Istanbul

The Ortaköy Mosque in front of the Bosphorus Bridge

There’s something so colourful and exotic about the Ottoman world with its calligraphy and kilims, eunuchs and seraglios, caravanserai and hammams, belly dancers and dervishes, concubines and harems, sultans and viziers, Turkish delights and smoking hookahs. And it’s all part of the rich tapestry of Istanbul whose true founder is really the Bosphorus. As a strait it controls the main crossing point between Asia and Europe and acts as the passageway for big oil tankers and small boats mesmerically sharing the shipping lanes, some chugging along, others seemingly serene. WORDS ADAM JACOT DE BOINOD

Along it I boarded a boat from my ‘iskelesi’ (historic passenger ferryboat pier) at Besiktas that took me to Emirgan, Küçüksu to Beylerbeyi and back again. I passed the real and the fantastic in equal measure with loveless dilapidation beside stunning palaces symbolising both the city’s modern economic struggles and her glorious bygone eras.

Along the banks, the milky teal water lapped at both ‘yalis’ (summer residences built of wood) and the glorious miniature Ortaköy Mosque on the European side, and the imposing Küçüsu Summer Palace on the Asian side, a rococo building whose two bowed balconies on consoles add to the staggering beauty of its façade.

I stayed at the Four Seasons Bosphorus www. fourseasons.com/bosphorus, a former palace and gardens with an impressively neat and formal layout. What a great front row seat from which to see out over the Bosphorus and beyond to Asia. At Aqua, its restaurant, I enjoyed a variety of fish on its menu, my favourite being a sushi of salmon, avocado and spices. ›

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ISTANBUL

First Byzantium, then Constantinople and now Istanbul. What will it be called next? I met a student called Pamuk who was fairly circumspect about his city saying, “This is indeed a city moving westward but it’s still not changing as fast as it talks.” Part religious part liberal, neither East nor West, it has its own destiny and path, its own influence politically, militarily and culturally. A student told me he felt the European side wasn’t really Europe and that the Asian side was more Middle Eastern, while Eurasia was how to see it in continental terms. Back in the mid 19th century, as the Ottoman Empire had aspirations to westernise, the Sultan abandoned the Topkapi and moved to the Dolmabahçe Palace and it was here that Ataturk died in 1938. It’s an enormous edifice of white marble and by far the grandest imperial Ottoman palace on the Bosphorus: ornate, luxurious and opulent with its Baccarat crystal chandelier, beautiful Hereke carpet and Chinese vases. Dolmabahçe means ‘filled-in garden’, and this former inlet was made into a royal park with beds of scented flowers and shrubs surrounded by an imposing wall only penetrable through two gloriously elaborate grilled gates.

Meanwhile, as a classic fortress and with its strategic defence from the confluence of waterways, Topkapi Palace was home to the sultans for almost 400 years. Like Venice’s Doge’s Palace it’s all too easy to overlook the bloodshed to pay homage to its beauty. Mozart found inspiration for his Abduction from the Seraglio and Melina Mercouri and Peter Ustinov starred in Topkapi, the 1964 film about the theft of the sultan’s emeraldencrusted dagger.

Set among plane trees and cypresses, the buildings offer an explosion of colour from the Iznik tiles whose different designs work successfully. I loved all the vibrant hues of blue and the explosion of surface patterns all coexisting in an eclectic mix. Both within and outside, the spacious rooms are as richly consuming as courses of a banquet. ›

The gorgeous façade of Four Seasons Hotel Istanbul at Sultanahmet

For a more affordable meal, try the Konyali restaurant, which is on site and is an ideal spot for a break between visiting the palace and the harem. It’s an old-fashioned establishment serving up the surprise of excellent food following the lifting of the metal plate cloches with synchronised theatricality. Afterwards I stepped outside onto the palace balcony to look out over the confluence of waterways and feel the gentle breeze coming off the Sea of Marmara.

The Hagia Sophia, another of Istanbul’s ‘must see’ attractions, looms proud from all directions like the Eiffel Tower. Built at the command of Emperor Justinian in the years 523 to 537, it’s the city’s oldest and largest building and every brick remains intact. Having been the third church to stand on its site, once for Christians then for Muslims, it’s now a museum and is particularly impressive not just for its history but for its scale as an architectural feat with its many buttresses.

I felt a real excitement walking up the vast nave and standing under the great dome that the Byzantines deemed suspended from heaven by a golden chain. What assuredly are suspended are eight of the world’s largest calligraphic levhas (roundels). I tried to comprehend the architecture, the soaring vaults and the towering colonnades that swept me upwards, as was their fully intended effect.

For further along the clean and traffic-free Roman hippodrome that plays host to some smaller attractions, is the stunning symmetry of the Blue Mosque with its magnificent series of domes and semi-domes and its spacious courtyard with grandiose yet elegant proportions. Despite the mosque undergoing massive restoration, I managed to get a glimpse of its glorious interior and the stunning tiles from the workshops of Iznik and Kütahya.

Hagia Sophia by day from the A’Ya Terrace of Four Seasons Hotel Istanbul at Sultanahmet

The main facade of Four Seasons Hotel Istanbul at The Bosphorus

I walked up a steep hill past Ottoman-era wooden houses to look back spectacularly over the Haliç (Golden Horn), the city’s primary inlet. I reached the Suleymaniye Mosque, whose immense splendour and majesty was built to Sinan’s plans, the architect of 42 mosques in Istanbul. I had pointed out to me the camel skin drums placed in its dome for audibility.

But the mosque Sokullu Mehmet Paşa Cami’i was my real ‘find’. It’s set behind an old wall with cats on the cobbled street that meandered downhill towards the Sea of Marmara. I had it all to myself with just the one pair of shoes outside and the silence amplified the décor and the ambiance as the sun shone through the coloured glass panels onto the turquoise vine and flower motifs and added to a feeling of weightlessness within. ›

Across the water and in the neighbourhood of Pera is the Pera Palace Hotel which proudly shows off its former glory. Room 101 was occupied by Ataturk, 103 is where Garbo slept and 411 where Agatha Christie wrote much of A Murder on the Orient Express, a copy of which was granted reliquary status in a glass cabinet beside the antique elevator which, along with the salons, ensures the hotel’s spirit endures.

I stayed next at the nearby Four Seasons Sultanahmet www.fourseasons.com/istanbul, a spice yellow building and former jail until 1986. It’s fantastically positioned between the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, both of which I saw close up from the hotel’s roof top terrace. There was a film crew shooting allegedly either Poirot (an actor was swanning about in a white suit and boater) or was it Charlie’s Angels (as they called ‘action’ on a car burnt to bits out in the street)? All this from the city that brought us From Russia With Love.

I went one evening to Hodjapasha in Eminönü (having bought my tourist pass www.istanbultouristpass. com to watch a Dervish performance. It cost 120 liras, started at 7pm and lasted an hour. I became absorbed at the same pace as the five dancers whose routine, with musical accompaniment, involves them pointing their masculine right arm upwards to receive energy that their feminine left then releases downwards. They seemed sufficiently ‘sent’ not to get giddy and they finished their whirling with their feet as steady as top gymnasts. ›

Looking across the strait from Europe to Asia

I love rummaging about as a potential purchaser. Down the ‘Avenue of the Mat-Makers’ are ropes and buckles, buckets and cooking knives, hessian bags and baskets of every shape, and size. A boy as young as 12 was carting bags of rags twice his size as others brought trays of tea to shopkeepers holding their fort. Nowhere among this cornucopia of emporiums could I find what I discovered in a Turkish dictionary, namely a paçaci (a man who sells sheep’s trotters) or a cigerci (a seller of liver and lungs)!

Formerly and still formally called the Mısır Çarşısı (Egyptian Market), the Spice Market is an L-shaped building. First organised into eight separate guilds that included the Merchants of Musk Sherbets, the market now has only six out of the 88 shops devoted to its original products. But I could sense the exotic allure that caught the attention of western merchants across the centuries with its rich colourful displays in pyramid heaps and open sacks. On sale are sandalwood, ambergris, mastic, henna, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and pistachios.

Just a 10-minute walk away is the Grand Bazaar. Apart from a few rug stalls and the Kapali Carsi Lonca (at number 58) with its beautiful towels and unusual nazar boncuk (evil eyes) generally there’s too much touristic tat. At least my taste was restored by rummaging among the authenticity of second-hand books at Sahaflar Çarşısı outside the bazaar.

Yes the hawkers approach you but they are not over-persistent and, of their more imaginative spiels, I loved: “Here I am,” and “Excuse me, you forgot your carpet.” But better than being heckled is the fun of bartering. The vendors enjoy it too. ›

The Hagia Sophia at night

FIVE OTHER TIPS

Z Take lira not euros and don’t buy anything you can’t carry home (like a carpet!). Z Getting about: Taxis are comparatively cheap for when your feet go on strike but only step into a yellow cab (not orange) and only with a driver with a Sat Nav screen. Z Don’t expect English to be understood by more than a few locals most of whom are in the tourism business. Z If you see a mosque that’s open to visitors pop in as it’s often closed for prayers. Don’t put your shoes upside down on the shelf as it augurs someone will die at home. Women usually wear scarves or risk losing their place in the queue by being sent to the back to borrow one. Z Always get a second opinion on street directions, ferry companies and their timetables and all opening times as there’s no definitive website or guidebook.

As the Turkish proverb goes, “zemheride yoğurt isteyen, cebinde bir inek taşır” “whoever wants yoghurt in winter must carry a cow in his pocket” (i.e. “if you want something difficult, you must be willing to take the trouble to obtain it.”).

But be careful to understand the locals’ gestures. A head tilted back means no, a movement of the hand up and down means yes and a movement of the head from left to right expresses doubt while a hand over the heart means thanks. e

The glorious colours of this exotic city