Istanbul... Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon...

With apologies to the great Ray Davies...!

Up to Taksim, down Istiklal, turn off into the back streets of Beyoglu and through to Faik Pasa St where I am looking at some apartments for rent. It's a lovely street, windy, ramshackle and in need of a lick of paint in parts... Crammed full of antique shops and bric a brac, and an art gallery lifting the sophistication a little. Crammed full of character too.

I could live in this street. It's not the place I have my heart set on - that apartment isn't free for a while - but I might well take somewhere here until my dream apartment in Galata is free.

Wandering through Tomtom past the elegant Italian Ambassador's residence (OF COURSE the Italian Ambassador's residence is elegant!) and up a narrow laneway past the Dutch Embassy and on to Istiklal again - Las Ramblas of Istanbul...

An instinctive turn off Istiklal towards the Pera side and I wander through the laneways weaving a pattern through the charming buildings of Beyoglu resplendent in their neoclassical grandeur - some polished and proud, some faded and forlorn - but all reminding one of the glorious past.

Galip Dede is the Tin Pan Alley, the West 48th Street of Istanbul...packed with music stores selling guitars, baglama (traditional Turkish - and Greek - folk instrument), and all manner of drums, timpany and assorted other sound making devices. Heaven.

The sun is out and so are the smiling, happy people of Istanbul. Colourful clothes contrast with the colourful backdrops of the street and birdsong mixes with distant Byzantine scales, fruit vendors shouting their offers and the general hubbub of the street...

I have worked up a thirst so I stop at an eaterie in the shadow of Galata Kulesi (Galata Tower) and quickly drown several cold beers. Refreshed in terms of thirst I turn to the hunger part of the equation...

Fresh lahmacun - a kind of Turkish meat pizza served with some freshly shredded lettuce and lemon juice - is accompanied by haydari - a thick strained yoghurt laced with garlic and fennel and a plate of ezme salad - tomatoes pulped with spicy peppers, onion and olive oil with plenty of kick. Mopping up with delicious fresh bread that is doughy and chewy and almost a meal in itself.

In a nearby music store the proprietor plays baglamas through an amplifier and the sound of the Anatolian spirit that haunts the music from Greece to Central Asia and works to a Byzantine scale wafts across the square and provides the perfect accompaniment to my meal.

Oh how blessed I am to be able to have these moments of pure and utter contentment and joy. My heaven is perhaps someone else's hell - but I am able to taste this joy with comparative regularity and that is a true blessing.

And now I'm ready to head for the airport, my lungs filled with Istanbul, my eyes excited by her sights, by ears intoxicated by her sounds and my soul tantalised by her possibilities. My heart torn between the sadness of departure and the longing for return.

Who could not be inspired by Istanbul - for it is both inspired and inspirational.

Until the next time dear city. . . Until the next time.