Forever young

A couple of weeks ago I saw a man sprinting at full pelt along the treacherous pavements for fear of missing his bus. This, in itself, is reasonably normal; nobody wants to miss their bus. However, what made this a remarkable sight to behold was the fact that this man was white-haired, well-weathered and easily about 75 years old.

Since having seen this I have observed multiple other examples of the elderly all over the city accomplishing the most incredible feats of strength, stamina and agility. I have seen a 60-year-old woman jogging to the ferry port weighed down with fully loaded shopping bags; an ancient, shrivelled old man carrying two enormous wicker baskets brimming with the morning's bread hanging from a rod across his shoulders; another elderly gentleman walking along, quite at ease, with a tray piled with simit balanced on his head as though it had been glued on there.

I have mentioned before the many sets of stone steps that are set into some of the steeper streets of Istanbul. Some of these number easily up to 200, and more often than not are nightmarishly steep and perilously uneven. I clambered up one of these the other day and reached the top red-faced and breathless, internally vowing to myself to work on getting fitter. As I paused at the top to catch my breath, I looked down at my ascent and was dismayed to see a sprightly 70-something hopping up the steps two-at-a-time. I then had second thoughts about that slice of cake I had told myself I deserved.