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I check my phone as soon as I wake up in the morning, and there are a number of messages from Ed. Excitedly I open them, and I’m greeted with a series of pictures of a tiny baby being cradled either by an exhausted-looking Charley, or an ecstatic-looking Ed. The final message reads “Meet Amelia Wells, 8lb 4oz. Mother and baby both doing well. Ed x”. I write back straight away to congratulate them both, and say that I’m looking forward to meeting her as soon as I get back from Courchevel. Ed sends back a thumbs up, along with a message to say that they’re going to keep Charley and Amelia in hospital for the first night as it was such a long labour, but that they should be able to go home tomorrow.
After a fairly standard hotel breakfast, I set off for the Kabatas tram station, stopping on the way to buy and top up the card that you need to use any public transport. It’s a ten-minute ride to the Sultanahmet district, where many of the top tourist attractions are. I never really have time to take attractions in fully, so I usually have a quick wander round, taking photos where I’m allowed to, then buy the cheapest guidebook I can on the way out. I also make time to stop after each one and write down my impressions in shorthand in my notebook.
It’s a full-on day, but I manage to visit both the sixth century Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, named after its stunning blue-tiled interior, in the morning. For lunch I head into a busy café in one of the many narrow cobbled streets for a lunch of Balik ekmek (an unappealing sounding but surprisingly delicious grilled fish sandwich), before tackling the Grand Bazaar, an intricate maze of small shops, stalls and restaurants. I’ve been in here before, but I’m always blown away by the vast array of jewellery, beautifully intricate Turkish carpets and brightly coloured fabrics that assault your senses as you wander through. There are shops selling pretty much everything you could want, and I pick up a couple of gifts for Ed, Charley and baby Amelia. I enjoy the good-natured haggling even though I know that, as a tourist, I’m never going to get a particularly good deal. A friend once explained to me that many of the stallholders have three prices. The most expensive, unsurprisingly, is for tourists. Those who are obviously foreign but have enough mastery of Turkish to indicate that they’re probably ex-pat residents fare slightly better, and the lowest price is reserved for Turks, who can haggle fluently in their native tongue.
Despite my comfortable trainers, my feet are starting to ache a little as I head for my final attraction of the day, Topkapi Palace. As I wander through the courtyards the sun is beginning to set so, after buying the obligatory guidebook, I head down to the Metro to catch the train back to Taksim Square. Back in the hotel I lay my spoils out on the bed and run myself a hot bath to soak the grime of the day away. Afterwards, I wrap myself in the fluffy bathrobe that is de rigeur for hotels like this everywhere and sit down at the computer to start writing up. I flick through my phone pictures, and I’m pleased to see that they’ve come out quite well – perhaps Toby transferred some of his talent via osmosis when we were having lunch together. I also send a message to Ed, and he replies to say that Amelia isn’t feeding very well yet, but they’ve been told that it’s nothing to worry about at this stage.
The next morning I’m up early to catch the tram down to the Eminönü pier. One of the things I’ve never managed to do in my visits to Istanbul is see it from the water, and I’m determined to change that today with a trip on the public ferry. I’m planning to travel up as far as it goes, just short of the Black Sea at Anadolu Kavagi, have lunch there, and then get the ferry back in the afternoon. After the pavement pounding of the previous day this is a much more leisurely affair, and the weather is being kind, so I’m able to sit outside on the ferry and watch the scenery go by. I take pictures and make notes as we go, and I find I’m enjoying the fresh breeze. Crowds of locals pour on and off the ferry at every pier where we stop, and my eye is drawn to a small child at one point. He’s obviously feeling unwell as his parents pick him up and hold him over the side. He starts screaming blue murder, evidently convinced they’re trying to throw him overboard, and that seems to cure his seasickness. As we’re heading back past Rumeli Castle, my phone pings with a message from Ed to say that Charley and Amelia have been discharged, as Amelia seems to be feeding a bit better. I send love and tell them I can’t wait to see them when I’m back.
My final morning sees me back in Eminönü for a quick visit to the spice market, before I visit a few hotels in the Sultanahmet district that the airline features in its holiday brochures. They’re all expecting me, and I stick my head round a bedroom door in each, to get a flavour of the accommodation, before catching a taxi back to the airport for my flight home.
By the time I get back to my flat, it’s after ten o’clock at night, and I’m very aware that I have to be back at Gatwick early the next morning to meet Toby. Hurriedly I unpack, shoving my dirty clothes in the laundry basket to deal with when I get back from Courchevel, dig my ski clothes out from the back of the wardrobe, and repack, before falling into bed, exhausted.
