Istanbul sketch

Dear readers,

I have been silent and depriving you for far too long. This has been through an enervating cocktail of indecision and lethargy with which I shall not bore you - suffice to say that your humble correspondent prostrates himself before you in the greatest humility and regret.

Anyway...

My travelling companion and I recently spent five days in Istanbul, hard by the Sea of Marmara and staring across from Europe to Asia. I thought I might share with you some of my reflections on the visit, but I must issue a disclaimer - it was my first trip to Istanbul, and I make no claims to great or original insight. Doubtless some readers - there are some of you out there, aren't there? - will know the city a good deal better than I, and will have more interesting things to say. If so, write your own blog.

Accommodation

We stayed at the excellent Hotel Amira, in Sultanahmet, not far from the coast. I stumbled upon its existence largely by accident, having conducted a very cursory search on the Internet. It describes itself as a "boutique hotel", which can often make me reach for my revolver, Goering-like, but in this case it was an apt title. Opened two years ago, the hotel is forged from two adjacent apartment blocks, and has very spacious and comfortable rooms, and an inviting lower-ground floor bar and eating area. On our arrival, the concierge, the charming Alehandro, waved our luggage away to a porter, then swept us to the bar for a complimentary drink (Turkish tea for my companion, white wine for me), where he unfolded a map of Istanbul and ran through a number of sights to see and places to eat. It was a marvellously delicate performance: there was no hint of hectoring or having planned an itinerary for us, merely a desire to be helpful and to guide us through the tourist maze of the city. In the end, we took up several of his recommendations, and none of them disappointed us.

The hotel also boasts a well-appointed fitness centre. Your correspondent is not usually much in the market for such facilities, but I did avail myself of an hour-long massage which left me greatly soothed and invigorated, though there was no doubt a lesson to be learned from the increasingly stern admonitions of the masseuse to "Relax!".

The minibar in our room was reasonably priced, and well stocked. Particularly impressive was the provision of half-bottles of vodka and scotch - this in a country where almost everyone is Muslim.

Perhaps the most charming feature, however, was the provision of (again, complimentary) afternoon tea: Turkish coffee or çay, pastries and cakes, bread and cream cheese, and savoury sandwiches. We took the opportunity on a number of occasions to retreat to the calm of the tea room and read while our batteries recharged.

The sights

I had, of course, read a great deal over the years about Istanbul (and Constantinople), so I had some notion of what there was to see and what I wanted to see. Hagia Sophia (I can't quite bring myself to say "Ayasofya") was near the top of my list, and didn't disappoint. For all the predations suffered after the fall of Constantinople in 1453, Justinian's basilica remains breath-taking. The sheer size and ambition which the domed nave displays boggle the mind. To think that the basic structure dates from the sixth century AD, especially compared to what was happening in northern Europe at that time, is a rather humbling experience, and I could sympathise with Justinian's murmured, "Solomon, I have surpassed thee". The destruction of the mosaics is a great shame, of course, though some have survived and been restored. At the heights of its glory, packed with worshippers and shining in gold, it must have been spectacular.

The Hippodrome is an odd thing. Hardly anything, of course, remains; the Serpent Column (much reduced) and two obelisks from the spina (of course, the gilded horses are now in Venice...). The rest is nothing more than a pedestrianised piazza, Sultan Ahmet Square, with the slightly peculiar addition of a water feature built to commemorate the visit of the German Emperor Wilhelm II in 1898 (a useful reminder, perhaps, of quite how hand-in-glove with the Second Reich the crumbling Ottoman Empire was). And yet, maybe it's the romantic in me which found it surprisingly easy to imagine the ancient structure, the long oval, the terraces of seating, the imperial Kathisma linked directly to the Great Palace. This was the beating heart of Constantinople, where the Blues, the Greens, the Reds and the Whites battled it out in chariot races and the Nika riots caught light in AD 532.

The Basilica Cistern was recommended by a friend, and, while an underground water reservoir may not seem at first glance like the most enticing spectacle, it was well worth the totter down the steep and greasy steps. The cistern was built by (who else?) the Emperor Justinian, to hold water from the Belgrade Forest which was piped to the city, 12 miles away, by the Valens Aqueduct. It could hold 100,000 tons of that water, and even today, 1,500 years after it was built, is an extraordinary engineering feat. Turkish 'elf-and-safety laws may be more lax than our own; the railings preventing an unwary visitor falling into the cistern itself were hardly confidence-inspiring and a relatively tall person would hit the upper rail somewhere below his or her centre of gravity. Nevertheless, we survived unscathed both that and the strange costumed band which was playing in the gloom.

A boat cruise up the lower part of the Bosphorus was a good sighting experience for subsequent visits. We began just beyond the cargo terminal, sailed up the European side as far as the second suspension bridge, then crossed to the Asian side and sailed back. Our genial guide, Aziz, was helpful and informative, though there was an air of the cri de coeur about his repeated reminders that the Bosphorus is an international waterway, so that, unlike the Suez and Panama canals, it returns no revenue to the host country for the very considerable traffic. The weather was not great that day, so we huddled inside the boat, but we saw a good chunk of each coast; particularly impressive were the Rumeli fort, built by Mehmet II in 1451 and 1452 to provide a base for the eventual and successful siege of the city, and its older, Asian counterpart, the Anatolian fort, across the waterway. I have an instinctive sympathy for Byzantium, and there was a melancholy about these places. It was a symbol of the encroachment of the Ottomans, the almost inevitable tightening of the noose around Constantinople's throat.

Our trip to the boat was punctuated by a visit to the Spice Bazaar. I will say this now: I hate bazaars, markets, haggling, hawkers and all that sort of nonsense. I do not want to buy a carpet from you, Mr Turk, no matter how cheery a conversation you may strike up with me. I am too British ever to be able to haggle effectively, and would rather just run away. To the tour operator's credit, they herded us into a pre-arranged stall just inside the Bazaar, where a very cheery vendor (who reminded me a little of Omid Djalili) proffered Turkish delight and tea. I know that the Turks, like their Arab neighbours, place great store by hospitality, and I do not generally like to offend (certainly not by accident), but I really do not like either Turkish delight or tea, so was left in a difficult position. It may be for this reason of social awkwardness that I left the stall with two kilogrammes of Turkish delight and more than £100 worth of beluga caviar. (An interesting observation: the vendor seemed both apologetic and defensive about the fact that of all his wares the caviar and the saffron were the only things which didn't come from Turkey, both being Iranian in origin.)

Food and drink

I am wary of describing anything as characteristically "Turkish", "Greek", "Lebanese", "Cypriot" or whatever food. The cuisine of the Levant is a great melting pot, and much the better for it. We ate very well. There was excellent grilled meat, splendid hummus, and some outstanding stews. A special mention must go to Cafe Rumeli, a wonderful eating place housed in an old printing factory just off Divanyolu, full of little nooks and crannies and warm fires. We had three excellent courses, some raki and some local wine, and the bill for two came to a little under £60. It was difficult to feel robbed. And the award for the most picaresque meal must go to the Terrace Restaurant in the Armada Hotel. Certainly, the views were stunning: the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia spotlit on one side, the Sea of Marmara on the other. It was, of course, the evening of 14 February, and there was a very reasonable set menu which included the magic words "unlimited local drinks". We certainly didn't lose money on the deal. The musical entertainment was provided by a (very good) jazz guitarist, whose repertoire seemed to consist largely of instrumental versions of 80s and 90s pop standards (Sting seemed a particular favourite), but who am I to criticise? The man knew his audience, and some older couples were hurling themselves around the dance floor with what I can only describe as gay abandon.

When it comes to drink, of course, Turkey means raki, and I enjoyed a great deal of it (plus the litre which came home with me thanks to duty-free). It was the favoured tipple of Kemal Atatürk, the country's founding father (whose picture is much in evidence and whose reputation it is a criminal offence to insult), and I can very much see why. I like pastis too, and those cool, milky, aniseed concoctions are so terribly easy to quaff in industrial quantities. But I must also say that I found the Turkish wine we had very drinkable, and astoundingly good value. We didn't try any white, but the red, while all much in the same, dry style, was tasty and much more refined than I had probably snobbishly expected. If only it could be exported at such prices! There was also a delightful liqueur which the staff at Cafe Rumeli gave us; it was clear and tasted of pear drops and bubblegum, but I have no idea what it was. Some Internet research needed, I think...

A final word for the local beer, Efes. I only tried the basic draught lager, but it was just as good as any cooking lager we have here, and very thirst-quenching when you've walked up a steep hill. Or got out of bed. Or whatever.

Conclusions

I shall certainly return to Istanbul. A fascinating city, in Europe but really not of Europe. Like other Eastern cities I have visited, everything seemed to be either a thousand years old, or else half-built. The people were genuinely welcoming, even when I declined to buy any carpets, and the food and drink were excellent. As for sightseeing, there is enough to fill a dozen trips and more. Back to the Hotel Amira before long, I'm sure.