Istanbul and Western Turkey

23rd June to 1st July 1995

Day One, Friday 23rd June 1995

Our British Airways 757 began its descent over the sea, heading for Ataturk Airport, Istanbul. A haze of pollution and also the sea filled my entire view; the result was that it was more like looking out of an underwater porthole in a submarine than an aerial view. As we came in over the jumble of apartment blocks, the scene was not entirely new to me, as this was the airport we had stopped at on our way back from Pakistan.

I emerged from the airport terminal. This is where most visitors to this part of Turkey face their first problem. Ataturk Airport is a massive 18km from the city centre, a taxi could set you back as much as $18 US. I opted for a free minibus to the domestic terminal and then caught a bus which was heading for the Taksim area of the city. We took a leisurely drive along the coast, off of which were tens of huge ships from oil tankers to freighters, waiting to negotiate the narrow Bosphorus.

I got off at the end of the route, somewhere in Taksim, the northern part of the city. I was travelling on an extremely tight budget, having the equivalent of £17 per day which had to cover accommodation, food, transport and admission to the sights. Taking a taxi all the way from Taksim to the old part of the city (where most of the cheap hotels and sights are situated) would be far too expensive. I therefore faced a trek through the heat and traffic of the city carrying a 16kg backpack. I had no idea of exactly where I was but I had a rough map and a compass. If I headed in the general direction of the sea, I would arrive at the docks, be able to see the Galata Bridge which crosses over into the old city and go from there.

The heat was the main problem, and I had not been walking long before beads of sweat were dripping off my hands. I also stuck out like a sore thumb, carrying a huge pack in the middle of a bustling city. Having to refer to my map frequently made it clear to everyone that I was unsure of what I was doing and of course, hesitancy makes you a potential target for pickpockets and hawkers alike. The street scenes however, were never dull. I hadn't been walking long before I was in a quiet cobbled street, where old men were smoking water pipes and playing backgammon; as an amplified muezzin gave the call to prayer.

When I finally gave up I had actually done remarkably well. With hindsight I was only a short distance from the Galata Bridge and ultimately a cheap hotel. I flagged down a taxi and put my pack in the boot.

The driver, Mustafa, was a lively character but very bad at driving. I had asked to be taken to the Hotel Anadolu; the cheapest in the part of the old city called Sultanahmet were almost all of Istanbul’s main attractions can be found. He obviously didn't know it, and had the alarming habit of referring to my map while driving down a busy street. At one point, while looking at my book he nearly ploughed into a line of parked cars. Despite his limited English and my non existent Turkish, he was soon pointing out the different mosques, explaining that he was a Muslim (as is ninety seven percent of the Turkish population) and asking if I was a Christian.

Finally I was dropped off outside the Hotel Anadolu, in a quiet Sultanahmet back street. I got a room with no problems and it only cost the equivalent of $5 ( I will quote most prices in American dollars since at the time of writing the Turkish lira suffers from an inflation rate of 75% and rapid devaluation even on a day to day basis).

It was an immense relief to be free from having to carry my backpack. Although tired, I wasn't going to waste the evening and set off at once in the direction of Istanbul's two most famous attractions, Aya Sophia and the splendid Blue Mosque.

Aya Sophia, meaning Church of the Divine Wisdom, was the greatest church in Christendom for nearly 1000 years, when it was superseded by St. Peters in Rome. In 1453 it was converted into a mosque by Mehmet the Conqueror, when he captured Constantinople (as Istanbul was then known). It was closed at this time of the day, but I was content to just stand and look at it from the outside for now.

Directly opposite the Aya Sophia, on the other side of a pleasant garden surrounded by cafes, stands the Blue Mosque, with its wonderful façade of domes and semi-domes. While photographing it, one of many drinks sellers wearing an elaborate costume and drinks container insisted on posing in the foreground while pouring a drink, which he then gave me.

What happened next was a classic example of the most annoying aspect of my visit What happens is this: you will be walking down the street when someone will call out to you and ask you where you're from, and generally be very friendly. Then he will suggest you go to his shop or a friends shop. Once installed in the shop you will be given free tea and made to feel under an obligation, and after this is the hard sell. It always seemed to be carpet touts who resorted to these tactics and they were extremely hard to get away from. Having lost a lot of time trying to talk my way out, I headed down to the shore.

The anglers were out in numbers, silhouetted against the sky and with numerous big ships out in the Bosphorus as a backdrop. I knew that at 9 pm there would be a light show at the Blue Mosque and so when the time came, I headed back up the hill and took a seat at the edge of the garden between the Mosque and Aya Sophia.

I have to say that the light show was disappointing, but then Mehmet Aga, the architect, had created a masterpiece of shape and proportion and then someone in the 20th century had believed they could improve on it by adding a few coloured spotlights, and a loud and melodramatic pre-recorded commentary. I didn't stay to the end as it dragged on for what seemed like an eternity and I did not enjoy dodging the May Bugs that swooped on the crowd every few seconds (I’m not scared of many insects, but May Bugs really make my skin crawl!).

Predictably, my hotel was rather shabby, but much more annoying than the dirty state of the washroom was the door. This had been painted in bright red paint and as you made your way out after having cleaned yourself up, it would come off all over your hands. My room did have a very nice view of a small mosque and apart from during the call to prayer, was also quiet.

Day Two, Saturday 24th June.

Having arrived in Istanbul, it was now time for me to leave! I would be travelling across the Sea of Marmara by hydrofoil and then by bus to the town of Bursa. Like Istanbul the town could boast of some interesting Islamic architecture and bazaars. First though, I had to get there.

Early in the morning, as the city was waking up, I headed for the Galata Bridge. Once again I had to carry my backpack, as I would be staying overnight in Bursa. Once I had made my way over the Galata bridge (which was completed in 1992 to replace the old pontoon bridge, and was damaged by a terrorist bomb just a few weeks after it opened) all I had to do was follow the shore line North East along the Bosphorus. Somewhere along the shore was the hydrofoil terminal at Kabatas.

It was a fairly long walk but not an unpleasant one. I found the terminal easily enough and there was an open air cafe next door right by the waterline. With the waters of the Bosphorus lapping against the dock wall, the fabulous skyline of Sultanahmet in the distance and Turkish music in the background, the place was very atmospheric and restful.

The ticket office at the terminal was the exact opposite, as people queued in the heat. I was trying to get a ticket to Yalova but it appeared that I would have to wait half an hour before they actually started selling tickets for the next hydrofoil.

The hydrofoil itself was not what I had expected; you couldn't sit on deck because there wasn't one. Everyone was crammed into one level and the doors were fastened at either end, if the craft sank no-one would have had a chance! Once the journey was under way there were further disappointments. There was so much pollution that the shoreline disappeared in an impenetrable haze, almost as soon as we had set off. With nothing to do I slept for most of the journey.

The noise of the hydrofoil maneuvering into position at the dock side woke me up and soon after, I stepped off the gangway and onto Asian soil. The town of Yalova is dominated by a huge statue of Kemal Ataturk, founder of the Turkish republic, which stands in the main square and transport hub.

I soon found a bus that was heading for Bursa. My ticket had a specific seat number, and I was amazed to find that the Turks strictly adhered to the system. I had been given a window seat, and fortunately the same thing happened on every bus journey I made in Turkey.

From Yalova, the bus climbed up into dramatic hills along a loosely gritted road with no markings. The countryside was fairly interesting, but the few towns we passed through were a dull mix of high rise flats and bland shops. At one point in the journey, a steward passed down the aisle with some kind of fragrant oil, which was poured into the cupped hands of those who wanted it. They then rubbed their faces with it and the pleasant smell of the oil filled the bus.

When I arrived in Bursa at the otogar (bus station) I gathered that it was a fair distance from the centre of town and so I took a taxi. I was heading for the Yeni Ankara Oteli (New Ankara Hotel) which was probably the cheapest in town. The Otelis are mainly used by farmers in town for market day or by people who have come in from the countryside to look for work, and consequently are of a low standard!

We pulled up outside an extremely drab and small façade in a side street, near the town's great mosque (Ulu Camii).Inside it was extremely dark, but I could just about make out a man sitting behind a desk at the end of the reception. He spoke no English but with a bit of Turkish I managed to ask for a cheap room and that was certainly what I got. It only cost the equivalent of $4 and I was about to find out why. I was shown up a dark flight of stairs, the floor was brown, the walls were brown and the ceiling was brown. Whoever decorated the entire hotel obviously liked brown a great deal. My room had two beds, no carpet and a low bedside table covered in old newspaper with an empty wine bottle on top. The communal bathroom was very basic, just two toilets of the hole and two foot print variety and a sink. The showers were padlocked and cost extra per shower. The whole bathroom stank.

Having left my pack at the hotel, I now had the rest of the day to explore Bursa. I started with the nearest place of interest, the Ulu Camii, just across the road.

This mosque was built in the Seljuk (Persian) style and completed in 1399.The interior was surprisingly bright, with a large central ablutions fountain and huge works of calligraphy on the walls.

Near the Ulu Camii is the Bedesten (Covered Bazaar) and it seemed more of a genuine market than a tourist trap. It was humid inside and crowded with people and so I didn't spend long wandering round the shops. I did however, buy a pair of flip flops, since I had forgotten to bring my own and given the state of the hotels I had stayed at it was clear they would be essential.

From there I made my way to the east of the town centre, trying to find the Yesil Turbe (Green Tomb), Yesil Camii (Green Mosque) and the Emir Sultan Camii. It didn't take long for me to leave the busy streets and find myself in more peaceful surroundings. I went first to the Yesil Turbe, an unremarkable building from the outside, but home to stunning green tiles and intricate tombs on the inside. The main tomb, that of Mehmet I is decorated with tiles making up an incredible work of Arabic calligraphy, with every inch covered in the flowing script. Also inside was a very impressive Mihrab.

Near the tomb was Yesil Camii, which was entered via a beautiful carved marble doorway. The inside was dim but very impressive, the cool glazed green tiles receding into the balconies that are closed to the public.

I walked up the hill past a huge cemetery, occupied by a forest of ottoman style gravestones, a thin pole or slab with a stone turban on the top. At the crown of the hill was the Emir Sultan Camii, which commands a pleasant viewpoint across the valley. Inside the courtyard was the ablutions fountain and a door led off to the mosque itself. The courtyard was hard on the eyes as the whitewashed walls and paving reflected the sunlight.

Back at the bottom of the hill I took the opportunity to look round the Turkish and Islamic arts museum, which housed some interesting exhibits of calligraphy, ottoman costume and embroidery. The museum was not a big place, having only six or seven rooms in which to house exhibits.

Heading back to the Bedesten I was looking for the Emir and Koza Hans adjoining the covered bazaar. In June and September there is a market in these Caravanserais where silk dealers come to buy and sell the precious white cocoons from which silk is obtained. Unfortunately, I was not in luck, while there was plenty of silk cloth for sale on the balcony running round the top of the courtyards, there were no cocoons to be seen, and instead of the bustle of a market in the Hans, I found tea shops and people relaxing.

I tried to walk to an area of the town known as the Muradiye complex where there are numerous tombs and a mosque. However, it seemed a very long way and I had the habit of stopping every now and then at cafes. At one I was offered a water pipe with my glass of apple tea, but declined, preferring to watch other people and their bubbling pipes.

Later, as the afternoon was fast becoming early evening I spotted a cafe of the beer serving variety, stepped into the large gardens and found a table. It still seemed strange to drink alcohol in an Islamic country, but I had been walking all day and the beer was very refreshing.

It was disappointing not to have found the Muradiye complex but the evening in the gardens had been enjoyable. I took a taxi back to the hotel.

Day Three, Sunday 25th June

I woke up in the small hours, conscious that I had to catch an early bus in order to get on to the hydrofoil back to European Turkey. Unable to get back to sleep I went along to the bathroom to wash my hair in the sink.

My mistake was going back to bed, I then overslept, but the killer blow was that although I arrived by taxi at the bus station in good time, I had to take a later bus. The bus journey seemed long but at least it was considerably cooler than the first time. The minutes went by as we halted in the various small towns along the route, the driver sounding the horn for custom. I knew the times for the hydrofoils from Yalova to Kabatas and as we pulled into the square near the statue of Ataturk I could see it would be a close run thing. Unfortunately, although I ran to the hydrofoil terminal, I was too late and had to get the next one at 1.30 p.m. The hydrofoil I should have been on was slowly disappearing into the haze.

I decided not to waste the time I now had to spend in Yalova, I found a cafe and ordered inegolu kofte (meatballs), to avoid having to spend time eating later on. At one o'clock I went back to the dock to catch the hydrofoil. Again the journey was rather dull although we did pass close to several small, steep and rocky islands.

"Sailing to Byzantium" across the Sea of Marmara has inspired many a writer, poet and artist and it was certainly fascinating to watch the minarets and domes of Istanbul drift past the windows, however I imagine the experience has been lessened considerably by the amount of smog which hangs over the city these days.

Stepping ashore at Kabatas I immediately headed for a taxi which took me back to Sultanahmet. I had decided to upgrade my accommodation and so instead of going to the Hotel Anadolu, I went to the Hotel Park, described in my guidebook as being perhaps the best deal in the area. I wasn't disappointed. A single room would have cost $15 but I got the price down to $14 dollars by not having breakfast. The hotel was spotless, the staff were friendly and my room was clean and modern.

Starting my tour of Istanbul afresh, I decided to begin where I had left off. Aya Sophia was now open, and so I bought a ticket and headed for the main door, underneath the huge buttressed ramparts. When it was built, the main dome was the largest of its kind and would not have been possible were it not for the use of very light porous bricks. The inside was lighter than I had expected, but a big disappointment was that the ceiling of the main dome was mostly covered by an enormous scaffolding tower. As I walked round, the curious mix of mosque and church became apparent, a mosaic of Mary and Jesus decorated the ceiling in one corner while a Mihrab facing Mecca dominated another. While he was alive, Kemal Ataturk declared Aya Sophia to be a museum, probably a wise decision considering the potential for conflict between Christians and Muslims over its use.

A switchback ramp lead up to the balcony; where the main items of interest were the mosaics. The best one was that of Christ, Mary and John the Baptist. The view from the gallery also allowed a better view of the patterns decorating the high semi domes and ceiling.

Leaving the Aya Sophia I walked across the road, past the machine gun wielding anti-terrorist police, and through the gardens to the Blue Mosque.

The interior of the Blue Mosque was just as much of a visual treat as the exterior, the walls and pillars were embellished with incredibly detailed floral patterns, twisting and interwoven so that they seemed to fill the whole mosque. As usual the floor was carpeted but bare and in the actual prayer area (closed off from visitors), a few worshippers made the ritual prayers towards Mecca.

From the Blue Mosque, I made my way out through the square called the Hippodrome and along Sultanahmet's main street, Divan Yolu. This leads eventually to the Beyazit mosque and while wandering around near there, I found myself in the old book bazaar. Dusk was approaching; the cacophony of muezzins gave the call to prayer giving the bazaar a sudden added atmosphere. The most interesting items for sale were illuminated pages from the Koran that were allegedly one hundred and fifty to two hundred years old.

I emerged from the bazaar to find myself opposite the entrance to the Istanbul University, because it was a Sunday, the area between Divan Yolu and the entrance had become one enormous flea market where you could buy anything from CD players to t-shirts. In between the touts and the tourists stalked the ever present drink sellers in their exaggerated costumes.

Moving through the back streets of the part of the old city called Laleli I came to Istanbul's largest mosque, the Süleymani Camii (the mosque of Süleyman the magnificent).Once again the inside of the mosque was impressive but the most enjoyable part of my visit were the gardens. In one section were the huge tombs of Mimar Sinan (the architect), Suleyman the Magnificent and his wife Haseki Hürrem Sultan as well as a huge ottoman cemetery with its tall turbaned grave stones. In the rest of the grounds the only sounds were those of the water sprinklers. At the far end of the garden was a low stone wall, beyond that a series of domes and minaret-like chimneys dropped away, revealing a marvellous view of the blue waters of the Bosphorus with the Bosphorus suspension bridge in the distance.

I made the long walk back to the Hotel Park, where I ordered a cold beer and sat up on the roof garden. From there I could look out over the Bosphorus or over the roof tops of Sultanahmet at Aya Sophia and the Blue Mosque. It must have been one of the best look-outs in Istanbul and one that I never tired of throughout my visit.

In the evening I was wandering around the old city when I decided I would try to find a late opening post office to sell back the useless telephone tokens I had paid a small fortune for in Yalova. I was directed down a dim side street but there was no sign of a post office whatsoever. I asked directions from two American women. They hadn't seen any post offices but suggested I might like to join them in looking for somewhere to eat. Like most of the people I met, their trip to Turkey was just part of a very long itinerary away from home.

After drifting around aimlessly for a while we ended up at a place called the Backpacker's Underground Cafe which served cheap beer (50p for a pint) and truly enormous sandwiches for £1.50. Once there we joined a Canadian couple, David and Christine, who were sitting at the next table.

When I had said goodbye and left the cafe I did not know exactly where I was, but fortunately, in Istanbul you are never far from one landmark or another and soon I spotted one of the illuminated minarets of the Blue Mosque and navigated my way back to the hotel.

Day 4, Monday 26th June.

Early in the morning I set off along Divan Yolu heading for one of the most famous places in Istanbul, the Grand Bazaar. For a very long time one of my ambitions had been to visit the Grand Bazaar, a maze of covered alley ways that are home to around 4000 shops. At 8.30 a.m. I was outside one of the main gates waiting for the Bazaar to open for the day's trading, once inside, I found that it was darker than I had imagined it would be and much more confusing. There weren't many people around and quite a few of the shops were still closed. I explored the puzzling array of arched tunnels, reaching the very heart of the market at one point before deciding to come back another time. The bazaar is really something of a tourist trap but it was most definitely worth a look. When I did come back, one of the things I noticed were the number of intricately carved Meerschaum tobacco pipes for sale, a commodity that Turkey is famous for.

At 10 o'clock I made my way to the entrance of Yerebatan Seray, bought a ticket and descended into the gloomy depths of the "sunken palace".

Yerebatan Seray is a large Byzantine Cistern that was built by Justinian the Great (527-565) as part of the city water system. These days, classical music drifts out from the darkness, while dim lighting illuminates the columns holding up the roof. The big attraction of the place has to be its cool temperature which is a welcome relief from the humidity above, but the atmosphere created by the dripping water and calm is also very refreshing. I was amazed that the cistern was still standing when you consider that on average Istanbul suffers a severe earthquake once every eight years.

Leaving the Cistern, I had the whole day ahead of me, which was fortunate since I was only a short walk from one of the Worlds finest museums, the Topkapi Palace. The entrance to the beautiful gardens of the Court of the Janissaries was guarded by two grim looking sentries wielding assault rifles, standing perfectly still as the coach loads of tourists bustled around them.

For nearly three centuries, the Topkapi Sarayi was the palace of the Turkish Sultans, and now it is a museum housing exhibits as diverse as enormous gemstones and holy Islamic relics. The palace proper lies behind the Ortakapi (Middle Gate), entrance to the second court. Once you have bought a ticket in the Court of the Janissaries, the only extra cost is a guided tour of the Harem, located in the second court, and this was where I headed first to be sure of a place. After a wait for the tour to start, we were lead through a small door into the first section of the Harem. Here we entered a room of dazzling tiles, some of Turkey's finest. After that a corridor led past the former quarters of the Black Eunuchs who stood guard over the women of the Harem. The second part of the tour led through the private apartments and baths of the Sultan and the Valide Sultan (Queen Mother).The decoration on display in the series of rooms really defied belief and it was easy to imagine the Sultan living a life of complete luxury. However, it would not have been totally risk free, the throne did not automatically go to the first born son, and once the new Sultan had been enthroned, it was the custom for him to have all of his brothers put to death to avoid costly and damaging power struggles!

Emerging from the Harem, I headed straight for the next highlight of the palace, the Imperial treasury. All of the gems in the cases in this room were real, and included the Spoon maker’s Diamond at a whopping 86 Carats and a tear drop shaped, uncut emerald weighing 3.26 Kg which was larger than my fist. Another notable exhibit was a solid gold, gem encrusted throne given to Mahmud I by Nadir Shah of Persia. The wealth on show in this room was beyond comprehension as case after case gleamed with treasures. Perhaps the most strange exhibit was a golden metal arm and hand; on closer inspection a square piece of gold on the back of the hand had been cut away to reveal the decayed bones and mummified flesh of a real human hand inside! An inscription beneath read: "The occipital bone of St. John the Baptist". It was an incredible and strange thought that if the relic was genuine, that dusty collection of bone and skin had once baptised Jesus Christ.

Next I headed for the home of some of the holiest relics in Islam, in a small room at the back of the third court, a glass cabinet contained a few hairs from the Prophet's beard, a letter he wrote to a tribal leader asking him and his followers to convert to Islam, a portion of his cloak, his seal and his footprint. In a separate showcase was the Prophet's sword and behind it a white robed Imam was chanting from the Koran, his words were relayed over a PA system and reverberated around the small chamber.

I found my way to the restaurant, situated on a balcony overlooking the Bosphorus. The spaghetti bolognaise I ordered was very tasty and not too expensive, my mistake was ordering something to drink as they were extortionately overpriced. Any budget worries were soon forgotten though as I ate and looked out over the city and the blue water. Eating just one meal a day and walking as far as I had been was making me very hungry, and I was still hungry after I had finished my meal.

A short walk from the restaurant is the Baghdad Kiosk which was built in 1638 by Sultan Murat IV to celebrate his victory over Baghdad. Inside were fine tiles, calligraphy and inlaid woodwork. Unfortunately the other kiosks nearby were all closed for renovation.

I spent the rest of the time looking at the smaller exhibitions, one of clocks and watches, one of silverware and crystal and another of fearsome Persian, Ottoman and European arms and armour. In the room housing the display of Chinese and Japanese porcelain was a large board showing the route of the ancient Ipek Yolu (Silk Road). It reminded me that Istanbul lies at the start of the long faded road which found its way through the heart of Asia, including northern Pakistan, to Beijing.

Once I had left the Topkapi Palace, feeling that I had explored most of it, I took a stroll down to the transport hub of Istanbul, the dock side of Eminonu.  Having crossed the huge main road, I arrived at the docks. Fresh fish sandwiches were being sold from small boats that bobbed at the quay, while ferries to the Asian suburb of Uskedar maneuvered to and from the terminals. A short distance away, the Galata Bridge was crowded with anglers, traffic and pedestrians. Dominating Eminonu on the opposite side of the road was the Yeni Camii (New Mosque), its balconies and arches provided perches for hundreds of pigeons. After I had had a look inside the mosque, I made my way to the Egyptian Spice Market which was almost next door.

The spice market has a much less touristy feel to it than the Grand Bazaar, and was larger and more ventilated. The spice shops were fascinating, selling herbs of every description including some rather unusual ones such as Iranian saffron. Many years ago, gunpowder used to be sold in the market as a remedy for various ailments until it was banned because the shops selling it tended to explode.

Walking back to the hotel along Ankara Cadessi I happened to glance at a display cabinet containing posters showing the various tourist attractions of Iran. Moving on, there were posters of several Ayatollahs and Iranian politicians. I suddenly realised that I was standing outside the door of the Iranian Embassy where a car bomb had exploded in April, killing a man who was trying to tow the car away at the time it went off.

Back at the hotel, I bought a beer, sat up on the roof and sketched the Aya Sophia while on the roof next door, workmen were restoring an ottoman building in its original style.

Sketch of Aya Sophia

Feeling hungry, I set out to try and find the Underground Backpackers Cafe but having left it after several beers on the last occasion; I just could not remember where it was. I gave up and sat down for a drink at a cafe near a line of carpet shops. At the next table were two Australians, so I asked them if they happened to know where the Backpackers Cafe was. It turned out that they were just on their way there and said that they would show me.

Once installed at the cafe, I ordered one of their huge egg and sausage sandwiches and a beer. I was soon chatting to two Canadians, Suzanne and Paula, at the next table. Suzanne was a speed skater and had won a silver medal for Canada at the last winter Olympics! She said that generally she didn't mind being famous and that every time she flew Air Canada she was asked to go to the flight deck to meet the pilots. She had been given free tickets to Istanbul and Paula had gone along at the last minute.

When I got back to my hotel room, there was a big firework display over the Topkapi palace as the evening of entertainments as part of the International Istanbul Festival of the Arts drew to a close. I was slightly concerned that the sparks from the explosions seemed to be raining down into the streets, accompanied by people screaming!

Day 5, Tuesday 27th June.

After changing some traveller's cheques I walked down to the ferry terminals in Eminonu and caught a ferry over to the suburb of Uskedar, on the Asian side of the Bosphorus. The journey was short but very pleasant.

After stepping ashore I sat down on a nearby bench to take a look at my guide book and get my bearings. Eventually set off for the Buyuk Çamlica hilltop park, the highest point in Istanbul at 261 metres. I had no idea of the way but I reasoned that if I just kept going up hill I would be on the right track. It was a hellishly long walk in the heat but eventually I arrived at a stony track which led up to the park and a cafe. The view from the cafe was excellent, down below the Bosphorus snaked its way between the two continents and just visible was the famous skyline of Sultanahmet. After some apple tea and a long rest I began the walk back to the ferries. I was walking along a fairly busy street, and by this time had bought a bottle of coke, when three scruffy and dirty youths jumped out and tried to snatch the bottle from my hand. I waited for someone to usher them away and apologise but no one came, I had to wrestle my bottle back off them single handed!

I arrived back at the hotel sun burnt and exhausted and apart from a meal at the Backpackers Cafe, I stayed there and rested for the evening.

Day 6, Wednesday 28th June.

After a very nice breakfast of yoghurt and honey at the Backpackers Cafe I changed some money and then set off for one of Istanbul's hidden treasures. A short walk from the Blue Mosque and Aya Sophia, beyond the far end of the hippodrome is the Sokollu Mehmet Pasa Camii, built by the great architect Mimar Sinan. It was difficult to find, but when I wandered down a back street and saw a small but impressive mosque I realised I had arrived. I stepped into the inner courtyard. At the opposite side of the yard was the Medrese (religious school) and through clouded glass I could make out the shapes of the heads of many young children, bobbing to and fro as they recited the Koran, their chants echoing from the stone. I stood around for a minute or so before my presence was noticed and an old man came over to greet me. I asked him if he would mind showing me around the mosque, and after the customary removal of my boots, I stepped inside. Even by Turkish standards, the mosque was a gem. The tiles inside are some of the finest ever to be made in Iznik, while set above the mosque entrance, in the mimber and Mihrab were fragments from the sacred Black Stone in the Kaaba at Mecca, framed with gold. I was also shown two marble pillars by the mimber which revolve if an earthquake has disturbed the foundations, a feature which was also used in the Harem at the Topkapi Palace. Part of the original ceiling was also pointed out to me. I asked the old man if many western tourists came to look at the mosque but he said that it was mostly Turks who showed any interest. After giving him a donation for the mosque funds, I left. I felt I had really seen one of Istanbul's great buildings, but one that was mostly overlooked.

In the north western suburb of Eyup, one of the holiest places of Islam can be found. Eyup (Ayoub in Arabic, Job in English) was the standard bearer of the Prophet Muhammad and his tomb and a mosque named after him also gave their names to the suburb which now surrounds them. It was going to be a long walk, but I was determined to get there. I walked the length of Divan Yolu until it came to an end at the mighty, crumbling western land walls of the city, from there I headed North East along the walls towards Eyup. As I walked, some rather strange sights greeted me, there were several flocks of sheep huddled between the road and the wall, one tourist had stopped his car to film a shepherd and his flock with a camcorder.

Unfortunately the much more familiar images of poverty loomed ahead. I came across an old woman begging by the roadside, a pitiful sight; she reached out for money as I approached. I handed her some small change. In the distance, the high rise blocks and ugly concrete façades of Eyup smothered the skyline.

I took a taxi the rest of the way, and arrived at the mosque and tomb, which are separated by a large cemetery. It was in the mosque that I first noticed that a few of the worshippers were young boys in white satin suits and hats, accompanied by their families. They had been brought to the sacred tomb and mosque on their way to being circumcised, after which they would be regarded as having come of age.

Inside the tomb, as in the relic room at the Topkapi Palace, I felt uneasy as an unbeliever surrounded by the religious devotion of others. Women wearing black chadors had brought their satin suited sons to the tomb to be photographed with the family, while others wiped their hands over their faces in silent homage. As they made their way out down a corridor, they walked backwards, bowing with every few steps.

I caught a taxi back to Eminonu, where the traffic was locked solid. After lunch in the Backpacker's Cafe I made a second visit to the Grand Bazaar and Suleyman's Mosque. Walking back along Divan Yolu, I noticed a gap in the railings of the garden of what looked like an old Caravanserai, above which was a sign welcoming passers by to a traditional tea garden. Stepping through the entrance and passing a series of metal holders full of hot coals, I emerged into a courtyard surrounded by the mysterious old building. Kelim (carpet) shops lined the edges of the yard, which was full of tables occupied by Turks and their bubbling water pipes. Every so often a waiter would come round and place a fresh coal on the wad of tobacco leaves at the top of each pipe. I ordered a glass of apple tea and sat down to enjoy the atmosphere.

The evening was spent in the Backpacker's Cafe and after that I went back to the Hotel, climbed up to the roof garden, and sat and watched the light show at the Blue Mosque.

Day 7, Thursday 29th June.

I got up at 5.30, took my camera, sunglasses and guide book and walked quietly down to the hotel reception. I had asked if it would be alright to leave so early, but the receptionist had said that he had to sleep on the sofa, and would be able to let me out whenever I was ready. The reason for the early start was that I was heading for the small town of Edirne (formerly Adrianople) near the Greek and Bulgarian borders, and was aiming to be back in Istanbul by the evening.

As the receptionist bolted the hotel door behind me, I stepped out into the deserted street. It was soon raining and I was forced to shelter under a large cafe umbrella, while rivulets of water sped along the concrete and tarmac outside. I walked along Divan Yolu once the downpour had stopped, until I reached Aksaray, where I was trying to find the metro.

The metro system in Istanbul is extremely limited. This is mainly because any excavation of underground tunnels is sooner or later bound to uncover something of archaeological interest from the city's 3000 year history. When that happens, all work stops until the find has been fully investigated. The metro was not easy to spot either; I thought I had arrived when I came across a set of inactive escalators which went down to an underground level. However, this turned out to be a very modern underground Bazaar.

When I finally arrived I caught an underground train heading for Essenler, site of Istanbul's newest long distance bus station. We emerged from the darkness and rattled our way out through the suburbs until we arrived at the otogar platform. I climbed up a flight of stairs, through a set of doors and found myself outside a true monstrosity of architecture. Looking back at the bus station which I had just left I could see it was a horrible slab sided block of grey concrete. In front of me was another wing of the building, with what were obviously bus bay numbers at regular intervals all around. For a moment I was totally confused, there did not appear to be anywhere to buy a ticket. After retracing my steps I found an information kiosk, and after a while I had managed to explain that I wanted a ticket to Edirne. They advised me to go to a certain bay and then I realised how the system worked. Next to each bay was what looked from a distance like a shop front, but was in fact the ticket office, you had to know which bay numbers dealt with your particular destination.

I took my place on the bus, once again finding I had been given a window seat. We moved out across probably the most boring landscape I have ever come across. The plains of Thrace presented us with a never ending vista of gently undulating grassland, in a sickeningly monotonous brown. As we neared Edirne storks could be seen nesting on the roadside telegraph poles while increasingly signposts marked the route to Bulgaristan (Bulgaria).

Eventually the bus rolled into a quiet area of wasteland on the edge of town, I opened my guidebook on the Edirne map, checked my compass and set off for the town centre. In the trees and gardens, cicadas were hissing loudly and when I removed my sunglasses, the glare from the white pavement seemed to obliterate everything.

I went first to a cheap cafe in the centre of town, full of local young people and soldiers on national service. I ordered a cheeseburger and a glass of coke, which were not very filling.

Past the town's old caravanserai (now a hotel) with its series of domes, was a similar structure housing the Bedesten or Covered Bazaar. The market was rather dull, just half a dozen dim shops selling everyday items. I moved on, and arrived at the Eski Camii (Old mosque), unfortunately, the only notable thing visible inside were the huge works of calligraphy on the walls because the rest of the mosque was being refurbished and was hidden behind a huge plastic drape.

A short walk brought me to the mosque that is regarded as Mimar Sinan's masterpiece, the Selimiye Camii. The interior decoration of the mosque was quite superb; Iznik tiles accompanied by intricate painting of the lofty domes. An unexpected feature of the mosque was its underground bazaar, reached via a set of steps down a narrow passageway.

Seeing the Selimiye Camii had made the long bus journey to Edirne worthwhile, but unfortunately there was another disappointment in store. The town's other great mosque, the Üçserefeli Camii, was being restored in the same way as the old mosque and so little was visible.

For a while I wandered around the old town, but soon decided I might as well try and get back to Istanbul. On the whole Edirne had been something of a disappointment, the descriptions of the town that I had read promised charming Bazaars overlooked by a multitude of splendid mosques. Instead I had found a rather noisy town where everything seemed to be in the process of being restored. Just bad timing I suppose.

The bus rolled out of the town and back across the steppe, it seemed it was going to be another boring journey, and would have been, if a Turkish family sitting behind me hadn't struck up a conversation. The man and his wife were seated behind me, while his sister came over and sat next to me so that she could translate the conversation. They lived in Edirne, but her brother worked as a teacher in Diyarbakir in the far east of the country. Eastern Turkey is a hive of PKK rebel activity – and they are involved in frequent clashes with the army. I was interested to know more about it. I asked if it was dangerous in Diyarbakir, but she replied simply that sometimes there were dangers. As the journey neared its end they told me that this was their holiday, they were on their way to Istanbul where they would spend a few days before returning to Edirne.

The evening was spent in the Backpackers cafe and after that I went back to the hotel.

Day 8, Friday 30th June.

In order to stretch my budget a little further, I moved back into the Hotel Anadolu. This time, although my room lacked a view it was at least clean.

I decided to try to walk along Istiklal Cadessi, in the Taksim area of the city. Apart from when I was dropped in Taksim square after arriving at the airport, I hadn't been there at all. It turned out to be a very long walk and there was not much of interest along the way, eventually I gave up and went back to the Backpacker's Cafe for lunch!

With more or less a whole day ahead of me, I decided to take a long look at the nearby Turkish and Islamic arts museum, housed in the former palace of Ibrahim Pasa, Suleyman the magnificent's Grand Vizier. The highlights of the museum were the beautiful calligraphy exhibits, the illuminated Korans and huge Turkish carpets and Kelims. The Ethnographic section was particularly interesting; on display inside was a yurt, the traditional nomad tent used in Eastern Turkey, Afghanistan and in other parts of Central Asia. The front of the tent was open, and dummies in appropriate costume as well as rugs and cooking pots provided an insight into the nomadic lifestyle. Nearby was an exhibition showing how carpets are weaved on traditional looms and also the various natural dyes that are used.

I went back to the tea garden, and drank apple tea until the evening started to descend. Later, I moved on to the Backpacker's cafe for a meal and then returned to the Hotel Anadolu.

Day 9, Saturday 1st July.

I had booked a seat on a minibus bound for the airport, the hotel had taken care of the rest and they told me to sit outside and wait. When it was nearly time for the bus to arrive I was shown across the road to a small travel office and told the bus would pick me up there. I was soon joined by a British couple who were just starting a long tour of Turkey, backpacking round the coast.

The bus didn't show up. The travel man flagged down a taxi and one of his staff sat in the back to pay when we arrived at the airport. We were soon driving along the shoreline, past the sights which gave me my first impressions of the city; the big ships and the sea side cafes.

It was a long wait in the airport, but at least I was stranded at the right end of the 18km gap between the city and the departures terminal. When I was queuing to check in, I noticed that a young backpacker in front of me was asked to unload the contents of his pack for a random security check. Shortly afterwards I was asked by a member of the British Airways staff if I would mind opening my pack for a "random" check. It was unfortunate that their idea of random meant anyone young with a backpack. Since I had secured my pack by padlocking it and tying the zips with string any check would have been very awkward. I declined to have my pack checked and surprisingly they weren't really bothered.

Once in the departure lounge I spent the rest of my Turkish money on a Danish pastry and talked to a British man and his son. They had spent most of their short stay in Istanbul like I had, and we compared notes on our favourite places.

When we took off we flew north over the Black Sea, and soon any view had faded beneath the cloudscapes. Over a typically enormous BA serving of whiskey, I considered everything that had happened to me in the last nine days. I had seen most of the city as well as Bursa and Edirne and had been to some places mostly overlooked by tourists.