Dairy products we’ve confused

I woke to torrential rain first thing this morning. Rain doesn’t normally wake me up (unless I’m actually in it) but this was very loud and my window was wide open. It had been predicted and fell as if the weather gods were seriously displeased. It lasted for a few hours then just stopped.

This became a pattern for the day. There would be bright sunshine and heat then, sudden downpours which would soak everyone. Drenched, we would slop around a bit, gradually drying off before the cycle was repeated. Fortunately, the rest of the week should be devoid of rain.

Mind you, the noise of the rain was nothing compared to the full volume call to prayer first thing. I’d almost forgotten the joy of this early morning ritual which I first experienced when I visited Marrakech with Nicktor back in 2014. Such an annoying ritual, especially now we’ve invented clocks and watches. And we heard it a number of times during the day.

There are a lot of mosques in Istanbul. The general population is 16 million and it’s almost as if the locals have one each.

While we passed many, we almost visited two.

We came closest to going into the one above; the Suleymaniye Camii (Mosque). Except the call to prayer put paid to anyone going inside except for people answering the call for real. Still, we did get to wander around the whole complex which included a couple of tombs and the cemetery.

The Suleymaniye Camii was opened for business back in 1557. The architect, whose tomb is nearby, was Mimar Sinan who was responsible for some 300 structures throughout the Ottoman Empire. He was nothing if not productive. Or maybe he was the only one around.

Whatever the reasons for his massive output, the Suleymaniye is truly magnificent. The great man decided it should be more than just a mosque. He wanted it to include everything the praying public could ever want, blurring the lines between worship and recreation. As well as many other outbuildings, there was also a bath house, a number of schools, a guest house, a restaurant, and a printing factory.

Given the mosque was built on one of the hills of Istanbul, the views across the rooftops towards the confluence of the Bosphorus and Golden Horn are pretty amazing. Though, of course, any view is never complete without the obligatory selfie.

The other almost visited mosque was the blue one but the line for entrance was extremely long. We decided we’d go another day when the crowds were a little smaller. If such a thing is possible.

While there were a lot of humans, the city was also chockas with vehicles. There are next to no bicycles because that would be suicide. It’s bad enough having humans compete with motorbikes, cars and trucks but to add people on bikes would be utter madness. It leaves the traffic in Amsterdam for dead.

The drivers in the city are incredibly skilled. Or lucky. They manage to squeeze through impossible gaps, narrowly avoiding both each other and the thousands of pedestrians. The concept of one way traffic appears alien to them; the white arrows on the roads merely a suggestion on how to proceed.

I remember how intense the traffic was in Beijing, but at least there they have big, wide roads separating the feet from the wheels. There is no such thing in Istanbul.

Even in the meandering souk-like streets, lined with shops selling everything from safes to cash registers, from stainless steel jewellery to tailor made sequinned dresses, motorbikes weave through the people. Add to that, sudden torrential rain which turns the cobbled roads into a waterfall, and it makes for an exciting journey through the old town.

Istanbul is built on hills, like Rome, so there are quite a few steep hills leading through the shops. And, given the nature of the place and the fact that it was a Saturday, and the place is pretty rammed.

There was a lot of walking today. According to Sarah’s watch, we traipsed around 347 miles up and down and all around. Though we did manage to catch a tram and a Metro train or two. Or three.

At the end of the day, Gary did his usual stupid trick of going the wrong way. Sorry Lindy.

The group had split up at Eminonu. Anthea, Sarah and John hadn’t had enough walking. Lindy and I took the keys and said we’d catch the Metro back. Except I led poor Lindy in the wrong direction and we wound up going back up the hill. Fortunately I realised it in time and we left the train at the first stop.

We crossed the platform to the one indicating that the next train was returning to Eminonu and waited. The train came quickly but the doors opened on the wrong side. We couldn’t get in. This happened again, a few minutes later. We stepped down and crossed to the other side. Eventually, we made it back to the terminus that is Eminonu.

What Gary didn’t realise is that there are two Eminonu termini. Obviously, he went to the wrong one.

Finally, with an air of misjudged confidence, we crossed the trainlines again (we were not alone in this) only to discover that we had to walk about three miles to the second end of line.

As it turned out, we should have just walked with the others. Still, we all met up at the local coffee shop and sat and laughed at my stupidity.

This wasn’t our first visit to the coffee shop. As is the usual practice among Holiday Weasels, John and I set off first thing for breakfast supplies and the obligatory espresso. This was after John had a cup of tea with yoghurt instead of milk. This was not intentional. Turkey sells a lot of varied types of dairy products, mostly centred on yoghurt but few of plain milk.

Last night, we mistakenly bought a container of liquid yoghurt. John said it was fine but I noticed that no-one else had it in their tea. Having smelled it and checked the contents, I had black coffee first thing. We managed to buy some later when we went for our morning wander.

As we walked, John thought it wise to warn the unwary back at the house. He sent the following WhatsApp message: The milk is yoghurt. While somewhat cryptic, it did the trick.

More successful than the dairy was our lunch at the Haliç Cafe which has to have one of the most magnificent views that I’ve never taken a photo of. Not to mention the unrecorded food.

There were thousands of small mezze plates for us to feast on. We felt like visiting royalty. Except for the price which was anything but regal. In fact, the five of us ate like lords and ladies for about £5 each. And it was more than enough to fill us for the day.

Of course, there was no beer. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case back at the house. Our needs were answered very well as the night drew in and we talked about…well, all sorts of nonsense. This included the fact that the Monty Python boys were a whole lot funnier than Benny Hill.

Given I’m the slowest buffalo, this is my usual Weasel view.

So that concluded our day of reconnoitre. Tomorrow we go full on tourist.