A tourist day

A couple of weeks ago on our day off, my flatmate and I made a spontaneous trip to Sultanahmet, the main tourist district of Istanbul. Here you find all the principal tourist attractions conveniently spaced within walking distance of eachother, at least, if you manage not to lose yourself in the labyrinthine streets. It was a murky day and had been grey and drizzling for most of it, which in certain parts of Istanbul somehow seems to make the city even more atmospheric, as well as having the added advantage of warding off the usual hoards of tourists.

After a rich and silty Turkish coffee on the ferry we were caffined up and ready to make a beeline for the Grand Bazaar. I had been there once before and on second visit was no less overwhelmed by the riot of colour, the range of goods and the vibrancy of those who work there. After about an hour of wandering we eventually found our way out of that Alladin's cave and out into the open streets once again. It was dark by this time and the treacherously uneven cobblestones were gleaming with wet and light. We passed through an old book market, overhung with dripping vines, and then sidled through some twisting back alleys until, quite by accident, we found ourselves facing the magnificent Blue Mosque. What a sight. A complex arrangement of six minarets and a multitude of domes, the iconic mosque was dramatically lit against the night, seeming to defy the mist and drizzle of the December evening.

We approached on the offchance that we might be allowed in, and were told that the main body of the mosque was closed for the evening, but that we could watch the prayers. This bothered me a bit at first because I felt like a bit of a voyeur, especially in my relative ignorance of the religion, but once inside there wasn't a problem; the space is so big that you sort of lose yourself in it and so don't feel too much like an imposter. The prayers were beautiful, mainly for the emotive sound of the Imam's chant and the unified assent of the praying men echoing effortlessly through the space.

As you enter the outer courtyard of the mosque the first thing you notice is the beautifully white, smooth marble paving stones, enhanced that night by the sheen of the rain. Inside the mosque itself is no less spectacular; the colossal marble pillars rising up into the acutely blue mosaics of the domes. An enormous wrought iron chandalier hangs from the main dome right down to a mere seven or eight feet from the carpeted floor.

Afterwards we walked all the way back down to Eminonu, where we dived under the famous fisherman-lined Galata bridge, to find a whole row of fish restaurants marketing the day's catches. We settled here for an hour or so as we gorged on the fantastic fresh fish sandwiches before catching the last boat back to the Asian side. A good day.