Journey to the centre of the earth

The centre of Tanya and my world is our children. Always and forever. They are the Alpha and Omega of our lives, our greatest love, our greatest gift and the source of our happiness on this Earth. So it is fitting that to mark our first adventure together as a ‘fusion’ family and as we escape from two years of pandemic lockdowns, we journeyed together to Istanbul – the self-appointed ‘centre of the world’. The centre of our world together at the centre of the world.

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Istanbul. Constantinople. Byzantium. Three names, one city. The centre of the world for over two and a half thousand years. There is even a portion of the floor at the great Hagia Sofia that is said to be the actual centre of the world – it is where the Byzantine Emperors were crowned.

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There are other reasons why Istanbul is such a perfect place for us to be together as a family. Our adult children live their own lives now, so we join together as different households. Like the city we are in, all people meet here as equals. Istanbul is a trading city as well as an Imperial one, therefore, it is a fusion of all the families of the globe: Jews, Muslims, Christians, Zoroastrians, every hue and colour of humanity brought together in one roiling, bubbling cauldron of tolerance and trade. It is a place of great historical, religious and cultural significance sitting at the Western edge of a vast secular nation. There are societal norms and ways of behaving, but you can still be yourself, individual, distinct. There are new tastes and sights to experience and ways of being which are alien to our western eyes but this city accommodates for all. One night we ate in a restaurant that doesn’t serve alcohol, and that was no problem; but if alcohol is what you want, the option is over the street. Unlike the place where we had just come from, Paris, where society is organised according to strict rules and codes of behaviour and there is a French way of doing things which must not be departed from, here they have a more flexible way of being. Here, it is not that anything goes, it is just that there are many options and they can all muddle along beautifully side by side. This is what makes Istanbul the great melting pot, the cornucopia of cultures that is so unique. Here, everyone can be themselves and also part of the collective. No one is in a prescribed role – we are all free to be as we wish to be, as well to be one family.

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This is different from our traditional family holiday. Every year for the last 85 years, our extended family has spent a week or two together at the same place on the Suffolk coast. This magical place occupies a very special place in all our hearts. But as our family changes and grows and brings in new members, we wanted to create something that is just for us, our immediate family. A new tradition. A way to keep together and connected for us, something that allows us all to enjoy each other and which is true to our spirit of adventure. And to be together as we all grow rather than fit into a pre-determined role within the confines of family. In Istanbul, I don’t have to be the raucous uncle or the loud brother. Or the dad in charge. Here I can relax and because there is no laid down pattern of what we have to do or not do, we are free to go with the flow – which is very Istanbul.

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We could not have chosen a better or more fascinating place than Istanbul. It is a city that has everything we all love: beauty, great food, bright skies, water, mystique, a different culture, new experiences and living history that makes it one of the most significant places on earth. It is also a place where they blend the familiar with the not so familiar. The skyline is peppered with minarets rather than skyscrapers – a signal that we are in a foreign land where the Prophet not the Son of God holds sway. The 4.30am call to prayer jolts you awake as the cry of the faraway imam echoes around the ancient city only to be joined momentarily by the mosque on the corner, which is much louder. We are in a foreign environment, no mistake. Every restaurant or cafe we enter is hospitable. They greet you and welcome you well here. And this is entirely natural, not fake or trained. All guests are honoured. This is bred in them from birth and ingrained in their being. When you enter the hammam to make an appointment, the manager has bottles of water brought out to quench the thirst and take the dry dust out of our throats. In stalls at the bazaar, before any business is conducted, tea is offered and the pace is leisurely. Hospitality and conversation accompany the trading. First they seek to help. Their reward comes later. And if there is no business to be done, they do not chase you down the street. You are let go with a nicely non-commital “Another time, perhaps”.

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We stayed at the Rumours Inn, a family run boutique hotel down a quiet street in old Istanbul. It was the perfect location from which to explore the sprawl that is this vast city. We arrived to great excitement – both to see each other and to the promise of three days in this city. Istanbul is one of Tanya and my favourite places and although we have been here several times each, we have never been here together. No one else had been here before, except the two of us and Hannah.

I had booked my old friend Tolga Oner to guide us around the major sites on day 1, Friday 15 April 2022. Tolga had shown me the sites twice before, in 2009 and again in 2010 when Andy Milligan and I were last here at the Ogilvy & Mather Worldwide conference, held at the Ciragan Palace along the Bosphorus near Ortaköy. He met us at the hotel and we wandered the old city in his company. He is a gentle soul and as well as guiding he teaches English at a school on the Asian side of the city, near where he lives. It is the teaching job that has kept his family whilst the pandemic put paid to guiding when all the tourists stopped coming. Tolga’s business is beginning again as the cruise ships start docking once more, but times have been tough and with the cost of living tripling in the last three months, there is much hardship. (In true autocratic style, the poor health of the economy is blamed on the opposition party, who have been out of power for twenty years.)

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Tolga guides us around the Hippodrome, the ancient centre of the city where chariot races and entertainments happened. He always moves us into the shade as he speaks to keep us out of the sun, which is hot already at 9.30am on this April day. It is a Friday, so we decide to wait for Friday afternoon prayers to be over on this holiest day of the Islamic week and also in the middle of Ramadan before we visit the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sofia. Hagia Sofia was a museum last time I was in Istanbul, but it has now been converted back into a mosque. Today, the President of Turkey, Erdogan, is attending prayers here, so the police presence is heavy and there are machine gun carrying armoured cars out on the streets around the citadel.

During the course of the day, Tolga moves us around the old city to see the sites for which this place is renowned. As he does so, he tells Istanbul’s history. We wander the old spice market, where we all by way too much Turkish Delight, or lokum as it is called here. Steven cottons on that people who ask for it by the local name, which is also what they call it in Russia, get it for local rather than touristic prices. That said, Tolga brings us to his favoured traders who give us a fair price under his watchful eye. There is no haggling in the spice market, unlike in the Bazaar. Everything has its price, but the traders are generous with apple tea and plenty of samples to try out the merchandise. This is business as it should be done: interaction, try this, try that. No obligation, but plenty of dialogue. We walk out loaded down with good stuff – plenty of flower teas and lokum. Though we resist the packets of crystalised meth, which we try. It is packaged to look like a consignment of its illegal drug namesake but is actually just the crystalised version of albus oil. A couple of crystals added to boiling water brings tears to your eyes but does wonders for your head clarity. Having been stopped at Gatwick airport security because Steven had an illegal lock knife in his back pack and narrowly avoided an official police investigation, we thought it was best not to tempt fate by bringing in 10kg of plastic wrapped pure crystalline narcotic technology. I don’t want to end up in my very own Midnight Express nightmare, thank you.

Tolga showed us a very pretty small mosque above the spice market which was built by a pasha (general) to the Sultan – good works being rewarded with a place in heaven – which was festooned with the blue tiles that are, at the time of our visit, covered up in the Blue mosque. He explained the set up inside – the niche in the wall which shows the direction towards Mecca for the devout to pray, the pulpit and the place where the Imam sits. We visited the Bazaar, 4000 shops under one roof divided into areas of interest – antiquities, leather goods, jewellery etc. We stopped for lunch at a nice rooftop restaurant and then walked to the Blue Mosque, which was horrifically busy and chaotic as everyone has to take their shoes off and put them back on in the one place where the building narrows. There was nothing to see as it was all covered inside with scaffolding.

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To the old Byzantine water cistern. Not the one with the Medusa’s head at the bottom of the pillar, which I have seen on past visits, because that is closed for restoration, but a smaller one. The light show happens every hour and is an impressive son et lumiere which projects images all around the underground space to show the emperor Justinian, Mustafa Kamal Atatürk, the Turkish flag (which got a round of applause from the locals) as well as three D style projections which made the space appear larger with virtual columns receding into the far distance. And from here to the piece de resistance: the Hagia Sofia.

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‘Wow’ is the word that sprang from Josh’s lips as we entered this vast space. It was the largest building in the world for 800 years of its history and has presided over so much during its lifetime as a cathedral, a mosque and a museum. Whereas the last time I was inside it was a fully marble floor and the mosaics of Christ and the angels were on full display (even though the building inside felt rather empty and unkempt), now it is a working mosque, it is carpeted and the mosaics are semi covered up with large sheet screens. The screens cover the iconography when muslims are at prayer but are partially visible when it returns to a tourist destination. It is magnificent. Awe inspiring and we sit on the carpet to soak it all in. There is only one part of the original floor uncovered by carpet now, the fabled centre of the world.

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The next day we all go our separate ways and have our own adventures. Tanya, Steven, Emily and I visit the Topkapi Palace, the Sultan’s palace in the city, which none of us have seen before. It is vast and set up in four, huge courtyards. Each one has a different feel and design. There are pavilions for different functions: one to greet foreign ambassadors, a library where scrolls are written by scholars and civil servants, another for circumcision ceremonies. That last one has four stone troughs, or sinks, with various ledges and two seats opposite each other for the performance of the ritual. I imagine there is plenty of running water in the sinks to make the process less messy. Running water is a feature of Islamic gardens and palace life. They bring life, take away impurity, cleanse and delight the senses. Today, none of the ponds and fountains is full or working. If they were, this place would rival the Alhambra for beauty.

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We stroll around the harem, which is a village in its own right: we peak into the wives’ dormitory, which is surprisingly not so lavish; we see the contrast between the slaves’ hammam and that used by the Sultan and his mother (simple stone versus marble and gold) and we realise that the head eunuch was the third most powerful man in the entire palace. The harem houses both wives and the Sultan’s concubines. He must have been exhausted.There are audience chambers and a smoking room. It must have been an extraordinary place to live, combining ceremonial function, high politics, family living, a lot of sex and the centre of empire.

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Looking around the Topkapi Palace takes all morning. We feel hungry and wander down the cobbled street away from the palace and into a public park. For as far as the eye could see was a sea of tulips. The tulip is the emblem of Istanbul and the national flower of Turkey. It was the Ottomans who gave tulip bulbs to the Dutch and, well, the rest is flower history. Whether it was on purpose or not, the predominant colour combination was yellow and blue – perhaps a nod to the Ukrainian conflict, but probably not. Reds and whites, the national colours of Turkey were also everywhere. It was as if the day we had chosen to walk among them was the day they put on all their finery. Every tulip was in perfect condition and at the zenith of bloom. So many people were taking pictures of this floral spectacle. They were truly breath taking.

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We queue for a boat to cruise the Bosphorus – possibly the most famous and historically significant body of water in the world – but get to the head of the line to be told that they don’t accept cards. So I have to run to a nearby cashpoint and return with cash. We are just in time and make it on as the last passengers. We stay away from the crowds who all rush to the top deck, preferring the much quieter lower deck. The engine vents are here and make it noisy, but the warm air pumped from the depths of the engine room make it tolerable on this windy, spring day. The boat moves away from the old city Galata Bridge towards the Black Sea. We see that famous skyline of multiple mosques with the Hagia Sofia the queen of all of them. As the old city recedes, we stop off at the Asian side to pick up passengers and again at Ortaköy. Ortaköy is a picturesque waterside place full of roof top terraces where Andy Milligan, Chris Cowpe and I smoked shisha pipes with David Mayo and the Ogilvy crowd back in 2010. Sadly, this time, we didn’t have time to visit it – I wanted to treat everyone to a cocktail on the magnificent terrace at the Ciragan Palace Hotel followed by dinner and a shisha or two up the road in Ortaköy – as it is too far away from our digs to make such a journey worthwhile on such a short trip.

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Sunday and our last full day. The night before we had all re-assembled to share stories of our adventures and had a meal down the hill from our hotel in a halal restaurant. There was no alcohol. Over dinner we played the values auction game. I remember that Katy got cheese and a social life, Sam was pleased with his ambition, music and sex (but failed to get friends), Josh was satisfied with humour, Hannah with kindness, Tanya with children, Emily with hugs and I with creativity. Afterwards, we played our old family favourite card game, Weetabix (whist) which Josh won on the last round.

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After our usual breakfast of fruit, homemade cake and lots of coffee, we had an Easter egg hunt on the roof terrace for Emily. She found them all but, in a fit of self control, only ate one and kept the rest for hiding again for me. Easter Sunday in a Muslim country. Christ is risen; He is risen indeed. Just not here in this part of the world.

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On our way to Galata, Josh and I stopped off for a shave and haircut at a traditional Turkish barber in one of the back streets. Whilst Tanya, Steven, Katy and Emily settled themselves in at a cafe along the street, Josh and I settled into our black leather and chrome barbers chairs and explained to the gentlemen barbers using hand gestures and pidgin English what we wanted. Josh got the full works. Even for me, who loves a Turkish barber experience and use one up the road at home in Hove, this was a new experience. My bearded barber did all the usual lathering and scraping with his cut throat razor, but then he daubed what felt like glutinous honey in my ears, on the skin at the top of my cheeks and up my nose – the nose application came with two very attractive cotton buds sticking out of each nostril. Once these had all set and gone hard, I realised the amber liquid was wax. My barber yanked them out, removing any extraneous hairs in my nose, ears and face with them. It felt a bit sore, but man, I was clean.

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I looked over at Josh. He was wearing some sort of face mask made of black clay which made him look like a home made version of the Batman. He was lathered in shaving soap and had a plastic bath cap on his head. This was the full monty treatment. I left Josh to his treat and joined the others for a coffee. Twenty minutes later, Josh emerged, coiffed and looking freshly gorgeous. The difference was noticeable and both Josh and Katy seemed impressed with the result. Sadly, it didn’t take decades off my appearance but at least we were shaved and ready for action.

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Sam and Hannah disappeared into the old town and had a spectacular lunch. Josh and Katy bought tickets for the Bosphorus boat and we walked over the Galata bridge and up to the Galata Tower. The fishermen on the bridge were battling the rain and wind but had some success judging by their burgeoning buckets. Emily did not like the idea of them using small fish to catch bigger ones and certainly not the idea of eating fish heads.

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Coming back down the steps from the tower we stopped at a colourful cafe I had spotted on the way up (my cafe and restaurant radar is always on) and had the loveliest and most delicious sticky Turkish pudding – like bacalava but flat. They are called katmer. I would have easily had another plate – most particularly to take away the bitter taste of the Daisy tea I had mistakenly ordered – but more disciplined stomachs prevailed and we moved on.

When we had been with Tolga on the Friday, he had taken us into a 300 year old hammam to book a session for us all on Sunday at 6pm. The man who organised everything gave us water bottles and explained the different options. We were salivating at the prospect. Now it was Sunday and the very witching hour: our long awaited treat awaited. We walked the 15 minutes in the drizzle to our hammam. The women were shown to the female baths and us to ours. Each person gets a changing room and then we went into the hammam. We sat in the 47 degree heat to loosen our pores and sweat out the toxins. After 15 minutes, each of us was fetched by our personal washer. We lay head to toe around the marble dais and were scrubbed down with a rough glove-shaped loofah to scarify the flesh and remove the dirty layer. Rinsed with hot water, we were then swathed in soapy bubbles and massaged with hands that had enough strength in them to double as implements of torture. The whole process took about 25 minutes. Scrubbed, rubbed and squeaky clean – literally, my skin squeaked it was so cleansed – we were guided over to sit by the marble sink and brass tap and had our hair shampooed, arms and legs shaken and face, neck and head massaged. All in all it was transportive. Job done, we were escorted out to the ante-room behind the lobby and given tea and some sort of fruit juice concoction as a shot. Steven swears that the smoother our own skin the hairier the man we were given to wash us. He was given a hairy backed bear. Although you are given a lightweight cotton towel to wrap around your waist, this is soon dishevelled and dispensed with during the washing process. It is a place where nothing can be hidden, which is, of course, why it is a great place to meet as equals. All bathing cultures have this civilised obsession with hygiene and cleanliness. The Russian banya, the Swedish sauna, the Japanese sento. I love them all. And I think my children do, too…even Emily enjoyed a bubbly massage lying beside Tanya over in the female half of the hammam. I have enjoyed all of my three hammam experiences in Istanbul. The atmosphere and aroma of these places is special and it is an indulgence that repays the investment of time and money. It hurts no one to feel like a Sultan for an hour.

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When we emerged it was raining hard. Katy had a recommendation for a Greek restaurant over near the area we had eaten in two nights ago at the fish restaurant. Bravely she led the way with a complaining me but when we got there it was so worth it. Greeted as always by another hospitably- natured proprietor, the dining room upstairs was like a Greek grandmother’s sitting room. The decor was traditional with an ornate chandelier centre stage, white walls, green and brown painted decoration and oil paintings of bucolic scenes hung in gold frames. The menu was easy to navigate and the local white Chardonnay very quaffable. So much so that between four of us we downed three bottles very easily. It was a lovely last night together and I made a toast to the Centre of Our World – to the children.

Istanbul had shown us her favour. I was worried that in only three days we would not have time to really enjoy the richness of the city. But I could not have been more wrong. We wanted a place where we could enjoy, enjoy each other, have space to roam in our own way, separately and together, to stimulate us and leave us wanting more. When you leave a place in Turkey they throw a bowl of water after you so that ‘you may find your way along the river back’. I hope our river keeps flowing and that on our way back to Istanbul, our family have lots more stop offs together at many other interesting places. Now we have been to the centre of the world, we have the north, east, south and west to explore.

As they say in Turkey: Hoş geldin ( glad you came); Hoş bulduk (good we found ourselves here).

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