Pomegranate Juice, Galata Tower, and a 4th Dimension.

Is it really time to get up? It seems I’ve just managed to fall asleep. Ok. The day (and Sabas) await.

Ataturk Airport. Arrivals. Standing there, there he is, looking slightly lost and as handsome as ever with his healthy Venezuelan tan. He smiles, relieved to see I made it. He’s only been waiting a couple of minutes. Good. Now time for a hug.

Train journey goes smoothly. A young father in ripped jeans and t-shirt smiles to his child, his equally young (and adequately covered) wife by his side. They look like they need looking after themselves. A child is trying to sell us a pack of tissues. A man hugs his friend in a brotherly bond that we wouldn’t often see (and probably misinterpret) in our parts. It feels more like a big village than Europe’s biggest city. 

Following a much needed nap we venture into town. The thing about being in Sabas’s company is that things I’d normally just ‘do’ like going into a restaurant for lunch, become ‘an experience’. We stop in front of an unassuming local restaurant. A rather jolly man, sporting a turban, greets us with a smile in an attempt to lure us in. ‘No like no pay’ he affirms. A well known strategy, effective nonetheless, but I think it’s the character of the guy that seals the deal for Sabas and in we go in the knowledge that whatever the food is like we’re in for an entertaining meal. Our jolly man, with encouragement from Sabas of course, does not disappoint and serves us with gusto. The food is rather delicious too. A nice display of mezze, extra aubergine please, very nicely cooked chicken, and lamb for the carnivore. No thank you we don’t want the yogurt drink, but could we have just a little taste of the Turnip juice to see if we’d like to order it? Our jolly host nods with a reassuring smile and promptly returns with a yogurt drink and a cup full of turnip juice. Sigh. 
The souvenir photo is complimentary, turbans and all. 

We stroll up the trendy Istikal street, coming across some terrific displays of baklava and Turkish delights (both the edible and admirable kinds) on our way. Beautiful architecture, and somehow being a bit run down adds to the buildings’ charm and character. Many hidden gems wherever you venture - a shaded alleyway with beautiful lush green veranda, a peaceful cemetery in the backyard of a manor house come museum. Loads of red and white flags of all sizes everywhere, we wonder why. Is that a rainbow flag?? Oh, it’s the Dutch embassy, that’ll explain it. Sabas spots an ad for a Dervish dance show after tomorrow. He’s adamant we should go and announces we’re buying the tickets tomorrow. Ok.

My Israeli paranoia aside the streets actually feel pretty safe compared to London for example. There’s a sense they are not familiar with Western levels of urban crime over here. People go about their business, bars and cafes are open into the small hours without the drunken crowds in the streets, and apart from being somewhat harassed by shop keepers touting for business there’s a sense of personal space and safety. That said we certainly attract curious looks. We’re clearly tourists. 

Juice bar, charming vendor, a few sad pomegranates sitting on the shelf, waiting. One pomegranate juice and one apple please, both large. Both turn out rather delicious. A few steps down the street another juice bar. Another handsome vendor, lush fruit a plenty and naturally half the price. The not so charming vendor forbids us from taking a picture (of the fruit). ‘It’s ok we won’t bother you again’ I say walking on dejected. 

A man walking up the alleyway towards us carrying a shoeshine box. He offers his services. No thank you we smile back (surely he can see my canvas crocs and Sabas’s trainers). Walking off he accidentally drops his shoe brush and I pick it up. He’s so grateful and insists on brushing my shoes presumably to thank me for my galant gesture. I politely decline, again. He moves on to plan b - his son needs to go to college but he has no money. I wonder how often he accidentally drops his shoe brush.

This must be the Galata Tower on the right and I was told the view is worth the climb. We queue patiently, filling some survey about the thrills of foriegn food for someone’s PhD while we wait. 4D film helicopter flight simulation for an extra 10 lira? Sure why not. What’s the 4th dimension I wonder. There’s a lift up. Thank goodness. It’s a circular viewing platform going around the (empty) restaurant. One way traffic. Naturally everyone stops on the other side where the sea view is and it’s gridlock. I put my Israeli hat on and take Sabas in the opposite direction. The path is clear and we reach the breathtaking view swiftly, taking in the enormity of this city. Boy they do have lots (and lots) of mosques!

The 4 in 4D means movements that suppose to match the imagery giving you a complete virtual experience. Good idea, shame about the execution. 10 mins of loud music, blurred picture, and jerks and moves that bear little relation to what you see on the screen. Sabas is worryingly pale by the end. We just about recover after an hour stroll by the sea.

We pick up a few bits and pieces at the local supermarket and stop for a tea and biscuit at the posh cafe. True to form our waiter is as miserable as ever.

We end the day with a cup of tea at home and some nice Venezuelan chocolate courtesy of Sabas. It’s past midnight. Happy birthday Sabas! You’re officially middle aged, congratulations. 

Time for bed.

What’s this loud music at this time of night?

That bl***y mosquito!