EatingAsia

Cook, Photograph and Eat with Us in Turkey this September!

This space has been quiet, and finally we can tell you why. We've been working on some Turkey projects. 

The first is a collaboration with Istanbul-based cooking instructor and food tour leader Olga Tikhonova Irez, publisher of the blog Delicious Istanbul: a 5-day food and photography workshop this September in Sapanca, a lovely small town two hours by car from the big city.

Our partner Olga's story is compelling: Russian, well-traveled, multi-degreed with extensive experience in the consulting industry, Olga visited Istanbul a few years ago and fell in love (as so many of us do) with the city, its people and its food. So she quit her high-level job, left her home in Moscow and moved to Turkey to make a new life and career in food. Determined to learn everything she could about Turkish home cooking Olga talked her way into an apprenticeship to the female owner-chef at Zelis Ciftligi, a family-run lodge in Sapanca. There she met her future husband, son of said master chef. Now fluent in Turkish, Olga splits her time between Kadikoy, Istanbul where she introduces travelers to the delights of marketing and cooking Turkish-style with her tours and classes, and Sapanca where she helps her family run their business.

When I first stumbled across Olga's blog about 1.5 years ago I spent hours stuck in the archives. I was struck by her honest musings on topics like adjusting to her role in her Turkish family's business and the challenges of finding her place in her mother-in-law's kitchen. I salivated over her descriptions of home-cooked meals at Zelis and found that we share preferences for certain Istanbul restaurants. I found too that we share a dismay at the fact that Turkey's cuisine is little known and underrated.

So when Dave and I were in Istanbul last November we met Olga for coffee. The three of us clicked, and the seed of this workshop was planted.

Earlier this month Dave and I visited Olga and her husband at Zelis. Right away we knew we'd found not only the perfect partners for such an enterprise, but the perfect place: a comfortable, family-style lodging in a beautiful, quiet setting. A casual place where guests could truly feel relaxed and at home. A lodge large enough to easily accomodate a group but small enough to maintain intimacy. A kitchen equipped for a restaurant but homey enough to be right for a small group of people learning and cooking together. Lots of windows and beautiful light for photography. Proximity to great markets. Access to local producers. Gracious and friendly hosts. Even an adorable cocker spaniel named Bakir ("copper" in Turkish).

And the food? Spectacular. We've been eating in Turkey since 1998 and we have never eaten such delicious, lovingly prepared meze. We were served liver that turned me, a liver-hater since childhood, into a liver lover. Breakfast was an orgy of gorgeous fresh baked goods (Best. Borek. Ever.), cheeses, a killer menemen, too many made-on-site jams and preserves to name, fresh yogurt, an intriguing cheese salad that is a specialty of Olga's mother-in-law. It was hard to leave. We wanted to move in.

The four of us ate and visited a market and walked around Sapanca and brainstormed and took notes. Dave and I left excited for the workshop that he and Olga will lead in September.

So here's the deal: 5 nights, 4 full days and two half days of cooking, eating, marketing, photographing, with one long excursion further afield, to a sweet little Black Sea town, for a bit of street, architecture and nature photographry. We'll visit a local farm and meet a cheesemaker. Olga will lead in the kitchen, where you'll get your hands dirty (or dusty) baking bread, making borek and traditional cookies, crafting meze, patting together kebabs, seasoning soups, and more. She'll draw on the sort of deep knowledge of Turkish home cooking and food culture that can only be gained by immersion in a Turkish household -- and she will share it with you. 

Meanwhile Dave will be there to coach you to great photography. He's been shooting for international publictions for a few years now, off next week for his fourth Saveur assignment in 6 months. Dave's also been teaching individual and small-group photography workshops since 2010 -- he loves it, and he's good at it. In Sapanca you'll tell Dave about your goals for the week -- whether it's getting comfortable taking photos of people, maximizing your time at markets to walk away with great images, or using light and shadow to bring out the best in a plate of food, whatever -- and he'll help you get there with plenty of one-on-one coaching time.

This has been a long time coming; we've wanted to offer a workshop marrying the two major elements of EatingAsia -- food and photography -- for a long while. But we're picky about who we work with. Olga is good folks. We're on the same wavelength. We enjoy her and her Turkish family and we learned so much during our brief stay at Sapanca. We certainly did eat well.

If this sounds of interest please hop over to the workshop website [here], read the detailed program, learn about the venue and see Olga's and Dave's bios. If you're interested, head to the sign-up page. We're limiting participation in the workshop to 9 individuals -- first come, first served. There is also room for 3 non-participating partners at a reduced rate.

I'm not teaching (nor am I photographing) but I'll be there, along for the ride. Dave and I hope to see you in Sapanca in September!

 

 

 

In Istanbul, a Market That Brings a Taste of the Black Sea to the Big City

It kind of blows my mind that residents of Istanbul, one of the world's busiest, most densely-populated metropolises, have ready access to fresh unpasteurized milk straight from the cow, bread baked in a single village's community oven, pear molasses produced in small batches year after year by the women of one family and fruit harvested from one farmer's orchard before being dried in his garden.

These are truly "artisan" foods, rare and small-batch, of the type fetishized in America. But in Turkey, a country still largely agricultural, they're not all that unusual. Labels and signage don't declare foods like this "artisan" -- it's taken for granted because so many foods here still are. In fact there are few cities in Turkey whose residents can't lay their hands on small-batch, small-producer, single-farmer goods if they're willing to make a minor effort.

This isn't to say that big ag doesn't exist in Turkey, or that mono-cropping isn't a problem (see kiwi orchards on the Black Sea). Yes, pesticides are over-used here, people buy sub-par ingredients in chain stores and battery-raised, plastic-wrapped chicken on styrofoam trays is sold at Migros and Carrefour. But to an extent that is perhaps difficult to imagine unless you get out into the hinterlands and do some serious road tripping, much of Turkey is still a land very much the Land of the Small Producer.

If you are planning a trip to Turkey that doesn't include time beyond Istanbul and you're even remotely interested in knowing how much of the country still eats you owe it to yourself to hit up Istanbul's weekly Kastamonu market, which is named for the province from which most of its vendors come.

Just a few hours' drive east of Ankara airport, Kastamonu registers on the map of few visitors to Turkey -- perhaps because it lacks an airport of its own, or maybe because its Black Sea climate (gray, rainy) puts off potential tourists. That's a shame, because it is spectacularly beautiful.

Kastamonu's capital (also called Kastamonu) is an intriguing if slightly brooding city chock full of photogenically crumbling Ottoman mansions. Ninety minutes away on the Black Sea coast is Inebolu, an exceptionally lovely hill town. Kastamonu is blessed with an extravagant amount of of natural beauty; think conifer-clad mountains, rivers winding through dramatic valleys and stretches of pretty pebble beach backed by rocky crags and lush green hills that plummet to the sea.

And then there is the food, born of microclimates that endow Kastamonu with a wealth of gorgeous produce. In autumn its markets overflow with all manner of leafy greens, fruits, nuts and mushrooms both farmed and foraged. From the Black Sea come fish, kalkan (flounder), hamsi (anchovies) and palamut (bonito), among other varieties. Hectares of velvety pasture provide nourishment for herds of beef and milk cattle (lamb is less often on the table here than in some other parts of Turkey). The province is known for its excellent pastirma (salt-cured, air-dried beef), luscious cheeses, yogurt, kaymak and fresh milk.

During three sojourns on the Black Sea we've been lucky enough to hit up many of Kastamonu's weekly markets, which are attended by vendors bringing fresh produce and prepared goods from their homes in small and often remote villages. In fact we've trolled Inebolu's twice-a-week market so many times that some vendors now recognize us (or maybe it's Dave's camera they recognize). We never fail to come away from each visit to the province envious of Kastamonulu and their ready access to such marvelous ingredients and laden with kilos of edible souvenirs to pack back home to Malaysia.

On this last trip to Turkey, despite almost three weeks on the Black Sea and several days in Inebolu, we still hadn't had enough. So last Sunday we set off to the Kastamonu Market in Kasimpasa, an Istanbul neighborhood on the Golden Horn just north of Tarlabasi (home to another great market). Kastamonulu make the long slog to Istanbul overnight by car (and truck) and set up around 6am. When we arrived late at 10:30 or 11 there was still plenty to see and buy.

First up, the essentials: dairy and bread. A table at the market's entrance displayed cow's milk kaymak -- 3/4 inch-thick shards stacked in plastic containers at 5 Turkish lira (about U$2.90) for enough to generously garnish four to six desserts -- as well as six types of cow and goat's milk, salted and unsalted cheeses. There was fresh, unpasteurized milk in plastic water bottles to take home and drink hot (or cold) after boiling. Along with kaymak, some milky semi-soft cheese and a 250-gram bag of suzme (drained) yogurt thick enough to stick to an upturned spoon we purchased grassy, tasting-of-the-beast butter at 7 lira a kilo, 

to slather thickly on köy ekmeği or "village bread", a massive crusty loaf made with unbleached flour.

Pazı ekmeği, bread made with chard and herbs (scallion greens and parsley, usually), was also out in force at the Kastamonu market. We know this bread well from Inebolu and to tell the truth this version was a pale comparison of that made by the talented baker woman we usually buy from there. That said, it was one of maybe 10 loaves left for sale in the entire market -- early risers will probably score a tastier loaf.

On the Black Sea autumn means apples and pears and persimmons. As we road-tripped along the coast we ate dozens of the latter, ripened until sugar oozed from the cracks in their skins, which were covered with so much black we would have sworn the fruit was rotten. It was anything but; sliced open, flesh scooped from skins like pudding, these persimmons were the sweetest, most delicious that we've ever eaten, something like a honey-enriched fruit jam.

There were also plastic water-bottle punnets of what might be Myrica rubra or Chinese bayberry, small nubbly fruits in pretty fruits sporting sunset hues. These we didn't try; vendors were not offering samples (in most market you can taste almost everything, cheeses included) of this relatively pricey fruit and, with only a couple of days in Istanbul, we feared we wouldn't finish a punnet full. Next year. 

In addition to fresh fruits there were plenty of dried specimens as well. In Giresun we purchased little pears sun-dried whole, chewy as Milk Duds, molasses sweet and ever so lightly bitter, like Vietnamese caramel. We saw the same shriveled pears at the Kastamonu market, along with sweet and sour dried plums and quartered apples dried with their skins on.

Giresun is also known for its hazelnuts, but further west towards Kastamonu walnuts and chestnuts rule. At village markets on the coast single vendors might display as many as ten grades of either or both, divided by size and quality. The smaller chestnuts, called kuzu kestane (lamb chestnuts), are for eating raw -- their skin is easily broken with a fingernail, they're slightly juicy and taste like raw mature coconut -- while the larger are meant to be roasted.

The market offers much treasure for vegetable lovers in the form of several types of pumpkin and winter squash,

leafy greens like chard, sturdy lettuces, young leaves of rocket and tere (a jagged-edged leaf that tastes a bit like wasabi) and collard green-like kara lahana or "black cabbage". There were even collard green roots for sale, massive specimens weighing half a kilo and more. Several vendors recommended making soup with these roots. We purchased one and snacked on it raw. It's a wonderful vegetable, super crispy and sweet with no cabbage-y funk. This vegetable, grated, would make a wonderful salad with olive oil and lemon and it would be super stir-fried with garlic and finished with a bit of sesame oil.

Cooler temperatures and autumn rains bring mushrooms to Kastamonu's copious forest land and there were no shortage of these at the market, both farmed and foraged on the coastal mountains. We bought a kilo and a half of several types and cooked them simply, sauteed with loads of that fresh butter and dusted with finely chopped parsley. Outside of Italy during porcini season, I've never eaten tastier mushrooms in my life.

Any Turkish market worth its salt has a mobile tea stall or two; most (especially on the Black Sea) hang photographs of Ataturk.

Turks are great picklers and preservers and both tendencies were well in evidence at the Kastamonu makret, at stalls offering any and everything brined -- including peppers, beets, turnips and carrots,

as well as all manner of preserves, jams, sauces and pekmez (fruit molasses) made from figs, apples, pears, grapes, cactus fruit, rose hips and mulberries.

There's no shortage of protein for sale at this market. We saw dainty baskets of school bus orange-yoked eggs cradled in straw, live turkeys (American expats in Istanbul, take note for next Thanksgiving!) roped to a truck wheel and freshly killed gangly free-range chickens. One vendor even had a few goose carcasses for sale.

The birds we had to pass on, for the cookware in our rental apartment wouldn't have been able to accomodate any of them. But we did return to our temporary home with bags and bags of goodies. That night we dined buttery stewed mushrooms ladled over pumpkin mashed with full-cream milk and yet more butter. Dessert was fresh, milky "village" cheese and apples, and a syrupy compote of orange peel-scented dried apples and plums with a generous -- no, make that HUGE -- crown of rich kaymak.

Our stay in Istanbul came at the end of a road trip along the central Turkish Black Sea coast, during which we reported a story on one of our passions -- anchovies -- for the New York Times. Read it here. And Dave has put together a slideshow of out-takes from the trip, set to "Hamsi" (Anchovies) by the Anatolian pop group Mogallar. View/listen here -- it gives a great feel for this very special, and under-visited, part of Turkey.

Kastamonu Market, Kasimpasa, Istanbul. Every Sunday morning. True market hounds should follow a stroll through this market's aisles with a visit to nearby Tarlabasi for its own (admittedly more wholesale but nonetheless good fun) Sunday market.

Dinner Number One

It's nice to be recognized. "Heeey -- how are you?" said the woman behind the counter when we walked through the door this evening at Datli Maya, a little cafe in Cihangir that we've been visiting since it first opened just about a year ago.

Yes, we're back in Turkey, in Istanbul for now, and we ate our first proper dinner at Datli Maya because it's become habit and it's good to be recognized and -- most of all, absolutely most of all -- because we always leave satisfied, rubbing our bellies and lamenting that we ate too much but, if we were to be honest, not regreting a single bite.

What we like about the place: the wood-fired oven that you can't miss as you walk through the door. The casual friendliness of the staff. That you have to walk through the teeny-tiny kitchen to get to the just-as-tiny dining room. Sitting by the window, right in sight line with the minaret of Firuzaga Mosque, and watching the sidewalk traffic as we wait for our order. Self-service tea, as strong or as weak as you like, pulled from an old samovar on a little table in the corner of the dining room.

And the ever-changing menu. There are always lahmacun and pide and desserts, but what is cooked long and slow in the wood-fired oven revolves according to what's in season, what's good, what's at the market, what inspires the cook. Today's specials are displayed on the counter, there for your perusal when you walk in the door.

Tonight we ate woodsy, meaty mushrooms with bits of strange but deliciously bitter green chilies, blanketed with mild, oozy cheese and reheated in a guvec (a clay baking dish) in the wood-fired oven. Also, "village chicken", a lovely stew of a zucchini-like summer squash, potato and chicken in what tasted like the richest bird broth ever (enriched with butter, perhaps?), and a guvec of sweet pumpkin stewed with red peppers and onions. There were chickpeas stewed with onions and peppers, and a salad, always a salad. Datli Maya excels at them -- they're generously proportioned, include a variety of greens and usually house-pickled beets and just-sprouted mung beans, and are dressed with a lemony pomegranate molasses and cumin "vinaigrette". We often end up ordering a second salad to avoid fighting over the first one.

Mung beans? Chickpeas? Is this really Turkish food? some may ask. Let's call it Turkish with a twist. The ingredients are good, the execution is inspired and the result makes us happy.  We are quite happily off to other parts of Turkey in less than 36 hours but, for now, it's good to be back in Istanbul

How to Get the Most Out of Istanbul: A Highly Opinionated List

Not listed in your guidebook: a typical scene in an Istanbul neighborhood

You might have done a double-take when you read that title. Service-y lists are definitely not our thing. Lists are the sort of thing I (Robyn) write for monetary compensation, though rarely willingly. When editors broach the "L" word I tend to cringe.

But, but. There is a time and a place for lists. Here, for instance, and now -- when the number of emails that I receive, in which the sender is heading to Istanbul and asking for a few general tips, reaches a critical mass. Istanbul, it seems, is hot.

It's pretty plain to see that we love Istanbul; we've made 14 visits in the last three years. But we "do" the city in a particular way, the sort of way that probably won't earn coverage in your average travel magazine. Maybe it's your sort of way too. Or maybe not.

At any rate, we have opinions about how best to experience the city. To whit:

After Sultanahmet's sites close, Beyoglu is where it's at

1.

As soon as you arrive buy an Istanbulkart -- one of those wallet-stashable plastic cards that you buy loaded and reload at a kiosk, useable on just about any form of public transport you are likely to board. We still use our akbil from ages ago -- same difference -- and not having to buy a jeton every time you want to get on a ferry is a real aggravation reducer. You do have to pay a deposit on the thing -- and thus remember to A) keep the receipt and B) return the card to claim back your deposit before you leave town --  so it's worth noting that just one card will work just fine for a couple or even a family of up to four people traveling together.

Update June 4 2012: Please note that cash is no longer an option on buses -- it's Istanbulcart only. Thanks to commenter sarahlizp for the heads up.

2.

Following on the Istanbulkart advice -- learn the basic transport lines. Why? So that you can sail through your time in Istanbul without ever having to set foot in a cab.

In our experience nine out of ten taxi drivers in Istanbul are jerks. One even threw change at me (Turkish coins are not flimsy) and then put a hex on Dave, which we are fairly certain resulted, a few minutes later, in a serious, trip-ruining (and persisting) back injury.

Why risk the giddy happy-state that Istanbul induces in 99% of its visitors on a teeth-grinding encounter with a taxi driver?

Here, let me make it simple for you.

• The ferry lines you're most likely to use -- Karakoy to Kadikoy, Eminonu to Kadikoy and Uskudar, Kadikoy to Besiktas and Uskudar to Besiktas, Kabatas to Kadikoy, Besiktas and Princes' Islands.  Note that in most cases ferry terminals are named for their DESTINATION. So, for instance, at Eminonu there are Uskudar and Kadikoy ferry terminals.
• The tram runs from beyond Sultanahmet (Universiti is a good stop if you're headed to Suleymaniye Mosque) across the Galata bridge to Karakoy (where the ferries are), Tophane (galleries and walking up to Cihangir and Galata and even Taksim), Findikli ("secret" tea spot -- see below and Prince's Islands/Kadikoy ferry terminals) and Kabatas (connect here to underground line up to Taksim, catch a bus or taxi to Besiktas and beyond to Ortakoy, Arnavutkoy, Rumeli Castle, Sariyer, etc., or access same ferries as at the Findikli stop).
• The funicular (two stops, the top and bottom) runs from Karakoy uphill to Tunel (just above the Galata Tower), which sits at the base of that famous (and famously annoying, if you are in a hurry) pedestrian shopping mall known as Istiklal Caddesi.
• And there's a quick little underground line that will get you from Kabatas up to Taksim Square in the blink of an eye.
• Buses are easy: just know where you want to go and look for the your destination on the window. Taksim Square is a node, and a good place to catch buses across the Ataturk Bridge to say, Fatih and Balat. Or step up and ask the driver: Besiktas? Fatih? If you've got your Istanbulkart ready then you won't have to fiddle with change.

With this bit of public transport info lodged in your brain you can just about anywhere.

3.

Related to II -- ride the heck out of Istanbul's ferry boats! They're one of the best things the city has going for it. If you don't believe me, take just four minutes to watch and listen to Dave's multimedia ode to Istanbul's ferries (wear headphones, view large screen). See, wasn't I right? In Istanbul riding the ferry is like taking a mini vacation within your vacation.

They're cool in the sticky heat of the summer if you can snag a seat outside. They're warm and cozy in the winter. They offer the best views, anywhere. Ride all the ferries and you'll see all of Istanbul's skylines from every possible angle. They offer fantastic photo opportunities. They're a way to "sightsee" without walking, an excuse to take a load off. A ferry ride during off hours, without the crowds, is incredibly romantic (at sunset especially).

When I'm in Istanbul I feel as if I have failed if I don't ride at least two ferries a day. And unless you're deathly afraid of water or prone to seasickness you should feel that way too.

This is what we did just the other day: Karakoy to Kadikoy. Then Kadikoy to Uskudar. Then Uskudar to Besiktas (this is a quick ride). Besiktas to Kadikoy. Kadikoy back to Karakoy. Lots of photos were made. Lots of sighing over Istanbul's incomparable skylines was done. Hands were held. Tea was drunk.

Which leads me to my next tip:

A "secret" tea spot with a view near the Kabatas ferry terminal

4.

Get into tea drinking. It's a great excuse to rest up and rejuvenate after sightseeing/walking/shopping etc., and also a great way to soak up the local vibe. It's a fantastic means to staying upright if you're fighting jetlag.

Turks drink tea all day -- they'll stop anywhere, anytime for a bardak (glass). Get into this mode. If someone offers you tea feel free to accept -- it doesn't obligate you to anything other than friendly chit-chat. (Even if it's offered by a carpet seller.) You are also free to decline, as Turks do. Do so politely and no one is going to hold anything against you.

If you can't tolerate caffeine, know that tea spots also offer bottled water, ayran (salted water-thinned yogurt, incredibly refreshing on a hot day) and sometimes herbal teas -- zahter [zah-tair] = thyme tea and ada cayi [a-dah chai-yuh] = sage tea. Sorry, but apple tea is for tourists.

We have a few beloved secret tea spots. They're not literally "secret" -- but they're not the Pierre Loti Cafe and they're unlikely to be listed in any guidebook:

• Tucked in a corner of the park by the Kabatas Prince's Islands ferry pier, almost exactly across from the Findikli tram stop, is a sweet little outdoor tea spot. Comfortable plastic chairs steps from the water, a lovely view across to Uskudar. This is a nice sunset spot and absolutely beautiful first thing in the morning, around 7:30, when most patrons bring along something breakfasty to nibble as they take their wake-up tea, have their wake-up smoke and gaze at the water.
• At the far edge of the parking lot across from the Istanbul Culinary Institute in Beyogulu's Pera neighborhood, there's an indoor tea space with al fresco tables and chairs out front. A bit noisy from the road below, but a nice view over a part of Istanbul we really haven't explored. Great for a cool-season afternoon tea, as it gets good sun around 2pm.
• The bufe just to the right as you exit the Eminonu/Karakoy ferry terminal in Kadikoy has tables and chairs right on the water. Another great sunset spot; turn your chair facing out to Besiktas and away from the godawful red-and-white giant beachball view-spoiler at the opposite end of the promenade.
• At the urging of Istanbul Eats' Ansel, we checked out Osman's independent tea truck in Karakoy, on the other side of the bridge from the Kadikoy ferry terminal (walk through the fish market, past the tables where people are eating grilled fish, and just keep walking). We like the vibe, very much so. This would be the place to head for tea around sunset.

Update, May 2013:

• The teahouse in the manicured park aroundn Dolmabahce Palace boasts many, many tables right on the water; it's a great sunset spot. You needn't pay to enter the palace grounds (though your bag will be X-rayed). You'll be offered a menu as you sit but it's perfectly fine not to order food. Tea is on the expensive side (2 TL per glass) but we think the view and nice setting justifies the price.
• As you exit Karakoy ferry terminal (having arrived by ferry, obviously) turn right. There, just on the water next to a row of fishermen you'll find two guys with the ubiquitous coal-fired portable tea maker. Grab a plastic chair or stool and order. You'll be expected to move along fairly soon after you finish your tea but feel free to bring along a simit or other tea snack. (In late afternoon/evening there are two fish sandwich grillers right behind.) This is an outlaw tea operation Irregular hours, and no guarantee these guys haven't been chased off by now. But tea was still being offered here as of April 20, 2013.

5.

Familiarize yourself with Turkish vowels and consonants. At some point or another you may need to ask directions, or order a grilled fish or a "Turkish bagel" or whatnot. Pronouncing the "c" as a "j" instead of as a "ch" when it should be pronounced as a "j" is going to increase the chances of your getting whatr you want andwill just generally make your life all around easier.

It's not that complicated. C and s are pronounced "j" and s, add a thingy underneath c and it's "ch", one underneath s makes it "sh".

A dipper over g makes it soft and almost nonexistent (so dogal, g with thingy over it, is pronounced "doh-all"). A g without the dipper is just a hard g.

O and u are "oh" and "oo", two dots over each just make them tighter vowels -- not anything to worry too much about, actually, as Turks have always been very pleasant -- to my face at least -- when I mangle their language

E is "eh", a is "ah", and i is "ee". An i without the dot over it is pronounced "uh". So ızgara balık
(grilled fish) is uhz-gah-rah bahl-uhk. Or close enough to that  for you to be understood when you say it.

You will not see this next to the Blue Mosque.

6.

Get out of Sultanahmet, aka the Old City. I know, I know -- the Blue Mosque is there! The ancient cistern is there! You know what else is there? Carpet sellers, a lot of them. Touts, postcard and trinket sellers. Irish pubs. Overpriced, mediocre food (chicken breast pudding -- it's wild, it's crazy but you know what? It's not the best dish to ever come out of the Ottoman kitchen).

A Turkish friend once said to me, "No self-respecting Istanbullu would eat in Sultanahmet." And neither should you.

Yes -- you will want to spend one, two or even three full days sightseeing in Sultanahmet. But there is really no reason to spend your nights there too. After all if you visit New York you may put the Empire State Building on your bucket list, but must you stay in the same neighborhood to ride the elevator to the top?

You have absorbed Tip 1, right? So you know that getting to and from Sultanahmet is as easy as brandishing your Istanbulkart and hopping on and off the tram. Or the ferry. Or as simple as walking across the bridge on a beautiful morning and back across as the sky turns orange.

Our favorite stay is Cihangir (Galata is second, for its convenience), a lovely under-the-radar neighborhood that is a 10-minute walk downhill from Istiklal Caddesi and a 10-minute walk to the Tophane tram stop. Add 10 minutes to wait for a train and 5 more to get to Sultanahmet and you're talking 25-30 minutes tops.

Most real Istanbullu live, eat and play across the bridge (or elsewhere in the city outside of Sultanahmet). When Sultanahmet's sites close for the day get out and stay/live, eat and play among them.

A street scene in Cihangir.

7.

Rent an apartment. Hotels are ridiculously overpriced in Istanbul -- I have no idea what justifies the 150 Euros per night charged by the most mediocre of 3-star hotels in the city. If you're bound and determined to spend 150 euros a night you can score a nice apartment with a Bosphorus view and probably a private balcony too. Not to mention: a washing machine, a full-sized fridge to chill your duty-free champagne in (if you enjoy a tipple or two and are staying in an apartment you will want to stop at duty-free; Turkey's liquor duties are a major strike against it), a stereo, room to move and unpack your bags and pile up your dirty laundry and the privilege of not having to shower and dress before your morning coffee.

If you are an avid cook, as I am, and go gah-gah for beautiful ingredients then it's no contest. You'll welcome the opportunity to cultivate a friendly relationship with your neighborhood fruit or vegetable guy. When you're browsing at the corner produce shop and see 6 huge, beautifully pared artichoke hearts in a bag of lemon water for 15 lira you are going to want a stovetop to pan roast them on. You won't get it in a hotel room. You know those astonishingly fragrant, sweet green-fleshed melons dripping juice that every fruit seller in town is displaying come May/June? They're absolutely gorgeous for breakfast, served dead-ripe with a good quality sharp, lightly salted white cheese. As are summer's strawberries with a blog of fresh kaymak (clotted cream). Neither of these combos is likely to show up on your Sultanahmet hotel breakfast buffet table.

(Please note: no vacation apartment rental service sponsored this post.)

At the Tarlabasi Sunday market.

8.

Go to a once-a-week market. Even if you're not taking the advice in Tip VII, you can still take advantage of things like amazing fruit and a jawdropping selection of cheeses and edible souvenirs like nuts and dried fruit and spices and such. We love the Besiktas market on Saturdays -- the cheese stalls are particularly alluring. It doesn't really get rolling till around 10am. The Tarlabasi market on Sundays is mammoth, and good fun too.

9.

Get juiced. Does juice deserve its own point? I think so. Like tea houses, juice sellers are everywhere in Istanbul, squeezing oranges and grapefruits and, in season, pomegranates to order. Following on point VI, don't pay 5 Turkish lira for an orange juice in Sultahahment. Stop at the entrance to the Tunel funicular in Karakoy where a guy proffers a small glass for 1 TL. In winter, head behind the Kadikoy ferry terminal in Karakoy, in front of the tea house facing out onto the bit of promenade where all the guys are tossing fishing lines, and have a glass of ruby-red pomengranate juice pressed to order for 2 TL.

10.

Know that you're never far from a toilet. This bit of advice will not apply to readers who don't guzzle water as if they'd just finished a desert marathon, or who have chosen to ignore my bit of advice about tea drinking and are abstaining -- if you're one of them you can skip right on to the next point of advice. But I know that there are some of you out there who, like myself, consume more liquids than the average Joe and are constantly on the lookout for a public toilet. It's hard to enjoy a beautiful sunset from the Galata Bridge or a cruise through the lanes of the Kadikoy fish market when you're preoccupied by the urge to pee. The good news: in Istanbul it is almost always the case that where there's a mosque there is a public toilet, accessible for a fee ranging from half a lira to one and a half or two. "Bay" means Guys and "Bayan" means Gals. After making use of my share of mosque toilets I've concluded that the older the caretaker/change accepter, the cleaner you can excpect the toilet to be. It's also worth noting that the toilets at either end of the Galata Bridge (beneath the bridge itself) are surprisingly -- given their situtation and frequency of use) inoffensive.

One of my mother's favorite bits of advice: Go now because you never know when you'll have another chance. Mother's wisdom does not apply in Istanbul.

Every Istanbul stay should include a proper breakfast out -- one that includes menemen

11.

See the sights and then put away the guidebook and just do some neighborhoods. Go to Fatih, visit the Kadinlari Pazari, sit for some tea underneath the aquaduct (how cool is that? a glass of tea beneath a centuries-old aquaduct!), stroll through the mosque by the park, and just wander. Head out the Rumeli Castle early-ish (no later than 9:30am) on a Saturday or a Sunday, have a proper breakfast, then walk the water to Arnavutkoy and stroll up and down its hills, admiring the cute wooden houses. Take the tram to the Findikli stop, start walking to Tophane, climb the first set of stairs you see to its top, and then thread your way through the 'hoods towards Cihangir and beyond to Galata. You won't get lost (and so what if you do?), just keep the water in your sights. Take the ferry from Eminonu or Karakoy to Kadikoy but get off at Haydarpasa station, have some tea by the water, then walk to Kadikoy and duck up into its streets opposite the bus terminal.

Water views from a randomly located grassy spot above Tophane

You get the point. Put the map away and wander. Never knowing quite what to expect is one of the best things about one of the greatest cities in the world.

12.

Probably most important -- when planning your trip give Istanbul the time it deserves. I know, it's your first trip to Turkey (and maybe your last) and you want to fit in as much as possible. But Istanbul is like an onion, with many layers that reveal themselves only as the previous is peeled away. And in some ways Istanbul is a place unto itself -- different to every other part of Turkey you may ever visit. Think of Turkey as two countries: Istanbul and the rest. (Actually that is an oversimplification -- but you get my point.)

On our first trip to Turkey we spent 9 nights in Istanbul and left fretting that we hadn't even scratched its surface. Over subsequent trips we've probably spent a total of 3-4 months in the city. And we still feel that there is so much we haven't seen and experienced.

So don't rush Istanbul. Because no matter how much time you spend there I can almost guarantee you'll leaving wishing you'd spent more.

Addendum - June 04 2012: Commenter seoulgirl asked for recommendations for reputable apartment rental companies in Istanbul.

I can't make any guarantees, but we've had good look with a couple of rental sites:

• We've been renting places in Cihangir and Galata, Beyoglu, through Istanbul Sweet Home since 2010. The Galata apartments are in lovely old buildings; one of our favorites oozes character and overlooks a lovely Crimean church. That said, we're partial to Cihangir, for its convenience: there are a number of good places to eat, several wonderful fresh fruit and veg shops and a lively cafe scene. Our favorite ISH Cihangir pad is usually booked, probably because of its roomy terrace with a view and a barbecue. It must be said that if you're a first-timer to Istanbul or otherwise a bit nervous about staying outside of a hotel this probably isn't the apartment rental service for you -- management isn't as hands-on as others. But we've never had a bad experience. ISH arranges airport transfers, at a reasonable 25 euros from Ataturk Airport. If you're flexible about travel dates the site lists "discounts" for unrented aparments at the beginning of every month.
• In February we rented this Cihangir apartment through HomeAway.com. The kitchen was tiny but we made it work. Otherwise the apartment was great and the management very responsive. We'll no doubt revisit this apartment in the future.
• In June 2012 we rented an apartment in Cihangir through Cross-Pollinate. It was our first time renting through this relatively new agency and we had a fantastic experience. When we changed our date CP replied promptly with a confirmation email. The apartment owner was on top of everything, the place was spic and span and exactly as advertised on the site, and it was probably our best-equipped pad to date. We will use Cross-Pollinate again.

In Istanbul, Nothing Special

An on-time touchdown and a friendly taxi driver from Malatya who cheerfully helped with our bags and wished us a pleasant day with a smile.

Milky blue skies and a gently warming sun. Through our window as we chased dehydration with ice-cold ayran, a sweet breeze with a hint of saltwater and just a lick of coolness. A jetlagged nap -- not too long, just enough.

A sublime lunch: pillowy little meat medallions, lightly crusted from the grill, accompanied by an intriguing dried chili-based sauce hinting at vinegar. "A secret recipe, like Coca Cola," said the kofteci when our companion asked after its ingredients.

A stroll through Karakoy and a ferry ride to Hydarpasa. Tea, because we were determined to stay awake the whole day and there is no better excuse to sit idle and stare at the water, and look at the now-quiet train station. (Sad to see waiting rooms occupied only by cats, the restaurant empty, the barber shop quiet).

A wander along the water to Kadikoy. Tea again, by the water again. A kilo of cherries purchased in the market and eaten in the park as a dog serenaded a shoe shiner, young couples, a group of guys getting lit on Efes, some housewives, and us.

The ferry to Eminonu, the Galata Bridge by foot and the funicular to Tunel. A late afternoon stroll down Istiklal, a spot of grocery shopping down the hill in Cihangir and a stop to say hello to Mehmet, our Istanbul fruit guy. Back at our apartment, artichoke hearts stewed in olive oil with fragrant young garlic, peas tossed with olive oil and slivers of fresh mint. A nectarine sky and the cries of gulls drifting through the window.

A not particularly special day in Istanbul. A perfect first day in Istanbul.

For more on our lunch -- Köfteci Hüseyin: The Cadillac of Meatballs

 

Penang in Print (and other news)

A divine Malay lunch at International Hotel, Transfer Road

As we were wrapping up a little over three weeks in Turkey a piece we worked on last Oct/Nov ran in NY Times Travel. If you missed it, the link to my (Robyn's) 36 Hours: Penang is here. While you're there be sure to click on Dave's accompanying slideshow, a whopping 32+ photographs taken around the island.

For more Penang in photos sans words, Dave has posted out-takes from this shoot on his photo blog Sky Blue Sky, here.

And for yet more Penang, a couple blasts from the past: our late 2010 piece on post-Unesco world heritage designation changes in George Town for the same publication, here; some street photography and portraiture in Penang, here and here; and a sweetly nostalgic multimedia of Penang black and whites set to old-timey music, here.

(Now seems as good a time as any to mention once again that when he is in Penang Dave offers one-one-one photography walks/workshops. Info here.)

The week before our Penang piece ran my tiny write-up on Bangkok wine bars hit print; see it here. Yes, yes -- I've heard the grumbling from various quarters to the effect that none of these places are, in fact, wine bars. Beyond my puzzlement as to how exactly one should define "wine bar" these days (Must there in fact be a "bar"? Should there be potted ferns? Are DJs just not done? Is the bar not also allowed to offer beers on tap and mixed drinks?), I can say firsthand that they are all great places to enjoy a glass or a bottle, and they all boast a good -- and in some cases unique -- selection of vintages. Let me put it this way: no freebies were enjoyed in the course of this reportage.

And, before we asphyxiate ourselves with all the hot air blowing about this post, last week American photo agency A Wonderful Machine ran on its blog an interview with Dave about his current obsession with Turkey. You can read that, and view some photos, here.

And there you have it, our self-promotion quota for the month. Back to regular programming tomorrow. 

Seeing as I've ended on a Turkey note and that having been back in Penang for less then 48 hour, we're still in a Turkey frame of mind, a couple photos Dave shot last week. Snow is a unique and wonderful thing for us. On this night in Istanbul it was especially beautiful.

In Istanbul, a Slurp to Chase Winter Chills

It's snowing! In Istanbul!

And with big fluffy flakes drifting down outside our window, now seems the perfect time to tell you about boza.

Thought to have been invented in the 10th century or thereabouts by central Asian Turks, boza is a fermented drink made from corn, wheat, or millet. We sampled the beverage at Vefa Bozacisi, an old-timey shop not far from Suleymaniye Mosque. Vefa is certainly not a "find" -- it's in every guide book and probably on every walking tour, but it's not just for visitors; Istanbullu frequent Vefa too. 

The shop has a long history. By the 1600s there were boza shops all over Istanbul selling a thin, sour, rather alcoholic version, until Sultan Mehmend IV closed them down as part of a genearl ban on alcohol. During this period a sweetish, hardly alcholic version is said to have been favored by the Janissaries who guarded Topkapi Palace. Given the Sultan's ban on booze it became popular outside the palace walls as well.

In the late 1800s -- or so the story on the Vefa website goes -- Vefa founder Hadji Sadik Bey immigrated to Istanbul from Albania and "started to make Vefa Boza of a different flavour and taste, with thick consistency and having a less sour taste, just as it is flavoured and enjoyed today."

Boza is a winter beverage meant to be drunk warm. Long ago it was sold by itinerant vendors who pushed their carts up and down Istanbul's slippery wintertime hills shouting "Boooza! Booooza!" Now you can buy the stuff in a bottle, but for pure nostalgia value it's hard to beat the Vefa experience.

The shop is all mirrors, blue-and-white tiles, and timber. Orders of boza are ladled up to order from a big marble tub on the bar that runs along one side of the shop.

We sampled our boza off-season (as you might deduce by the short sleeves in these photos). Such a hearty drink would probably have gone down easier in the dead of winter but even in June boza cast its spell on me.

It's quite viscous -- thick and slurpy. Some may find this repellent, but living in Asia has pretty much inured me to gloppiness in any dish or beverage. I loved the boza's's mildly sweet-tanginess, which is nicely complemented by the generous sprinkle of cinnamon with which the boza server annoints each glass.

Right across the street from Vefa is a leblebici (roasted chickpea seller). This is not a coincidence. Some boza drinkers sprinkle the roasted legumes on top of their boza before each sip/slurp.

On that summer day, as we sat in Vefa sipping/slurping our boza, our friend Evren (he of the healthy obsession with deliciousness and the memorable brunch near Rumeli Castle) explained the custom such: "Imagine buying a bag of just-roasted leblebi from the leblebici, then rushing over to Vefa to eat them while they're still hot, with a warm glass of boza."

That I can imagine, on a wintry day like this.

(Want to try making boza at home? This recipe uses bulgur. Want more winter? Dave shot these images earlier this week in Sivas and Malatya, central Turkey -- and on the open road in between.)

In Istanbul, an Exception to the Brunch Rule

Menemen worth suffering a traffic jam for

When it comes to Brunch (organized brunch, eating-out brunch and -- especially -- Brunch as Buffet) we have one rule: we don't. Ever, anywhere. It's a tenet we've hewed to for decades and have no expection of straying from. Except in Istanbul.

Our Brunch turnaround happened on a sunny Sunday morning last November. It was the last weekend of a wonderful month in Turkey. We were in Istanbul, spending the day with a good friend who suggested starting with breakfast -- which ended up not happening till late in the morning, which technically made it Brunch. Uh-oh.

What's more, said Brunch happened in the vicinity of Rumeli Castle, which is surrounded by a slew of tea gardens and Bruncherias with almost too-picturesque Bosphorus views. On fair weekend mornings the promenade teems with Brunchers, Strutters, Yachters, Preeners and Trophy-Dog Walkers.

It's really not our scene.

But our friend Evren, whom Dave was lucky enough to land as an assistant when he worked on an Istanbul ferry boat photo project a couple of years ago, grew up in Istanbul, in a family that loves to eat. He has a healthy obsession with deliciousness. It was Evren who led us to our now-favorite Istanbul kaymak-erie and bakery. He's never let us down. We couldn't say "no" to Brunch with Evren.

True to form, when we stepped off the bus just past Rumeli castle Evren led us past the flashier Bruncheriasto Rumeli Kale Cafe, a skinny three-story structure opposite Iskele restaurant (where, ten years ago, Dave and I endured a meal of passable fish accompanied by the snootiest service imagineable).

We slipped in the back door, climbed a skinny flight of stairs and entered a narrow dining room lined with banquettes and fronted by an un-paned picture window. It was packed, but the crowd was unpretentious, the vibe low-key, the view lovely.

Evren did not order sparingly. The cafe is a favorite Sunday haunt, he told us as he picked and chose from the menu on a first pass, then picked and chose some more 15 minutes into the meal: a full Turkish breakfast (cheese, olives, tomatoes and cucumbers, raisin preserves). Eggs two ways: fried with sucuk (sausage) and semi-scrambled with tomatoes and peppers (menemen). Bal kaymak (heavenly Turkish clotted cream in a pool of honey). Crispy rolled borek oozing kasar cheese. Haloumi fried in butter.

Rumeli Kale Cafe has two upper floors, and each floor has only two window tables; most customers make do with views marred by the heads of fellow diners. Its long narrow dining room offers little See-and-Be-Seen opportunities. People come to Rumeli Kale Cafe to eat.

And we did. "Eat the borek while it's hot," Evren urged, and we obliged.

Then we moved on to the rest of it. We slathered kaymak and honey on sheets of steaming lavash periodically added to our bread basket by the waiter, broke perfectly wobbly egg yolks onto slices of sausage, forked up bits of crusty haloumi and used spoons to devour the ethereally light menemen.

In between bites of everything that was bad for us we drank tea ("It melts fat!" Dave kept insisting) and nibbled on tomatoes and cucumbers and green cayenne peppers. We chatted. We looked out the window. We idled. Over Brunch. Brunch!

And it was good.

Afterwards, we needed to move. So we joined the Preeners and Trophy-Dog Walkers et al on the promenade. Stumbling along in a Brunch-induced fog, we vowed to never again do Brunch. Istanbul being the exception.

Rumeli Kale Cafe and Restaurant just past Rumeli Hisar (coming from Istanbul). There are two Rumeli Kale Cafes -- aim for the three-story structure further along the road (away from Istanbul), across from Iskele Restaurant. While the cafe serves breakfast till late in the day during the week, aim for a Saturday or Sunday (or holiday), when the kitchen is geared up. And arrive by 10 if you want to be sure of a table upstairs, earlier if you hope to sit by the window on the second or third floor. Be forewarned: the flow of traffic back into town will be glacial.

[Note: We revisited Rumeli Kale Cafe last Monday morning. We're now in Anatolia, in the little-touristed city of Kayseri. Dave recently posted some moody black-and-white shots from the last few days, here.]

Datli Maya: Tradition With a Twist in Istanbul

The Istanbul-bound flight out of Singapore arrives in the wee hours. Even after we've hit up airport Duty Free, fought the traffic to Beyoglu and dropped our bags in our usual stay in Cihangir it's still early. We know a long nap will assert itself eventually but on a morning like this -- turquoise skies, birds chirping, a light breeze -- going straight to bed is out of the question.

So we walk a little, poking around the neighborhood, tallying the changes since our last visit: a few sleek restaurants, a new bar or two, a couple boutiques. Cihangir doesn't have Galata's dramatic architecture or its historic charm, but its hipster factor has risen dramatically. We're happy to see Mucver is still there; we know it even before we climb the hill outside our door to the corner because we can smell lunch being prepared in the garden-level kitchen just a few doors away.

But wait ... the postage stamp-sized wood-fired bakery where we always buy simit from a sometimes friendly, sometimes grumpy hoca, we see as we approach, has been re-painted. He is gone and -- we roll our eyes -- the place is now a cute cafe called Datli Maya. There is cheesecake in the window.

Oh dear. There goes the neighborhood.

Still, it's open, we're hungry, and jetlag is closing in. We step inside and find that the wood-fired oven is still in use and simit are still for sale. And when we inquire about the hoca the new owner tells us that he taught her to use the wood-fired oven, and the simit recipe is his, and he lives upstairs on the third floor. We feel better.

The cafe is in early days, she says. They're still testing, getting a feel for the fire. Would we like to try a dish of lor (ricotta-reminiscent fresh cheese) and Spanish quince paste warmed in the oven? We would, so we head upstairs, through the teeny-tiny kitchen, and take a seat at one of three tables in the even smaller dining space. In the corner by the door there's help-yourself tea in a big old-fashioned samovar. The wall shelves by our table hold jars of dried herbs, a few books, some knick-knacks. The chairs and tables are mismatched but the place feels comfortable, not twee. Personal, not self-consciously shabby chic.

The cheese and fruit paste arrives at our table drizzled with good olive oil and garnished with two black olives. The lor is unsalted and uber milky, nicely balanced by the sharp olives and sweet quince paste. As we're fighting over the last bite the cafe's energetic owner pops upstairs and, plucking twigs and leaves from the jars on the shelf, offers us herbal tea.

As we drink  I read a framed newspaper clipping hanging on the wall. It turns out that our friendly host is Dilara Erbay, a not unknown quantity in Istanbul's culinary world. (Read more about her career, and Datli Maya, in a typically authoritative Istanbul Eats write-up here.)

Dilara was last associated with Abracadabra, a big beautiful restaurant with a view in Arnavutkoy. One Sunday morning last January we and a couple chef friends went to Abracadabra for what is yet one of the best breakfasts we've eaten in Turkey. Dilara wasn't around, but her commitment to sourcing the absolute best regional ingredients was evident in the kaymak, honeycomb, eggs, butter and cheeses on our table. Yet despite the deliciousness and the welcome given by the Abracadabra staff we knew we wouldn't return; the vibe was a little preening, a bit too see-and-be-seen.

What a lovely surprise then to find that a not-new talent, but a new-to-us talent, was working magic in a place without attitude, a cafe we'd be eager to return to. Three weeks later, after a spell on the Black Sea and inland, we did. It was all good.

The traditionalist in me sniffs at a menu that puts lahmacun side-by-side with cheesecake. But why not, if both are done well? Datli Maya's lahmacun hoca brings his talent for taming the wood fire all the way from the southeast;, our thin-crusted pekmez specimen was memorable, our garlicky sausage and cheese pide delicious. Dilara knows a thing or two about baking; the cheesecake is seven-spiced and lovely, a cross between hefty New York-style and fluffier versions.

Turkey boasts amazing regional ingredients that should be getting more play outside traditional kitchens. Our kudos Datli Maya for going there in a way that feels honest, not gimmicky.

And as a curious cook who enjoys talking with other cooks I like the idea of a place where I can walk through the kitchen and see what the staff is cooking up for the lunch special. On our last morning in Istanbul we found Dilara and her colleagues wrist-deep in wild mushroom and bulgur pilav. Are those dates? I asked, and Dilara pulled a package of floury red Chinese dates from the counter. "A friend gave them to me," she said. "I think they're Vietnamese. But we're using them in this pilaf. Why not?"

Indeed.

Datli Maya, 59/A Türkgücü Caddesi, Cihangir (across from the mosque). Daily 8am-midnight.

In Istanbul, A Perfect Lunch and the Call to Prayer

Eating seafood by the water in Karakoy, Istanbul -- such a cliched tourist experience. But Istanbullu eat seafood by the water in Karakoy too. And because of these fish, these fried hamsi (anchovies), we found the best spot in the city from which to listen to the call to prayer.

On a gauzily bright afternoon last January we walked through the small fish market at the northern end of the Galata Bridge. We like the little restaurants there. They tout a bit and a menu may be waved in front of your face, but there's nothing overly aggressive about the salesmanship.

Prices are clearly marked, and reasonable -- especially if you stick to what's in season (and avoid prawns/shrimp). The service isn't to white tablecloth restaurant standards, but if you've dined at white tablecloth restaurants in Istanbul you might think that's not a bad thing. (Our tolerance for snooty waiters is pretty low).

The food is basic, and good.

We walked to the "restaurant" at the very end, the one with tables right on the water. We sat in the sun and drank in that view that's impossible to tire of. We ordered hamsi and a mackerel-y type fish and a salad. After many trips to Turkey we still marvel that a beautiful salad is so easily had no matter where in in the country you find yourself.

The fish arrived griddle-fried and crispy outside, moist and sweet within, accompanied by big fleshy leaves of peppery rocket and wedges of lemon. Our salads (greedy for the tangy pickled red cabbage that's a component of this tri-color assemblage, we ordered one each) were dressed with a drizzle of olive oil and the lemon juice we squeezed on top.

We ate whole anchovies, leaving aside only bits of head, and picked flesh from mackerel bones and soaked up lemony olive oil with chunks of bread, and felt absurdly lucky to be there, dining outside comfortably in the middle of January and drinking in one of the world's most beautiful skylines.

After lunch we hopped on the small ferry we'd watched chug back and forth between our "restaurant" and Eminonu, on the opposite bank. We could have easily walked across the bridge, or taken the train. We could have stayed in Karakoy; we had no reason or desire to be in Eminonu.

But it seemed right, after a simple meal of fish and salad by the water, to ride close to its surface on an old-fashioned ferry. So we paid the ridiculous foreigners' price, equal to almost half the cost of our cheap lunch, and climbed aboard.

We sat outside and let the wind slap our faces as we listened to the ka-chug ka-chug of the motor and the hollow punch of waves against the boat's wooden sides. It was a short ride, less than five minutes, and if we'd had the nerve we would have asked the gruff boatman if we might stay on board for a few more back-and-forths.

But we didn't, so we didn't. Instead we alighted in a parking lot with a perfect vantage of Galata tower just as the loudspeaker of a mosque nearby began to crackle.

It started there, and then marched up the hills behind us as muezzin at other mosques joined in. Then morefrom the opposite side of the bridge. We by the shore as the call to prayer bounced and echoed all around us, a cascade of rising and falling male voices.

When the last bit faded away we walked to Eminonu pier and caught a ferry to Kadikoy, just to be on the water.

Fish restaurant at the Karakoy fish market: if you're at the Galata Bridge facing Eminonu the fish market is on your right. Walk through it to the very end, to the tables on the water. The menu is basic: fish and salad. About 20 Turkish lira for two fish plates and a big salad.