Dolmabahce

On our day off last week, my flatmate and I decided on a touristy visit to the Dolmabahce Palace, a building which is perhaps one of the finest examples of Ottoman extravagance. The place was truly phenomenal; possibly the most elaborate example of interior design you can imagine. I have never seen such plushness; an opulent swathe of colour and patterns, offset by by the shimmering, shivering crystal chandaliers in every room from which you can hear the very slightest tinkling sound as they are stirred by tourists' intrusive footsteps.

One of the main features of the Palace is the principal staircase in the official entrance hall. Truly unlike anything I have ever seen before, the sweeping curve of the carpeted stairway is framed by the perfectly preserved transparency of glistening English crystal.

The many chandaliers in the palace are dwarfed the one that hangs in the cavernous ceremonial hall. This hall in itself is breath-taking; its vast marble columns supporting a painted ceiling under which you could probably fit an entire mosque, but its centrepiece surpasses all. What is claimed to be the largest chandalier in Europe, the four and a half tonnes of crystal suspended from the ceiling was said to have been a gift from Queen Victoria.

However, in amongst all that grandeur in the palace, if you look closely, there is the slightest eccentricity. As you run your eyes down the vast and immaculately varnished wooden doors inlaid with gold and mother of pearl, you notice something slightly odd. Where you would expect to see a large and elaborately engraved golden doorhandle, you see instead a small, round, porcelain one, painted with a selection of slightly gaudy florals, not unlike something I would find in my grandmother's little Dorset cottage. An odd choice by the Sultan Mehmet, I wonder if one of his many wives had something to do with it.