Istanbul Part 1

Our flight from Rome touched down in Istanbul mid afternoon on Sunday, and we headed straight down to the metro station, feeling rather brave. You buy a token for 3 lira (1 GPB or 2 NZD) and you can go as far as you like. The metro, and then a tram, whisked us into the centre of town in smooth, air conditioned comfort.

After being able to speak English in the first 3 countries, and be able to speak/read a bit in the next two countries, it is a bit daunting to be somewhere you can't even pronounce the signs: "Which stop is next?" "It's ssssss......kkkk......chhhh... a long word, something starting with C!"

A Turkish hotel. The shower is wonky, and the window handle keeps falling off but it looks great.

After settling in to our hotel in the old part of the city, we went to look for some food. There are plenty of "Point and shoot" type restaurants where you go in, point at what you want. The chef dollops it onto your plate and gives it to you, and you sit down. I love it because I'm not very good at waiting - specially for food. The waiter gets your drinks and jots down what you chose.

Turkish food isn't known as one of the great cuisines, but we are loving it. It's about as close as we have been to home cooking on this trip. They use lots of fresh vegetables like aubergines, tomatoes, spinach, potato, and make spiced stews using just enough meat. The carbs are provided by rice, and beautiful, fresh, flatbreads. There are no butter-thickened sauces or wine reductions in sight.

One of the high points of our honeymoon in Istanbul was being woken by the call to prayer from the Aya Sofya nearby. Our hotel for this visit is right between the Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque. Maybe it's the acoustics, maybe speaker technology has advanced in 25 years, but wow, when it started at 5:20 we practically fell put of bed. Or maybe our idea of romance has changed....

Once we had gorged on the breakfast buffet (when was the last time you had croissants, baked beans and olives in the same meal?) we walked over to the Topkapi Palace. The Topkapi Palace was the residence of the sultans of the Ottoman Empire, and the centre of government. Compared to the architecture of the Vatican and Paris, it is very low key, being never more than two stories high. The reason for this is that the one of the key tenets of the Islamic faith is to live modestly. Also the sultans were expected to have a "trade", so many of the beautiful panels of calligraphy you see inside the palace were created by the sultans themselves. The palace has amazing views out over the Golden Horn and is designed to allow a refreshing breeze to circulate even on the hottest days.

Inside the harem, the rooms are decorated with lovely blue patterned tiles and geometric designs. The harem sounds quite exciting until you learn that it wasn't there to give the sultan a good time. No siree, the whole place was a rigidly controlled hierarchy run by the mother of the heir to the throne and her team of eunuchs. It was just to preserve the succession of the "correct" heir. Princes with the wrong mum often got strangled. Never was so much bitchiness concentrated in one place. Never mind ruling over half the known world, the poor sultan was probably too scared to go inside.

After a cuppa we were off again, Ann navigating us through the Grand Bazaar and down to the Spice Market. The Republic Day national holiday had started, and everyone was out with their kids, taking the mother-in-law out to buy a new headscarf. Fathers-in-law were sitting in cafés, playing backgammon and drinking tea with their mates.

To us, backgammon is a quiet, relaxing pursuit. For them, it's a spectator sport involving passers-by shouting with laughter or commiseration, and giving unhelpful advice as the players abuse each other and slap the counters down on the board.

Both the bazaar and spice market are a riot of colour, texture, and aroma. There is a lot of tourist stuff there, but mostly it is locals stocking up before the holiday.

After the markets we got a doner kebab from a tiny shop packed with big moustachioed Turks in a tiny alley. This time there was nothing to point at, and the menu on the wall was entirely in Turkish. Gulp. Shouting "doner, two, doner!" while making the international gesture for "Please don't ask me anything, just give me what everyone else is having, except the glass of salted buttermilk" did the trick. A proper Turkish doner is a marvellous thing. Charcoal grilled lamb, folded into fresh bread, with some salad, and picked green chilli peppers.

We carried on down the hill to the Galata bridge, to scope out the ferries for tomorrow and look at the fishermen lining the bridge. They were doing pretty well, catching scores of little sprats about 10-15cm long. As always the seagulls were doing best of all, pouncing on any fish or bait that dropped back into the water.