Bull Of The Bosphorus

It rained all day yesterday from the moment I awoke until the time I went to bed. A non-stop downpour. The good news is that it has stopped raining. The bad news is that it has gotten a lot colder and the rain is now snow. It does make for a different outlook- all these exotic sounding locations in a blanket and flurries of white.

First stop is Topkapi Palace, the imposing strong hold fortress on the European side. It houses a wonderfully eclectic collection of treasures from around the world, some of it stolen, some of it gifted, and most of it Ottoman created over the last 800 years of their rule. It's an incredible assemblage. We have jewellery,thrones, costumes, ceremonial pieces,and even more jewellery. Bling is the thing and it adorns everything. Such opulence usually leaves things looking very gaudy or kitch, but for the most part, the priceless item actually look priceless too. The precious (often huge) stones and other decorations are expertly weaved in to the goods using production and design techniques honed over the centuries.

In the final room- The Room of the Sacred Relic -the treasures are of a very different nature. Amongst the religious artifacts collection we have a tooth, part of the beard, and a footprint of the prophet Mohammed. The footprint is said to be the very one from his ascension to heaven, chiseled out the rock in Jerusalem. Part of the skull and an arm of John The Baptist is also allegedly housed here too. It always hard to ascertain what is what in these situation. I'm sure that I will encounter more of John The Baptist's arms and heads along the way. One clear thing is that it is amazing to learn just how interlinked Judaism, Christianity and Islam is. They share the same people and same events over time. Maybe, naively, It's hard to imagine what the problem is really.

The snow falls thicker outside and I take up the offer of a lonely looking rug (I mean finely woven artistic carpet) seller in the square. He invites me in for a coffee and a "chat". I inform him I'm as poor as a church mouse, and that he shouldn't bet his life savings on a sale from me. The hot apple tea served in a very stylish and traditional small tulip glass is a welcome relief to the cold of the day. As the cup empties and the conversations dries, out come the carpets (why didn't he show me the really nice ones?). I resist and the medium priced carpets are followed by the smaller cheaper ones. I hold firm. Then the cushion covers appear. No good. Just before the handkerchiefs are shown, I ask If he'll take newspaper coupons. This is the point where he accepts defeat. Turks 0 Backpackers 1. I thank him for the tea and make good my escape.

My afternoon is spent in the modern area of the city known as Taksim. Here you will find all the stores and high street brands. There's not a carpet seller in sight, just lots of unsteady shoppers crawling along the treacherously icy streets.

Coming out of Levis', a very large human wave of several thousand people march past me standing in the shop door way, completely overunning the main street. What they're protesting about I'll never know, but they're clearly disatisified about something and they wave their signs and chant slogans of disaffection. I have to wait for them to pass before I can move in the opposite direction.

I get a couple to take my picture in the snow. It transpires that the fellow is a British Indian living in Istanbul with his Turkish wife. The woman's brother is an eminent local artist who just so happens to be holding an exhibiton of his latest creations later on this evening. Judging by the invitation card in my hand, it will be quite an affair, but I have to gracefully decline due to an important date- Besiktas are playing at home tonight.

I take the funicular metro back down to the waterfront and then manfully trudge through the wind, snow and darkness to the Imononu Stadium not so far away, only to dicover that the game has been cancelled due to the adverse conditions. Magic. This doesn't stop one of the black and white clad fans trying to sell me all his tickets as I try to get a glimpse of the stadium. The said bounder looks a bit sheepish when I inform him that we both know the game is already cancelled.

Deciding not to quaff Turkish coffee with the city's artisans, I make my way back to the hostel. Give me the neanderthal charlatan masses of the football stadium any day. Staring out of the tram that takes me homewards, I gaze out of the window towards the shimmering lights of the metropolis, and observe the three favourite hobbies of the passersby: drinking tea, smoking cigarettes and throwing snowballs.