I have taken to moving to the balcony around 6 or 6.30 every evening. It’s the time when the light is rose-coloured over the Gold Horn and Seraglio Point, and the sea takes on a deep, glowing blue. It is one of my favourite times of day – this is a cliche for anyone who has been to Istanbul, I suspect, but as with many cliches, one that is founded in truth. Across the Horn, Topkapi Palace, Sultanahmet and the Hagia Sophia are glowing in the light and behind them are the shadowy outlines of the hills of Asia, I think. At any rate, the Sea of Marmara from here seems ringed by hills, and the water itself, quite still, is crisscrossed by ferries surrounded by clouds of gulls, small boats and the occasional ship navigating its way with some difficulty through all this traffic. There are swallows in the sky, turtledoves and seagulls directly in front of me and, far below, the numberless cats of this city. There are Turkish flags everywhere – I think there are more flags here even than in the US, and the most striking is at the very tip of Seraglio Point. As the sun sinks, the light changes on Sarayburnu so it’s no longer rose coloured, but at that time the windows of the Asian side catch the setting sun and turn gold. That’s a sight even Suleiman the Magnificent would not have seen, I think.
Read this next