We landed late in the night into Istanbul, nee Constantinople, just beating out a charter flight from China to the passport control line, a fortunate turn given the general disregard for lines and queues. We too were somewhat short of the willpower to fight them off, but before too long we ushered ourselves into a cab and took a bit of rejuvenation from the winding road along the shores of the Bosphorus to Sultanhamet, the spotlit minarets of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia standing out in the dark night. Our driver pointed these out to us, unleashing his arsenal of English in staccato bursts that hopelessly outclassed what we could offer in return through Turkish. He told us of the tradition of tipping generously suggesting that a 50% tip would be appropriate. Despite his proffered wisdom, we passed on that tip and promptly passed out.

Though beginning in Sultanahmet, home to the majority of the big tourist sights, we put our temporary roots down in Beyoglu, just north of the Golden Horn. Considered the ‘New City’ that it once was, it is a hilly neighbourhood with a decidedly European flair and spectacular peek-a-boo views of the Bosphorus and Golden Horn where the snaking streets and building ceded to more distant vistas. A pleasure of an area to walk around and a great location for us – minutes walk from the Metro which, if you know me, was not just a convenience but a particular pleasure. I was able to expand my collection of Metro cards with the Istanbulkart. My only souvenir from the trip!

Our first full days were dedicated to the slew of tourist sights clustered around the Hagia Sophia, a 1500-year old church-mosque-museum dating from the days of the Byzantine Empire. Impressive still today, in spite of the slew of tourists, its scale imposes and overwhelms its surrounding. One can only imagine the impact it would have had in the past, a massive presence over its wooden neighbours. I was thrilled that the scale of the building went a long way to swallowing up the tourist hordes inside. I’d go on, but as part of that tourist group it would require a bit too much hypocrisy. Suffice it to say I was unprepared for the hordes that, in parts, lent certain stretches the feel of being in Ottomanland, as presented by Disney.

In spite of the hordes, one can’t help but fall for Istanbul. The age and charm is positively dripping off the streets, and within a short walk we clambered down steps into a Roman cistern from that same era. Across the plaza (which itself is the remnant of the Imperial hippodrome) sits the Blue Mosque. An impressive edifice in its own right but one that gets lost amongst the plethora of historic, ornate mosques that seemingly litter Istanbul. Topkapi Palace, the long-time seat of power for the Ottoman Empire, commands an expansive promontory over the constant stream of ships and boat traffic between Europe and Asia. Restored wooden houses and yalis are tucked away on quieter side streets and the sheer weight of the ages is so omnipresent that one simply stops noticing.

Beyoglu, though not as history-steeped as Sultanahmet, has its own charms. Our room was on a quiet lane a block off of Istiklal Avenue, the city’s busiest pedestrian artery. Prescribing a slow curve from the Tunel terminus up to sprawling Taksim Square, Istiklal is a constantly churning sea of pedestrians and peddlers, musicians and trams, only occasionally interrupted by the errant car patiently pushing their way through. It is an overwhelming, exhilarating, and in part exhausting place to experience but seemingly critical to feeling the city’s pulse.

There are quieter, more contemplative sides to Istanbul, best enjoyed and appreciated in the midst of a long day of sightseeing. For me, a major part of this was cay, the gently addictive and omnipresent tea found in streets, stalls, and shops virtually everywhere. Better still was stumbling onto a small nargile cafe after poking around the Grand Bazaar. Armed with tea and an apple-flavoured tobacco brick, we lazed on the pillows and took turns on the water pipe, listening to the bubbling up of the water and the background combination of rain and murmured conversation. A highlight for me was to cruise the Bosphorus and Golden Horn, darting between shores and piers on the commuter ferries. They present an ever-changing view of the cityscape – domes, spires, towers with a smattering of green, set off by the rolling hills and framed, always, by the water. These moments of quietude were the most meaningful to me, the point where you feel the magnetism of Istanbul winning you over.