places – not touristic at all, but full of Istanbullular.  Definitely where I would aim to return to for future accommodation.  Of course, there was rubbish, and cats, everywhere in these places too. And precarious building works on every street.  Messy but a sign that Istanbul is still growing, that this huge supercity – 16 million inhabitants and counting – has only just got started.  Who knows how far it will go?  I aim to find out over the next few years.  I’m also keen to explore the east of the country – Trabzon and beyond.  It looks incredibly beautiful – very Georgian and Armenian in its landscapes.  Still so much to discover in Turkey...

More destinations:

1993 Istanbul

2019 Uzbekistan

2022 Uzbekistan: Samarkand, Khiva, Bokhara, Tashkent - with photos

2024 Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan - with photos

2025 Sarajevo - with photos

2025 Azerbaijan - with photos

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

1993 Istanbul

25.3.93 Istanbul

A strange situation in that I know next to nothing of Istanbul, and nothing of the language.  But what a name: Istanbul.  And yet one that figures so little in our consciousness.  It belongs to no one, culturally, as far as the West is concerned, and so hovers on the horizon like some strange mirage.

Jackpot.  As soon as I came out of the visa section, I knew things were going awry.  Thanks to a bunch of Italians pushing in front, this took ages.  When I arrived at the luggage carousel, the cases were off, lined up on the ground.  Mine was not there.  I knew it was not in Turkey, but dealing with the bureaucracy – as well as translating for some Italian ladies with a similar problem – took half an hour.  Then changing money – somehow I knew I'd need it – took another 15 minutes.  By the time I got out, there was nobody there to pick me up.  I waited.  Still nobody.  I spoke (in French this time) to others waiting, who said the bloke I wanted wasn't there.

So, a taxi.  Arguments outside should have told me that I had a madman, and his driving soon confirmed it: at least 100 mph, often yards away from the car in front.  We took a huge arc around the city – the signs worryingly saying to Ankara (it seemed quite possible that we'd go all the way there at 100 mph) – and finally arrived, 141K lira (about £10) later.  As I checked in, who do I find but the Herbert who was supposed to meet me.  Yeah, well, if he was there before me (and assuming he drove at less than 100 mph), he certainly left before me.  So I refused to pay all the outstanding 93K lira, and we argued long about this and that.

And then, of course, the real fun begins: being Ramadan, all the shops are shut – now, and tomorrow.  No new clothes.  So if the bag doesn't turn up tomorrow, it gets interesting.

Strange wandering the streets to here, a Pizza Hut (well, I'm not in a fit state to be more adventurous tonight).  George Michael playing in the background, even more than in Cairo, things felt alien, or rather very distant: I felt I was in Mongolia (appropriately) not Turkey.  The drive was delightfully frightening: mile after mile of concrete blocks, dusty roads, thick smog, descending darkness, ruddy sunset.

26.3.93 Istanbul

Well, here I sit in the Sultan Safrasi café, Aya Sofya to my left, the Blue Mosque just in front of me, and vaguely soporific Turkish music coming from within.  The sun is starting to break through, and things are looking up a little.  After a hearty breakfast (another benefit to the kind of package hotel I'm in), out to see what shops, if any, were open.  Luckily, I find a clothes shop soon, and bought a shirt for 99K lira.  Later, I found the address of one of the few chemists open, and bought a few necessaries.  Back to the hotel to shave and shower (for the third time – a good way to keep clothes non-pooh-y), then out by taxi (£3) to here.  According to the information man at the hotel, everything open as usual.  I hope so.

First impressions: Istanbul is pretty dirty in a "typical" middle east/far east way: dust, litter, concrete, rubble, everywhere.  Colours uniformly grey and brown, a few dull reds and greens.  Turks look, well, Turkish, deep eyes, thick hair, very different.  And how right that of all the Europeans it is the Germans who are linked to this race: the same ü and ö, the same ultra-logical grammar and syntax.

Now drinking my first çay, which puts me in mind of the Parisian tea-room I sampled less than a year ago.  Reading Libération last night; really one of my favourite papers.  Everyone smokes like a chimney here.  These mosques really soar.  Well, back in Sultan Safrasi café – I'm not that hungry, so I'm reluctant to go to a restaurant.  Çay and "tost".  Behind me, a Turk speaks fluent German to the same.

Walked to Topkapi Palace – the grounds full of picnickers – quite the most litter-strewn place I have seen on this earth.  In fact, Istanbul is fast becoming litter capital of the world, in my eyes.  The Archaeological Museum and palace open from 9.30am, closed Monday/Tuesday respectively, so I'll go later – now it's full of tourists and locals.  On the way back, I bought five pairs of sox for 25K lira – about £2.  I was done, but my need was great.  Lacoste-branded, but the alligator was stuck on – as were the labels.  But they're clean (ish).

One thing: the Turks are certainly keen to talk; but being British, I am less keen to listen.  Unfairly, probably, but there we are.  I've never been one for "mixing", for getting into these fake relationships.  Either I'm too suspicious, too shy, or, more likely, too arrogant.  Most people bore me, and if I can't talk with people I respect, and whose conversation I value, I'd rather talk with myself – which I have little enough time to do, heaven knows.  Noticeable the number of women wearing the chador – full body stuff.  And men with caps.  But against that, you can see pornography displayed pretty freely.  A country of meetings and contradictions, then.

My first monument, the incredible Basilica Cistern – looks like something out of a Peter Greenaway film.  Dripping water (Tarkovsky) and Corinthian columns.  The floor soaking, the air dank, dank, dank.  The constant sound of drip, sharp, and the distant echoing sounds of classical music.  And at the end of it all, the crazy Medusa heads: one upside down, the other on its side, squashed beneath simple columns, meeting its mirror image in the pool of water around it, green with age.  And the drops fall even heavier.  Above, the ceiling pattern recedes to infinity, like something out of Escher.  This is what I came to Istanbul for…  What a wonder of the world.  Reminds me of La Mezquita in Cordoba, but that had no mad opera singing in the background, nor the Chinese torture of drips…

At last down by the Golden Horn, waiting for the ferry boat to leave behind me.  In front, the iced water seller – fine, except I have seen the ice in a bag broken on the ground next to one of the few rubbish bins not full and used.  Overcast now, but the sun weakly peeking through.  Cool breeze. Nice.  

In the middle of the bridge, richer by two pairs of underpants (5K lira each – about 30p), I remember Harvard...except that this bridge is wobbling up and down like hell…  Fine view of Topkapi palace, Aya Sofya and several other mosques (strange to see the occasional efflorescence of Arabic here…).

Across the bridge to the Tünel – brilliant value: 2K lira for the most grinding part of the journey back.  Supposedly the oldest metro in continental Europe – nice to see the French metro trains here.  Longish, steep tunnel, then out to what turns out to be the continuation of a street I took this morning for clothes.  Everyone out promenading – thousands of them – with trams in the middle.  Back to the hotel, buying water and oranges en route.  Still no news on my bloody case.  How can they not know where it is?  Shower, then read some more Libération.

Now in Han Fast Food, near Taksim Square.  Eating baked potato – cheap, and may even be vaguely healthy.  Quite a happening sort of place.  Buses thunder outside.  Before, returning to the hotel, I went along to the main cultural centre, trying to find something.  There's Der fliegende Holländer for 40K lira, which seemed a bit ridiculous for me to see here.  There's also some kind of ballet programmed – with some Nyman...but this is elsewhere.

Very noticeable here the preponderance of same sex – and mainly male – groups.  Few mixed, and those have a distinctly racy air to them.  Also noticeable is the youth of some of the lads smoking here – 13, 14 at most, trying to act big…  It would be interesting to write – well, read at least - a history of the blue jeans, and their sociological rise: here, as everywhere, they seem ubiquitous and indispensable.  What did people wear before?  Like India, the things people sell: men with scales, selling your weight.

I have this heart-rending image of my poor case endlessly circulating on a carousel in the middle of nowhere (just where is the middle of nowhere?  Perhaps nowhere is nowhere these days).  Down by the Golden Horn – how I like writing this – a boat moored, cooking meat amidst swathes of smoke.  Reminds me of Varanasi in its waterside bustle.

27.3.93 Istanbul

In the gallery of Aya Sofya.  Here as the gates open, so I enter this huge space almost alone.  In a strange way, not at all as I expected it – lighter, perhaps less oriental than I thought. The overriding impression inside is of golden yellow and rich marbles.  Some fine shafts of light cutting through the space.  And the great shouts of Arabic – too florid for me to read, alas.  In their use of two dimensions they remind me of Tom Phillips' stuff – vaguely…  To here by train (3K lira), Tünel (2K lira), and taxi (10K lira – bastard took me the long way).  Warming up outside.  But inside, a lovely coolth.

The stunning mosaic of Christ, Mary and the John.  Amazing detail and the expressions…  Extraordinary that the heads have survived so well (maybe because higher up?).  Also noticeable the filigree capitals.  Weird.  Down again.  After the exonarthex, sitting in the narthex, noticing the doors.  The relief and the mosaic above the door through to the nave.  But mostly from the back of the narthex you are enthralled by the sense of space through the doors: this is the essence of architecture – the articulation and definition of space.

Just reading the excellent guide to Aya Sofya gives you a sense of the architectural achievement – all those apses, conches, tympanums et al.  Walking round it is a wonderful experience in space.  Interesting contrast with San Marco – visibly part of the same world, but so dark and medieval.  Aya Sofya is part of a literally enlightened tradition – albeit the fag-end.  The builders of this church knew they were part of a glorious civilisation; San Marco's were struggling against the pull of mud and the lagoon.

After eating my illicitly-got bun and cheese in Sultan Safrasi, to the Turkish museum.  Sitting now in the courtyard, great view of the Blue Mosque, the amplified muezzin doing his stuff.  Reasonable museum, mostly Arabic script, carpets, patterns.  Reminds me of another museums: Cairo (the Gayer-Anderson House), East Berlin (Pergamon Museum), but feels insufficiently forgotten and strange.  The obelisk, but so different here from those in Karnak (ah, Karnak…)  In many ways the ethnographic section is more immediately suggestive, particularly with its real yurts and interiors.  The thought of these Turcoman nomads wandering across Asia, taking their tents with them, and ending up at the gates of Vienna (imagine: no Mozart, no Schubert…)

Inside the Blue Mosque – incredibly delicate interior with wonderful ceiling of lamps – about 10 feet off the ground – giving a vertical forest of supporting wires.  To the "little" Aya Sofya – glorious, partly because I am alone here.  This feels real.  Crumbling, cracked but very beautiful.  An old ticking clock – miles out (Mecca time?).

Along the main street Divan Yolu to the Column of Constantine, still charred black, nice group of mosques.  Then to the covered market, which, though very touristy, is nonetheless impressive.  Very gaudy, very big.  Wander through it (nice kiosk at one point), then out to the book market – a little disappointing (I can't help recalling that second-hand bookshop – warehouse? - in Guildford: I wonder if it is still there?).  Now in small, slightly grubby café in the market, trying elma çay – apple tea – though it contains neither.  Taste like a pleasanter version of Lemsip.  

Back in Pizza Hut – well, it's about the cheapest place round here.  I've just found the concert hall – spent 80K lira on a ticket for what looks appropriate: Brit-Turkish ballet programme with Nyman's music.  Surprising number of blue-eyed people here – and almost blond, too.  Perhaps that old Circassian influence… and anyway, who were these Circassians?  Strange how you remember people.  Two blokes, Turks by the look of it, in Aya Sofya, wearing "Buffalo University" t-shirts.  I saw them later in the Turkish Museum.  (Also met the Italian ladies from the airport again – but they had their cases…)

In Praise of Difference: art is difference, evolution is difference.  Imagine being trapped with someone whose every thought echoed yours, and was known to you.  Huis Clos.  We/I depend on difference to make life interesting.  And how fast humankind changes – the languages of Irian Jaya (I must go there…).  "The global is the local without walls."

Interesting this case business (I speak linguistically).

28.3.93 Istanbul

Yes, interesting this case business, but not interesting enough to stop me eating.  I was going to say that not having my case with me has taught me at least how little you need: two pairs of clothes, toothbrush, razor, etc.  In fact, I shall make this the core of my "survival kit" that I carry separately.  Interesting last night watching satellite TV: TV5 and TVE – French and Spanish respectively.  Up late-ish this morning, later than I thought, since clocks go back here too.  Walked to the Tünel, then taxi-ed the other side.

Here in the Archaeological Museum – looks wonderful. I am sitting with the Alexander Sarcophagus in front of me – what a work.  The detail of the carving is stunning – especially the naked men's bodies (Greek sculpture really does make the human – male – body beautiful).  The folds of the skin on the horses and deer.  The horses remind me of the Elgin Marbles.  In one of the pediments, crouching in the left-hand corner, a figure straight out of Michelangelo.  Traces of paint still.  The sarcophagus of the Mourning Women – less varied, but beautiful.  I have these masterpieces to myself.  Back towards the entrance, the biggest sarcophagus, with the barrel-vaulted top: interesting 3D effects of overlapping horses and riders.  Nice diagonals.

Fascinating "usurped" sarcophagus – Egyptian, re-used for king Tabnit Sidon. On it, what looks like Phoenician script.  In the entrance, fine old Hercules, very crude, very vigorous.  [One thing: the first sight to greet me outside my hotel this morning were two bears, great big light-brown things, led by two men.  Are we talking medieval or what?] Face to face with Alexander.  Fine Ephebe – reminds me of Rodin's Balzac.  Bust of Sappho.  Later, upstairs to the sections on Anatolia in general.  Great stuff on Hittites et al. (another language I must learn).  And places like Palmyra, Ephesus, Pergamon…

Then out, leaving the Turkish Pavilion – I am cold, and it is starting to rain.  After a cheap but filling lunch – shish kebab and baklava – back to the Tiled Pavilion.  Nice, but I find it hard to get worked up over pottery.  Attracted by the medieval sounds I have returned to the park below.  Brilliant sunshine now.  An ad hoc band is vaguely practising – I love the shawm-like lead and percussion.  Below, a puppet show.

Back across the Galata Bridge, a fine view after the rain, Tünel, and then to here, a very untouristy, untacky tea-room for çay, and rich honey-soaked shredded wheat – well, ish.  This is merenda – no dinner tonight.

Out now in the concert hall found so laboriously.  Functional, vaguely Turkish inside, good sightlines, seats a little deep. Turns out the Nyman is Zed and Two Noughts – I haven't heard it for a while.  There's also some Turkish music which is nice – one İlhan Usmanbaş – other than this, I can read barely a word of the 15K lira programme.  The most god-awful cod-pop/classical stuff in the interval.  WHY? And a lousy amplifier system – Nyman was painful.  Dancing quite good though – emphasises Turkey's bridge between West and East – these female bodies wobbling away.

29.3.93 Istanbul

I was forced to leave the concert early: the second part had music so loud I had my fingers in the ears for most of it.  So unnecessary.  The Brits flew the flag, and I'd seen and heard the concert hall.  Back and watched the French elections in French and Spanish (the latter rather embarrassing). Amazing result.  In an odd way, I'm glad old Lang got back in – a fine paragon of French culture…

To Topkapi – 'orrible weather.  After tram and Tünel, I decide to avoid the rain and take a taxi on Galata bridge.  Which then proceeded to go the wrong way, then dump me by the side of the road.  I didn't pay, and at least I'm over the bridge.  Another taxi to here – one I am able to catch out as he nearly doesn't take the right turn to the palace after the lighthouse.

Here too early, but first to get a ticket.  Up to the harem, and buy another for 10 o'clock start.  A quick wander – glorious views over the sea and the great ships out there.  Into the harem – with a big group alas, and snapping away like mad to show people back home.  A fine warren inside – for a minute, I catch a glimpse of a vanished world of caravans, 1001 nights.  Strange melange of cultures in parts, barely digested ideas – like the diminutive capitals on columns.  The Koran everywhere.

Now wandering through the capacious collections – porcelain et al.  Many people here – perhaps not surprising given that practically everything else is closed today.  Seeing the Japanese and Chinese stuff here reminds me that they represent now the last great unknown for me.  The palace overall reminds me greatly of the kraton in Java – perhaps there is some distant relationship, mediated by the Arab traders.  

To the café – thank god they built galleries around the courts – it is bucketing down now.  Strange how all sodden cities take on a similar aspect.  I remember Vienna, Paris (Palais de Tokyo), etc.  Perhaps it is just that you become very introspective, conscious only of being cold and wet.  Nice in a masochistic sort of way.  Ridiculous prices here – 10K lira for tea, but obviously, I ain't going walkies in this weather.

Up to the Galata Tower – blowy but brilliant sunshine.  Stunning view south across the Golden Horn and Bosphorus.  From here you see clearly how massive Aya Sofya is, particularly compared with the Blue Mosque, for example.  Beyond the city, hazy mountains – very Greek-like, unsurprisingly.  Which reminds me: I was conscious last night of how this trip is filling in a whole region hitherto rather mysterious.  Travel is like that: a gradual infilling of space and time.

From Galata back to the hotel – where I carry out my daily ritual of a call to the lost luggage office – and miraculously they have found my case.  But I have to go myself – customs, not unreasonably.  Still, a chance to find the Havaş Airport Bus. I try it on, asking for a free trip – refused, quite rightly.  I miss my stop, going on to the domestic terminal – and am kindly taken back by the driver (who was also dropping people off hither and thither).  To the Arrivals, back to the desk I was at before.  I then follow the man deep into the bowels of the airport – finally, at the end of a corridor behind double padlocked doors, there is my beloved case.

The man gives me a form to sign: which I nearly do.  But I read it, and notice that I am signing away all claims.  Er, no, thank you; I'd like some dosh.  So back upstairs, where I try it on further, bringing out the receipts for shirts, medicaments, travel etc. - which, mirabile dictu, they agree to, finally.  We settle on 300K lira – about £20.  Hardly a king's ransom, but better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.  Just goes to show.  Back the way I came.  I note, as before, how orderly Turks are, forming queues for things (rather like Mexicans) – and spontaneously giving up seats in buses for women and elderly men.  Puts us to shame.  Coming back from the airport, we passed the old city walls, now rather brazenly but impressively restored.  Past amazing spaghetti junction – but it works – then to the Tünel. 

Am now drinking sahlep for the first time – totally inappropriate, being hot and sweet, but very nice – great for this chillish weather. Back in Han's, cheap and near – one disadvantage of Taksim is that it is a real haul to the Golden Horn (interesting that the Greeks called it that, for unknown reasons).  I did, however, see it this evening on the way back, a sheet of golden foil (etc.) - very nice.  Well, sahlep is powdered orchid root, and I note that Bill Gates is getting married.

30.3.93  Istanbul

Suleiman mosque very impressive – so light and airy inside – almost recreating the open-air mosques I've seen in India.  Filthy weather – wet, cold – but with my suitcase it seems less of a problem.  Very noticeable sharpness in the air – lots of poor coal and wood being burnt today.  I had this place nearly to myself – now a couple of coachloads of tourists have arrived...pity, it was very peaceful here.

I have just read the Blue Guide's description of this place: a masterpiece of factual analysis, informed comments and judicious enthusiasm.  I see the building with new eyes, and understand its dynamics far better.  The comparisons with Aya Sofya are illuminating.  Once again, you can see how far ahead the imperial architect Mimar Sinan was compared to West Europeans.

Across to the Museum of the Ancient Orient – small but lots to see, especially of Hittite stuff.  The Kadesh treaty – hi, Ramses – but also the early Arabic inscriptions – before Islam.  This tremendous sense of ferment – peoples, kings, empires coming and going in this relatively small area.  Writing, laws, poems, epics – I feel a book coming on – "The Book", in fact.  All I've got to do is learn Arabic, Hebrew, Assyrian, Babylonian, Sumerian, Akkadian, Aramaic...etc. Perhaps I'll wait a few years.

One problem being out of season – no boats leaving regularly.  So I am forced to hire one – just for myself. 100K lira to Eyüp and back – hope it's worth it.  Well, up the Golden Horn is not exactly beautiful – though the great bowl of Eyüp's hill is – but interesting.  Obviously, the Bosphorous would have been better – I should have thought to do this over the weekend.  Next time…  Vague feeling of Venice – the shipyards, the thudding engine, the smells, the constant buffeting of the wind.  Also of Paris, on the Seine.  But with the differences compared to these.  Strange UFOs on the horizon, rockets pointed Allah-wards.  

But cold.  My head is freezing, so back to the hotel for a rest, then out again to the Tünel – to check the bus times.  Then past a possible fish restaurant, to the old Pizza Hut again, usual reasons.  A week here is enough: I'd have liked to get out – Troy beckons, as do numerous other sites.  It'd be great to drive down the coast.  One day, perhaps…  At least Turkish looks doable: one irregular verb, one irregular noun ("to be"and "water").  But what really fascinates me is this sense of reaching into this whole region – where civilisation was born (pace the Chinese).  Also of Turkish stretching across into the other Turkic languages: Azerbaijani, Turkmen, Uzbek (hi, Samarkand) – a great swathe across the steppes of Central Asia, the heart of the world (good title…).

Jolly busy this place, I must say, where all the young folk "hang out", as they say.  In some ways, it sums up Turkey's integration into the West – something it claims for itself, but that the West has always rather patronisingly pooh-poohed.  You would be hard-pushed to identify any specifics here, and yet it is no mere anonymous, soulless clone.

31.3.93 Istanbul

Up by the great mosaic in Aya Sofya's gallery again.  The tourists (well, other tourists) are awful – especially the Spaniards, for some reason – lots of school parties here, it seems.  Up late, lazy breakfast.  Not doing much today – I need a holiday from this holiday, which has been pretty exhausting.  But as I like it – walking and looking a lot.  Hotel room really quite good – especially with French and Spanish satellite TV – very useful, particularly for improving my understanding of French Canadian sounds – very odd… Very cold today – as ever in Aya Sofya.  Up to the usual restaurant in Sultanahmet.  Ate döner the right way, and then followed with muhallebi (tavukgöğsü).  Very sweet, slightly rubbery, not unpleasant.

By the Blue Mosque: muezzins in stereo – one from here, the other behind me somewhere. Weird.  After buying some cassettes (including what sounds rather groovy Sufi stuff), along to the baths.  Opt for the 195K lira job.  Into cubicle – rather cold, it has to be said.  There are about 30 of these, in two tiers, in the entrance hall, old and domed.  Strip, wrap tablecloth around middle, clogs on feet, then through towel room and main hall (double door) to steam room.  There for 5 to 10 minutes, working up mild sweat.  The through to the central hall – without spectacles, not so wonderful: small openings in the ceiling, water dripping down (hi, Andrei again), steam, vague smells of soap, male bodies.

My masseur, a reasonable, apparently non-gay bloke, works me over mildly – I was expecting much more.  But it was worth it for the sense of imperial coddling, of being some lord attended to.  Lying on the warm marble, vaguely naked, relaxing, sweating, stretched etc – I felt 2000 years ago.  To one of the alcoves, where I sit and then have tepid water poured over me.  Then soaped on the head, and scrubbed rather vigorously with what looked like an oven mitt – I hope it was clean given the depth it went into my skin.

Then the haggling began: did I want a super-soapy massage? All this "assisted washing" lark was vaguely embarrassing, it has to be said, although no improprieties were committed beyond some use of body contact – on the arm, I hasten to add – by the bloke.  Poor sod: I suppose he has to make a living.  So instead of 100K lira, we agree on 50K lira, and no tips.  This service consists of lying on the floor and being massaged when soapy.  Ho-hum.  But quite relaxing, though a work-out and reflexology knocks the spots off it.  The thing about this place is its atmosphere.  Hidden away in dusty concrete Istanbul is this living fossil.  Altogether, 250K lira to experience it – rather a rip-off in retrospect.  But worth doing once, the old Cağaloğlu Hamam.

To my left, a barber (inside) snips away; the masseurs wait, dressed in their Italian-red-and-white tablecloths.  Unfree drinks are on offer (declined).  Turkish music plays in the background.  Wonderful dome above, flaking and stained plaster.  Life is...pretty good.

More destinations:

1993 Istanbul

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2022 Uzbekistan: Samarkand, Khiva, Bokhara, Tashkent - with photos

2024 Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan - with photos

2025 Sarajevo - with photos

2025 Azerbaijan - with photos

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