Staying awake in Istanbul

Wall early before people hit the streets, Istanbul, Turkey

Istanbul’s at a geographic crossroads, everyone knows that, but I didn’t expect to feel it so keenly, right from the moment you come to a sweaty halt at passport control. Parked in the non-Turkish citizens line, we hear arrival announcements wash over us: Beirut, Cairo, Tbilisi, Damascus, Bishkek; each followed some minutes later by a wave of additions to the clogged queue. We made it to the front as the Georgians made it to the back, but we were duly informed a visa was required, and ended up joining the Turkmen (and women) as they turned up. armloads of shopping bags packed with fresh produce; a pair of melons in netting among other things; all bright headscarves, patent crocodile leather jackets, and a strong need to push in front.

Eventually, we’re in a cab, with the meter on (having avoided the touts), speeding down the empty highway toward Sultanahmet, passing through a rough break in an ancient fortification, skirting the old city walls.

Only Day 1, so Naava's not sick of the camera yet, Istanbul, Turkey

Unable to check-in until early afternoon, we find ourselves out on the cobbled thoroughfare of Divan Yolu giddy with exhaustion, walking into the Bosphorus sunrise, or at least attempting to make it to the shore.

We saw the water from across the highway, at the entrance to the old city, and decided to turn back in search of an increasingly urgent breakfast, which we eventually found at the stunning rooftop of a small hotel. Despite the directions given to us to a better eating area by a chirpy German-sounding dude emptying a kettle into the gutter, who seemed about the only person out and about before eight, apart from the first of an endless parade of street cleaners, and the stirring vagrants dotting the park benches, we had top-notch views and a distinctly Eastern European breakfast of bread, pale cheese, sliced cucumber and tomato, with the added surprise of olives and salty fetta, and tea, instant coffee and reconstituted orange juice to wash it down. All of this tasted rather fine with the 270-degree views over rooftops to the wandering watercraft of the Bosphorus, and the amiable company of a couple from western Canada, Barry and Judy (who was born in Kalgoorlie).

Very Old Baptism bath, Topkapi Palace, Istanbul, Turkey

Naava’s plan was to head straight to the Topkapi Palace and the Harem, both of which are in walking distance of or breakfast and which didn’t open until nine, an hour after our breakfast. As it happens though, it pays to turn up early to the palace, when the tourist mass is at its nadir. It’s peaceful, relaxing and soulful when we follow the audio guide through the grounds, with an easy splendour reminiscent of the Alhambra in Grenada, but altogether more laid back.

Before the palace, we make a crucial stop – Andrew’s first Turkish coffee, at the outdoor cafe in front of the Blue Mosque. Look, it’s not the greatest coffee, and the one I had later near our hotel in Sultanahmet was better, but as the first, it will always remain dear to my caffeine-dependent heart.

Meanwhile, back at the palace, an army of groundsweepers keeps the place tidy, lending a soft, scratching heartbeat, while ever-louder strains of French, German, Italian, English, American, Australian, Arabic and Turkish melt into and eventually overwhelm the still, humid morning air.

Tiles, Tiles, Tiles, Topkapi Palace, Istanbul, Turkey

There’s no point in giving you a grand overview of the palace, but for me the highlights were the reliquary, containing what are said to be Moses’s staff, David’s sword and Abraham’s cooking pot, among fragments of Mohammed’s beard, his seal, mantle and the swords of his friends, and the display of royal costume, in which delicate, invaluable silk kaftans survive gleaming, much as they would have hundreds of years ago.

Post-palace, the Harem is a gloriously decorated series of gates, corridors, chambers and courtyards largely devoid of furniture and exhibition pieces, though still well worth the visit.

Studious Naava, Topkapi Palace, Istanbul, Turkey

By this stage completely non-functioning, we stroll back up to Divan Yolu, and stuff ourselves with Turkish pizza and salad. I take a gamble with Ayran, the national dairy drink, a twisted ottoman equivalent to lassi, which tastes something like thin, salty, liquid white cheese. No doubt an acquired taste, and the last one I’ll order.

Sheep Cheese Pizza and Ayran, Istanbul, Turkey

And now, as I write this, we’re checked into the Faros Hotel with a studio room overlooking the street and an alley offshoot, listening to the madness outside, trying with all our might not to fall asleep before we head out to find the nearest secret synagogue for Friday night action.

Blue Mosque, Istanbul, Turkey