Ottoman Tapestry

"There was a blue sky over Asia, and away to the north, masses of white cloud drifting over the Black Sea" Buchan wrote, describing the city. "What seemed the day before the dingiest of cities now took on a strange beauty, the beauty of unexpected horizons and tongues of grey water winding below cypress-studded shores"

Old Istanbul's distinctive wooden houses are rapidly disappearing

Ever since I was a boy, escaping nightly into the exotic, spy-filled world of writer John Buchan, I have wanted to visit Istanbul. Buchan's Greenmantle was a particular favourite, a wonderful tale of derring-do filled with stiff upper lips, nicks of time, jaws of death, hairs-breadths and Fire-when-you-see-the whites-of-their-eyes. "There was a blue sky over Asia, and away to the north masses of white cloud drifting over the Black Sea" Buchan wrote, describing the city. "What seemed the day before the dingiest of cities now took on a strange beauty, the beauty of unexpected horizons and tongues of grey water winding below cypress-studded shores." Buchan's evocative portrait of this tumultuous metropolis lingered in my mind over the intervening years. When I finally arrived here, I brought with me long-savoured expectations. And I wasn't disappointed.

Physically, Istanbul is divided into three parts - Stamboul and Beyoglu, each as hilly as San Francisco and divided by a thin little worm of water called the Golden Horn, and Uskudar, across the Bosphorus, in Asia. Most of the things you'll want to see are located in old Stamboul- the bazaar, the sultan's palace, the mosques. Beyoglu is the commercial and hotel district (the Hilton is here, high above the city). And, like San Francisco, water dominates the scene, lapping against stone walls, reflecting a thousand minarets and gently rocking the fishing boats which line the bridge spanning the Golden Horn.

Fishing boats rock gently in the waters off Galata Bridge

This bridge, Galata Bridge, bustles with life all through the day. Taxis honk their way across, buses crawl slowly over leaving a trail of blue fumes in their wake, pedestrians throng the sidewalks and, all the while, the ferry boats nose in and out of the moorings alongside. Here on the bridge you'll first notice the ubiquitous Turkish porter. He has broad shoulders, this two-legged wagon. Over there, a porter lugs half a dozen rolled up rugs. Further on, a porter carries a load of boxes taller than he is. And coming towards you, a porter staggers a little under a heavy chest-of-drawers. Half the population of Istanbul seems to be carrying something.

As you continue on over the bridge, from Beyoglu to Stamboul, you'll see the fishermen hawking their catch- bass, mackerel and mullet, slivers of pink and pewter displayed elegantly in boats lapped by the tide. Behind you, Beyoglu's buildings - thousands of brown, yellow, white and grey boxes, squat, higgledy-piggledy, on the sides of the hills, seemingly slightly out-of-focus behind a haze of heat. The bridge is all a'babble, and your senses are overwhelmed by the noise, the colour and the smell of dust, of Turkish cigarette smoke, of diesel fumes and the salty tang of the sea.

High above you, on Seraglio Point, is the palace of the sultans - Topkapi Saray. This is the place that gave Peter Ustinov such a problem (scrambling over domes wasn't his cup of tea) in the film caper, Topkapi. For over five hundred years the seat of the Ottoman sultans, its first stones were set by Mehmet II, who conquered Byzantine Constantinople. It was abandoned as a ruler's residence for the wedding cake iced with marble - the Dolma Bagtche Palace - on the Bosphorus waterfront, below the Hilton hotel. That happened in the mid Nineteenth century and since then, Topkapi has been a seat of ceremony (until the collapse of the Ottoman empire after the First World War) and, lately, a museum.

Topkapi - kiosk, view to the city, guardhouse

The palace is part fortress, part Arabian Nights dream, set behind high stone walls and graced with beautiful gardens punctuated by cyprus. It commands a sweeping view of the Golden Horn, the Sea of Marmara and the Bosphorus; in fact, it's worth coming here for the view alone. But, of course, there's much more to see. Here is a collection of kiosks, courts and rooms which are named with Ali Baba-esque flourish - The Pavilion of the Blessed Mantle, The Harem, The Quarters of the Black Eunuchs, The Gate of Felicity, The Baghdad Kiosk, The Pearl Kiosk. You can spend hours wandering around in here, but spend as much time as you can in the Imperial Treasury, with its loot and tribute collected over the centuries and its glass cases filled with the silken robes and bejewelled turbans of past rulers. This is an emerald-ruby-diamond-and-pearl encrusted world, a glittering treasure chest of Oriental self-indulgence.

Istanbul is a city of mosques - there are over 440 of them. Chief among them is Santa Sophia, a thousand years older than St Peter's in Rome and considered to be one of the seven wonders of the world. Ten thousand workers built it. Eighteen tons of gold were needed to pay for it. Built by Justinian, it was the glory of the Eastern Orthodox Church until the Ottoman conquest, when it was turned into a mosque. Today, it has no religious use and is simply a museum. The Sultan Ahmet, or Blue Mosque, is close by. Both these mosques are just a short walk away from the entrance to Topkapi, so it makes sense (if your feet are up to it) to pass from one to the other. Further down the hill, close to the Galata Bridge and the Covered Bazaar, is the great Mosque of Suleyman The Magnificent. Its many domes and minarets dominate the Golden Horn and, in my opinion, make it the city's most memorable landmark.

The domes and minarets of Santa Sophia

On your itinerary, too, are the Yerebatan Cisterns, built by the Emperor Justinian in the 5th century AD. This vast underground reservoir is a very atmospheric place; you descend stone steps with your guide and presently emerge into a shadowy arena. The guide chatters on, his words echoing and re-echoing off stone walls. Stone pillars are everywhere, supporting the ceiling, stretching into the distance, becoming lost, ultimately, in the gloom. Murky water stains the base of each pillar. Above, the city's noise continues, but way down here, the silence is that of a tomb.

For a thousand years, this city was the richest in the world. And nowhere is this more evident than in the famous Covered Bazaar, in old Stamboul. In this maze of covered streets and arcades are hundreds of tiny shops, stalls and cubbyholes, where buying and selling has an almost medieval quality and where bargaining is de rigeur. Window shopping here is great fun, but if you linger too long, the shopkeeper will be at your side, with a wide smile and a welcoming arm extended towards the door. I purchased a pair of Persian slippers, with curly toes, a fragment of what was supposed to be Roman sculpture (the "ageing" soon began to rub off!) and numerous boxes of Turkish Delight, the mouth-watering jelly candy that tastes the way roses smell. Best buys: gold jewelry, Turkish rugs, silk and satin fabrics, ceramics, handmade brass and copper ware, sweetmeats. But be cautious; that "bargain" may cost you less at home.

Istanbul at night - haunting and mysterious

Turkish wrestling is heroic, ritualistic - and a boon to the olive oil industry. Dressed only in traditional hand-embroidered leather breeches and covered, from shaved head to toe, in olive oil, the wrestlers strain against each other, trying to get the hold that the oil makes nearly impossible. Their bodies gleam in the sun, the crowd roars approval, the balloon-seller makes his rounds, the band plays in the background and, in the shade, a soft drink stall is kept busy. Each game starts with a prayer, Allah, Allah, illallah - May the Lord Protect Us. If there's a game in town, consider yourself fortunate.

A boon to the olive oil industry

After all the exercise you're in for (walking around Istanbul works up an appetite) you'll want to know something about eating and drinking in this city. Turkish food has Greek and Arab elements; you'll be able to choose from grilled meat, kebab, and grilled fish (the local varieties are delicious) accompanied by stuffed vegetables. Tomatoes and eggplant are favourites here; try Imam Bayildi, which means, literally, the imam faints - a savoury concoction of stuffed egglant in a rich sauce.

Tea and coffee is sipped at all hours. Tea is weak and sweet and comes in tulip-shaped glasses; coffee is thick and sweet, served in small cups - with a glass of water to wash the grounds away. Restaurants are everywhere, some of the best clustered around the bazaar.

A Turkish shepherd tends his flock on the perimeter of the city

Istanbul! You'll probably arrive by air, as I did, because these days who can afford the time one needs to amble across the continent on the fabled Orient Express? In the good old days of Grand Tours and Wagon-Lits and Cabin Trunks, Istanbul was the glamorous and slightly wicked "end-of-the-line" - the storybook gateway to the mysteries of the Orient. But the age of jets and package tours hasn't really lessened the impact of this unique crossroads city. Hop on a plane and discover the adventure that is Istanbul for yourself.