Ortakoy Mosque and Bosphorus bridge in Istanbul, Turkey. Photo / 123RF
Ortakoy Mosque and Bosphorus bridge in Istanbul, Turkey. Photo / 123RF
Ah, Istanbul.
Right now, I would give anything to be caught up in the euphoria of your chaotic, cobbled streets; to wander through Sultanahmet Square and marvel at the Byzantine architecture. If only your ancient Walls of Constantinople could speak.
I'd love to meander past your large carts laden withjuicy pomegranates; windows stacked with pyramids of Turkish delight; and baklava drowning in sticky sugar and loaded with pistachios. To see your vendors selling steaming-hot sweetcorn and roasted chestnuts; to be harassed by well-meaning "tour guides" offering skip-the-queue tours into Hagia Sophia - which, at the ripe-old age of 1400 years, is still as fabulous as ever.
I want to duck under an archway and into a back-road bazaar selling beautiful handmade jewellery. I want to explore your modern shopping district, Taksim and, once there, to dodge the trams screaming up the streets. I'd love to order a dondurma (Turkish icecream), if only for the theatrics of its vendors, who sing enthusiastically as they churn the hell out of the icy mixture with large paddles.
I miss your joyous wedding celebrations – the singing and dancing so loud it filters through the streets and continues late into the night. I miss being lulled awake by the haunting, early-morning call to prayer that echoes from the Blue Mosque.
And who could forget the Bosphorus? A heaving strait of water separating one city into two continents; to be sitting in Europe but to almost be able to touch Asia is priceless. I want to watch the sun set from your river banks again, a frosty glass of raki in hand at the stunning Feriye Lokanta restaurant and gaze at the Ortakoy neo-baroque mosque lit up at night, hovering on the water.
If I close my eyes I can remember your sights, your smells, so vividly.
I remember those smooth-talking cafe owners trying to lure me into their establishments with the promise of a delicious mezze plate; lavash made in a tandoor and puffed up as big as my head. And who could forget that potent, almost-psychedelic coffee you could stand a teaspoon up in?
In Turkish culture, they say the thick, muddy coffee grounds will tell my fortune … do they predict we'll meet again? I hope so.
