Rising early, I wanted to see the Hippodrome in its full glory. It’s a massive square with a huge ancient race track circling it, so I wanted to stand there without another soul and imagine what it may have been like a thousand years ago when gladiators whipped their chariots around the cobblestones and their win or a loss could mean the end of a Byzantine emperor’s rule. In the ottoman years it became the centre for revolution beginnings.

Stepping out into the street I was met by grey skies and drizzling rain. And it was cold. I dashed back into the room for jacket and brolly – it’s amazing how warm the Istanbul buildings are, inside anything more than a cardie was too hot to wear.

Back outside I traipsed the quiet streets, there was only a couple of people about, a chap opening his corner store and another sweeping the road. Istanbul is exceedingly clean, for a city of its size I was surprised to see so little rubbish in the areas we had so far ventured into. I arrived at the Hippodrome and found it quiet. And indeed incredible in size and aura. The obelisks seem to soar into the sky and the rain didn’t dampen their splendour, if anything it highlighted their features giving the hieroglyphics depth and sharpness. The mosque was gently bustling with locals going in reverently to prayers and coming out in quiet chatter.

These Islands had been high on my list from the very beginning of my trip planning. I was fascinated to find Turkey had three Seas within a very short distance and connected by very narrow waterways. The Black Sea flowed via the Bosporus to the Marmara which flowed via The Dardanelles to the Aegean. I decided to try an take a trip on each of the seas and when I found out about the Princes Islands I just knew I had to go there.

Come rain, hail or shine, we were going to do a cruise of the Bosphorous.  That it would all come on one day was neither here nor there.

It was our last full day in Istanbul and I felt as if I’d hardly seen any on the ‘must see’ sights, we hadn’t been to the Topkapi Palace, we hadn’t gone up Galatla Tower, we hadn’t seen the magnificent Süleymaniye mosque, nor the Dolmabahce Palace with its crystal baby grand and chair and as for visiting a Hamam, I hang my head in shame and think, “How can I even say I’ve visited Istanbul”.

I thought having six full days to dive in to this enormous city would be enough but I’ve barely scratched the surface. So we were determine not to miss a full cruise up and down the most important thoroughfare of Turkey.

“Umm, isn’t this our side?” I say to Mal with a hint of trepidation in my voice.

Mal swerves sharply to the left, shrugs his shoulders and replies dryly “He’s allowed to, he owns it, it use to be his farm.”

I stifle a laugh and instead groan at his joke as the tractor with its gaily painted trailer thunder past and we move back to the right side of the road. Tractors appear to be the mode of transport here, I’m sure there’s two and half tractors to every car…. and by the half tractor, I mean the little rotary hoe style tractor, also with trailer, we’re seeing everywhere trundling along the road.

Mal is in his element, he’s behind the wheel and sharpening his wits against the Turkish drivers. There’s obviously a method to the madness I’m seeing in the rules of the road here, I just haven’t worked it out yet…. and we’re in rural Turkey where the traffic is a little more sedate.

Other than becoming ‘deaf’ from the ear-popping 4660ft drop on the D350 mountain road, the 13hour night bus from Cappadocia to Fethiye is one of the best bus trips I’ve ever had the pleasure to do – smooth, comfortable and at times, extremely picturesque with an amazing light show from an evening electrical storm across the plains to a glorious sunrise dawning over soaring mountains, some of which glistened with remnants of snow.   

The two hour mini-bus from Fethiye to Kas is horrendous. Not the worst bus trip I’ve ever been on (that accolade belongs to a Nepal moment of madness) but a bone shaker in any case. With windows and doors sealed tight, the driver refused to use any form of air ventilation and must have imagined he was driving an Audi sports along the Mediterranean coastline, cutting the corners so tight and hitting the brakes with such familiarity I was kind of wishing I’d just pass out from the stifling airless vacuum we were encased in.

We board the bus, smiles bright and wish everyone a cheery “Morning all!” 

Various Hi’s and hellos pop back, but what resonates loudest to my ears is a dry

               “oh don’t you hate it when you’re stuck on a tour with loud people,”

from a woman who then proceeds to discuss at length at her neighbour in a strident voice how she thinks tours are for people who can’t organise their own lives or don’t have imagination.

I try hard not to take her comment personally, telling myself I’ve probably stepped into the bus in the middle of her conversation and turn to the woman next to me and smile. She picks up her book and proceeds to bury her head into it and doesn’t resurface for the full 45minuets of the bus trip (or for that matter, the next 7hours - obviously a good book!)