Then, after breakfast, came the 3hr Topkapi Palace and Museum marathon of being bullied by Japanese and American matriarchs. It's a gruelling experience in 30C, however, I have to say that despite everything, it is well worth it, especially if you like decorative ceramics and marble - and luckily I do. Some of the tiles are so intricate in design, you can only wonder, aghast at the craftsmanship involved.
There are courtyards within courtyards at Topkapi and more pavilions than you could shake a scimitar at. I saw most of the rooms and pavilions but declined to queue for the Treasure Room; the queue was that long I would have passed out from sunstroke long before I'd've reached my goal. Instead, I decided to press on. Get to the end of the Topkapi complex and you're rewarded with some fabulous views of the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn - Kodak moments galore!
By tram to Kabatas and then funicular railway to Taksim Square, I was soon mingling with the 25 million population of Istanbul who had turned out this afternoon en masse to perambulate down Istiklal Caddesi. Seeking shade from the unrelenting sun and a bit of respite from the gangs of pubescent Turkish youth, I dived off down one of the side streets; lined as they are with cafés, restaurants, bars, fishmongers and all manner of other trades.I stopped at a bar and had a cup of tea (I have some will power) and got chatting to the waiter. One thing that was instantly noticeable about him was his looks: that soft, dark Turkish coffee colouring that is so typical. And his eyes: slate blue. Dear God, I now know what the Devil gets up to on his days off. He told me that friends of his who live in the UK tell him that it is very wet there. No surprises then...!
Further down this street there were a number of restaurants; crisp white tableclothed settings outside. As is the way with many of these establishments, the Maître D (if that is not too grand a term) stands outside trying to attract your attention. Some are quite subtle, others quite blunt and irritating and occasionally you run into the silver-tongued, witty variety.
"Where are you from?" he asked, blocking my way. Here we go, I thought. "I'm from the UK" I said, adding hopefully "Wales...?" and expecting that puzzled look of someone who's just been whispered the name of an obscure tribe in The Congo. "Ahhhh, Wales... Cardiff?" came the reply. I grinned and nodded. "Iechyd da!" he said (Welsh for Good health!). I started laughing. He grabbed my hand, shook it and continued, "Shwd wyt ti?" (Welsh for How are you?). We were both laughing by now. He told me his name was Alexander and that he once had a girlfriend from Swansea. I explained that I wasn't looking for food just yet but perhaps later in the evening. "OK. Promise?" he said. "Promise" I returned. I walked away, still laughing when he shouted after me, "Sheep shagger!" He, I and the other waiters within earshot all burst out laughing.
Because of that, I may just return...
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