It was our 24th wedding anniversary today so it had to be breakfast in bed. Unfortunately we had to perform our own DIY room service as unsurprisingly the hotel didn't offer it.

I got dressed and blearily fumbled my down the three flights of steps to the breakfast bar where I plated up a selection of fresh breads and cheeses. I then stumbled my way back up focusing too much on not spilling the coffee and not enough on the steps. That was just Julie's breakfast delivered. I had to negotiate the steps again carrying my own.

It was gone 10am by the time we got up and out of bed. Luckily we got out in time to have a shower because moments later whilst we were brushing our teeth the water supply was cut off. Unbelievable! We had now gone past caring found it hilarious. We couldn't wait to find out what was next. Oh, did I mention the 3cm gap between the door and the floor!

The plan today was to go further afield and visit a few of the bazaars. After eventually working out what to do and how we did it we bought some tokens from a kiosk attached to a bar on Divanyolu Caddessi then entered the secure tram platform for the journey towards the Spice Bazaar.

When the tram arrived we were shocked to see to how full it was. "We're not going to be able to get in" said Julie. She was right!

The tram pulled up, the doors opened, nobody got off, nobody got on; the doors closed and off it went, leaving us feeling stranded. We looked at each other both thinking "I hope we don't have to walk"

Fortunately another tram was hot on its heels and this one was a lot less packed.

The journey from Sultanahmet to the Eminönü stop didn't take us long. It was only three stops away. As we turned a corner onto the waterfront I just caught a glimpse of the historical Sirkeci Station and wished we had got off at the earlier stop to take a closer at the train station to which the classic Orient Express used to roll. Perhaps later I thought. (but we never did.)

We got off at the third stop and were hit with a real strong smell of fish. I'd been telling Julie that one of Istanbul's delicacies was a fish sandwich and that here, right on the Golden Horn, was the best place to eat one.

By the look on Julie's face I knew that she wasn't going to try one, not even to give me something to write about. The smell was very unpleasant.

We walked towards the New Mosque ( Yeni Cami ). It was much smaller than the Blue Mosque but shared much of the same architectural features. I suppose that'll be because it was a mosque and built like one. What I'm trying to say is the "New" looked liked a scaled down version of the "Blue".

We decided not to go inside choosing to continue on our way across the square towards the Spice Bazaar.

One side of the square was filled with a thousand pigeons, like Trafalgar Square in London, all loitering around a handful of seed sellers. On the other side were a row of shoe shiners with their ornate golden platforms. They weren't busy.

Unfortunately I didn't have shoes you could shine otherwise I would have gone over and experienced a real traditional shinning.

It was here we were approached by some one asking "Hello, where are you from ?"

I knew straight away that his next line would be "Would you like to have a look at my carpets. I'll give you a good price" so I decided to have a bit a fun. So when he asked me where I was from I replied "Peru".

He looked completely bemused and paused long enough for us to make our escape towards the entrance to the Spice Bazaar.

It didn't look much from the outside, only the constant stream of people pouring in through the central archway made us realise that it must be the place.

The place was alive with bartering and deals being struck but we were pleasantly surprised how laid back the traders were towards us. We could browse without being hassled which was refreshing.

Not once did we get stopped and asked to "have a look at my nice shop."

 It was noticable that Caviar featured quite prominently.

With access to the Black Sea, Turkey does produce its own Caviar but the best available is accepted as the Iranian variety from the Caspian Sea which is home to the prized Beluga sturgeon.

Coming in at an average of $7000 per kg we weren't going to be buying any Beluga today!

I personally don't know what all the fuss is about. I remember (before turning vegetarian) trying caviar and just thought it tasted a bit fishy, not too dissimlar to Shippam's fish paste and at 79 pence a jar I know which one I'd go for!

It was at this point my thoughts strayed off on a tangent and I wondered "Do people in Turkey eat Turkey?"

Do they actually call a Turkey a "Turkey" in Turkey?

And why do we, the British, call the our favourite Christmas bird a Turkey?

"There's only one way to find out" I told myself "I'll google it later when we get back to the room" - and the answer is Turkish people call the bird a Hindi or an India!

Halfway down the market were slightly surprised as to how little spice stalls there were in the Spice Bazaar. Although the few we came across with their brightly coloured mounds of ground spices were a wonderful glimpse into the past.

Trading in spice has taken place here for the past 400 years but the traders of today have obviously had to diversify. The market is also known as the Egyptian Bazaar but I didn't notice many of them for sale either!

Everything you'd expect to find in a bazaar were here; plates, rugs, nagrile pipes, fabrics, shoes, jewellery and a little spice. We walked down to the far end and turned left continuing along this large L-shaped market. By the time we reached the exit it was a convenient time for a break.

We sat down in a small simple cafe called Bab-i Hayat where I had a tasty Turkish coffee that came in a delicate floral china cup that seemed far too refined for cafe with plastic chairs and kebab meat turning in the corner.

Julie's tea came in a standard paper cup more becoming of the place complete with the name Babi-Hyat printed on one side.

People watching we noticed a few of our fellow diners were eating what looked like gorgeous toasted sandwiches so we decided to order one.

We weren't even hungry but they just looked so nice. Of course, when it arrived it looked nothing like what the locals were eating. Theirs looked full, moist and delicious, whilst ours had been pressed into a solid corrugated sheet of bread and cheese. Buy enough of them and you could have built yourself an air raid shelter.

We still ate it though and tasty it was too.

Moving on we entered the streets behind the Spice Bazaar which was basically an extension of the market. More stalls selling absolutely everything from pots & pans to televisions.

Sometimes local markets are facinating places to visit, like the souks of Marrakech or the Berber market in the Atlas mountains but these streets lacked the charm of those places.

We got deeper and deeper into the maze of back streets, leaving behind the market and entering a very male dominated shopping area. For a good ten minutes Juile was the only female in sight. I didn't realise men liked to shop so much!

"Where are we?" she said feeling quite uneasy. Truth was I didn't know where we were. The pop-up map was neither use nor ornament down here. I knew where I wanted to get to but was just following my instincts about how to get there.

We turned a corner and began walking up a steep hill. Normal shops gradually disappeared to be replaced by those selling guns, knives and combat wear.

"Where are you taking me?" said Julie feeling even more uneasy.

Eventually we reached the top of the hill and we saw a landmark I recognised as the outer walls of the University. Julie was very tired by now and was finding it difficult not to reveal her grumpy side.

Fortunately we weren't far from reaching our goal, the revered Süleymaniye Mosque.

Built on Istanbul's highest hill it's possibly both the city's most and lesser known mosque. Outshined internationally by the Blue Mosque many will never had heard of the name yet all will be very familiar with the iconic image of the mosque rising above the city skyline.

We first came to the cemetary at the back, paying a donation to enter. The garden centred around the mausoleum of Sultan Suleiman and his wife Roxelana. Both were unfortunately closed today and we had to make do with peering in through the glass door.

We spent a few minutes walking around the cemetary. There was an ethereal beauty to the white gravestones, a ghostly charm enhanced by the contrast of red roses in bloom.

The garden's and tombs were all very well kept. The gravestones were even washed regulary to avoid the blackness of pollution.

We sat down for a while to rest, to take the weight off our weary feet.

Being amongst the dead felt strangely peaceful and comfortable, not at all eerie.

We weren't in any rush to leave but leave we did. Only after some difficulty in getting back up onto our feet. We had stiffened up quite dramatically.

"Must be early onset of rigor mortis!"

As we left the graveyard we noticed a large display showing interior photographs of the mosque in the middle of some serious renovation work.

The penny slowly dropped that it was closed today and for the near future. (It actually reopened in November!) I was so disappointed I almost considered asking for my donation back!

We continued our walk down past the cafes of "addicts alley" known in the past for its hashish cafes and opium dens.

They weren't always such insalubrious extablishments. The domed buildings were originally an extension of the Süleymaniye Mosque and served as a charitable foundation with kitchens to feed the poor, hospital to care for the sick, accomodation to shelter the needy and a school to study the Q'uran.

Today in addict's alley the only vices to be found were caffiene abuse and overeating. We did neither as our attention was drawn towards the mosque trying to catch a decent glimpse over the high permiter wall.

Built in the 16th century by the famous architect Sinan, (who was entombed just outside the walls) it was the largest mosque in Istanbul for 50 years until Sultan Ahmed went one better and built the Blue Mosque.

We didn't really get a good view. We tried peering in through the gates or standing as far as way as we could from the perimter walls but we were too close to see it in all its glory.

Instead we occupied ourselves by admiring the old buildings that surrounded the mosque. The caravanserai, the imaret, the medresa, the hamam. Sadly we walked straight past the tomb of Sinan himself without even noticing it was there!

Eventually we completed the full circle around the mosque returning to where the mosque walls met the University walls. Here on the corner of Ismetyie Caddesi and Fuat Pasa Caddesi we noticed a small shop selling savoury pastries called Bosnak Börekci.

We couldn't resist as we remembered these tasty snacks from a Bosnian restaurant in Dubrovnik.

All they sold were Börek but they had plenty of choices, meat filled, cheese filled, spinach filled and much to Julie's delight, a potato filled pastry.

They came as long double barrelled tubes of buttery flaky filo delight all warm and comforting. We ate them moaning and groaning with satisfaction. They were so good.

With the appetizers finished we were suddenly desperate for the next course. We saw a stall selling pomegranite but the were too healthy.

Looking for a proper main course we marched down the dull Fuat Pasa Caddesi street looking for the Grand Bazaar. It was a very dull street, it's only highlight was catching the reflection of the Beyazit Tower from within the Unversity campus.

Where the road curved away a small alley appeared, filled with a jumble of stalls signalling the begining of the vast network of markets known as Kapali Çarsi, the Grand Bazaar.

This section was still open air but before long we took a deep breath and threw ourselves headlong inside one of the world's largest covered markets.

In through the Çarsikapi gate we followed a basic map in search of the nearest restaurant. We inevitably strayed off course and found ourselves wandering up and down the many many narrow passageways.

A friendly shopkeeper stopped us and asked "Where are you looking for?" when he saw us holding our map upside down.

As it happened a few twists and turns later we found ourselves walking up towards the bright neon sign of Havuzlu, reputedly the best restaurant inside this huge place.

We sat "outside" near a bubbling fountain from which the restaurant took its name.

It was all quite chaotic as the waiter signalled us and another table to follow him inside so that he could explain the dishes available today.

His rapid fire delivery had us all in a spin but I managed to decypher the non-meat dish of roasted veg with aubergine mash for my order. Julie didn't have a clue what was going on and agreed to follow his recomendation for the day, the Doner Kebab.

It puzzled me because a doner from a local kebab house back home would be one of her food nightmares. It's more associated as drunken fodder, the sort of food you crave after being to the pub. I'm not saying you have to be pissed to eat it but it helps.

You're less likely to notice the regugetated rotating meat kept at a constant tepid temperature. It's not for the faint hearted.

She was hoping for something more authentic and I suppose she got her wish as slices of meat were served with a tomato sauce and a big dollop of yogurt on the side. "It tastes fine" she said reassuring herself.

We spent over an hour here eating and writting our postcards. It was a very useful location for it because there was a post office next door!

When it was time to leave we were a little shocked at the 47 lira price. The 20 lira doner kebab and 10 lira roasted veg suddenly aquired an extra 17 lira when bread, water and side salad arrived with the meal at our table without our request

After lunch we strolled around the Grand Bazaar. With over sixty recognised streets it wasn't easy to find your way around so we decided to just let fate guide us.

In an attempt to organise the chaos the stores were all grouped together according to their commodity, leather, ceramics, jewellery, lanterns, sliver and so on.

The succession of painted arches gave the optical illusion that we were falling deeper and deeper inside this five hundred year old labyrinth. It was amazing to think this magnificent indoor trading centre was built in 1461.

We came across what the guide book described as a marble fountain but it was more of an elaborate basin than a bubbling water feature. With taps at the base it provided fresh water to those in the bazaar.

Up to now we had succesfully strolled through uninterupted browsing at a distance. Then Julie saw a plate she liked and stopped to take a closer look. She picked it up. It was a very attratively painted piece of ceramic. The owner quoted "Eighteen Turklish Lira" as his starting price.

"I was looking for something cheaper" said Julie.

He reached for a cheaper looking bowl and said "This I can give to you for 6 lira"

It wasn't the fact it was a far simpler pattern and less lustrious paint that we decided to walk away. There was just something about the guy we didn't like. "6 lira is best price" he continued.

"I'll think about" said Julie as we walked away.

"OK, I'll sell you this for 6 lira" he said picking up the first plate. Not wanting to cut our nose off to spite our face we stopped and turned back. Then with a conceited look and a smug smile he said " but I'll think about it first."

We laughed politely and left. What an arse.

Next up we left the creamy arches of the Grand Bazaar and entered the impressive red brick multi domed ceiling of the Sandal Bedesteni, the Old Bazaar. The join was seemless. The name suggests this section was the oldest part of this medieval shopping mall.

There were several silverware stalls in this area. But the most fascinating stall however was selling what appeared to be looted ancient Byzantine antiques but were of course incredibly detailed replicas.....or were they?!

We returned to the streets of the Grand Bazaar walking through the clothing department where I resisted the temptation to buy myself an attracive kaftan for the bedroom.

In the centre of this street was a curious little kiosk, large enough to house a jewellery shop but looked like a minature Ottoman home complete with an imperial golden dome. Apparently dating back to the 17th century it was originally a coffee house.

We had now reached the opposite side of the Grand Bazaar and left the market metroplois through the Nuruosmanyie Kapisi gate.

We ended up in a car park which was a little disorientating and had to readjust my internal navigation system by using landmarks such as the Nuruosmanyie Mosque and Constantine's Column as reference points.

Built in 330AD by Emperor Constantine it has suffered damage from earthquakes, fire and storms but it still stands today. It's been a miracle that this burgundy coloured marble column has survived so long.

As columns go it wasn't the most attractive. Reinforced with metal rings it looked like a leg in callipers. It's known locally as Çemberlitas, the Hooped Column but is also called the Burnt Column.

Legend has it that at the foot of the column there was a sanctuary containing relics from Christian antiquity such as fragments from the crosses of the two thieves crucified alongside Jesus Christ, the baskets from the feeding the five thousand miracle, a jar belonging to Mary Magdalene and even the axe used by Noah to build his ark!

The base of the column was now a mass of rock after it was strengthened in the 18th century. If there were any relics they wouldn't be there now.

From Çemberlitas Square we completed a full circle walking down Divanyolu Caddesi towards where we began this morning.

It was only about 2pm so we decided to venture further afield and cross over the Golden Horn into the Beyoglu district. We caught a tram from the same Sultanahmet stop as this mornnig and got off at Karakoy the first stop immediately after crossing over the Galata bridge.

Emerging from the tram into the busy streets it took us a confusing and quite stressful ten minutes to find the well hidden entrance to Tünel funicular.

Our hearts sank when we saw a very long line of people queuing literally around the corner and up an alleyway. We almost tagged onto the back of the queue but wisely decided to find out first what was at the end of it instead of assuming it was the queue for the funicular train.

It was so lucky that we did! We found the Tünel station clear of any crowds just on the right immediately after the queue. (We never did find out what they were all queuing for? )

I had some extra tram tokens in my pocket so we strolled up to the turnstiles, pushed in our little plastic coins into the slot and stepped forward.... hard against the locked crossbar.

"Ooh, that's going to bruise" I said Julie.

The token hadn't worked so I shoved another one in with the same result, a big red cross at the turnstile and a bruised thigh against the non turning stile.

Julie was watching my total frustration with amusement before suggesting that perhaps we need to buy different tokens for this line. Of course she was right.

Other than that it was a very efficient service.

In the world's second oldest subway we boarded a modern underground train that within 90 seconds climbed steeply to the top of Galata hill. We stepped out onto the 3km long Istiklâl Caddesi, Istanbul's main shopping street.

It had a nice relaxed feel to it, with buskers provided the soundtrack to accompany shoppers enjoying the freedom of a pedestrianised avenue.

They were all sent scattering to the sides however when they heard the clanging bell of the historic tram that trundles up and down the length of Istiklâl from Taksim Square to the Tünel Square.

If you weren't into your shopping there wasn't much else of interest to see along here other than the nostalgic old tram.

To use up some time and because we were this end of town we decided to find the Marmara Pera Hotel. We had a dinner reservation at its Mikla restaurant this evening, as an anniversary treat. Just off Istiklâl Caddesi, the hotel wasn't difficult to find.

We popped inside to have a look around. It was stylish and undoubtedly luxurious but their snooty staff put us off.

Bored by the High Street we left Istiklâl returning down the funicular, safely negotiating the turnstiles this time. Back down the hill at Karakoy we chose not to jump on the next tram out of there, walking instead down to the riverside to admire the great view of the Süleymaniye Mosque.

Whilst we were down here we noticed that Galata Bridge was more than just a bridge. There was another level beneath the road which was filled with cafes and bars. Each one tried their best to lure us inside their empty establishments as we walked past.

We passed one place called '10'. It looked very inviting with colourful beanbags instead of chairs but inside it looked like a souless nightclub. It was probably the wrong time of day for them to be busy. I imagine the area being very popular in the evenings with partygoers. A few doors down we past a smaller cafe style version called '10 junior'. Our weary legs said it was time for a sit down.

Julie was a little apprehensive, worried that she would make a fool of herself trying to sit on a beanbag. It's quite a difficult movement to master. She was quite nervous as she got into position and dropped herself onto the soft filled sack.

She needn't have fretted as she got it spot on. It was me who made a right tit of myself!

I plonked myself down with misplaced confidence, my arse completely missing the centre point and ending up sitting severely off kilter.

With my left knee pointing skywards and my right elbow almost touching the floor I had made a right balls up of sitting. Then, whilst I was struggling to readjust my body weight, the waiter appeared for our order, compounding my embarassment.

Nevermind. I eventually settled into a comfortable position to drink my apple tea and watch the river traffic come and go across the Golden Horn. For the first time today we felt wonderfully chilled out. We'd been constanly on the march up steep hills and through intense bazaars.

There was a lovely relaxed atmosphere down here and we felt no rush to leave. Although that was our next challenge, leaving. It meant we had to attempt to get up from the low squidgy beanbags as gracefully as possible.

We waited for the waiter to go out of view, then Julie rolled off hers onto the floor on all fours, whilst I was all over the place struggling to my feet, grossly misjudging my agility. Eventually we were both standing upright and we left.

The lower level didn't continue all the way across, there was a gap in the middle where the boats could pass under. At this point we climbed steps to the upper level and we completed the crossing alongside the road.

I'm glad we did because towards the end we came across a troop of fishermen dangling their rods over the side. Plenty of fish were being caught although one unlucky fisherman landed himself some seaweed, an empty crisp packet and a surgical glove!

We could have hired a fishing rod and had a go ourselves but we decided against it.

As we reached the end of the bridge we noticed these incredibly ornate golden boats moored at the Eminönü docks. They looked like royal ceremonial barges but were in fact "restaurant" boats with a team of chefs on board busy grilling fish.

The boat was being tossed about frantically in the swell which severely tested their cooking skills as well as their sea legs. It was quite incredible to watch. It was very popular down at the quayside so we popped down to soak up the atmosphere.

"Do you not fancy a fish sandwich with the locals then?" I asked.

Julie turned to me with a face of sheer distaste, "I couldn't think of anything worse right now!"

There was a nice and relaxed feel here but after a few minutes we left the quay. The smell of fish was overwhelming.

It must have been the end of the working day as we joined the mass exodus heading for home. We followed everyone into an terrbily overcrowded underpass. Julie felt very claustophobic and I must admit I didn't fancy our chances if there was a crowd surge down there.

It was hot and airless and made you realise how dangerous a situation like this could become. With a huge sigh of relief we came out the other side happy to breath in the fresh fishy air.

It was high time for a siesta so we headed back towards the hotel, catching the tram from Eminönü to Sultanahmet. We boarded a standing room only rush hour tram. Before long a distressed Julie turned to me and pleaded "Can we get off at the next stop?" I leaned in to hear her a little better and immediatey understood her reasons. Packed like sardines there was no such thing as personal space which was a problem when the person standing closest had shocking body odour. We bailed early at Gülhane before one of us threw up.

Despite being very tired and it was all uphill we were much happier with the slow walk back rather than spend a minute longer on the tram.

Reaching Divanyolu Caddesi we had worked up quite a thirst and thought it would be a good idea to refresh oursleves with an ice cold glass of Effes lager at the Sultanahmet Pub. It was a bloody good idea. It tasted like the amber nectar gifted from the gods to weary travellers.

Refreshed we moved on up the street until the window display of the Prime Cafe & Pattissiere stopped us in our steps. They had an amazing selection of traditional Turkish sweets including the obvious Baklava and Turkish Delight or Lokum as they rather call it.

But what caught my eye was the squirell's heaven, the fine looking pile of those nut crusted apricot ball things I had outside Haigha Sophia (I wish I knew their proper name!) I went inside and bought myself two pistachio ones. They had other options like almonds or madacemia nuts but I stuck to the familiar. I also only bought two because larger than a golf ball these were maxed up for the larger appetitte.

As soon as we got out the shop I ate one. The other I stored away for later like any good squirrel would.

We didn't get much further before stopping at the next bar, temptingly called the Cozy Pub. We sat outside where table and chairs we laid up a small alleyway. There was a bit of rain in the air but the patio heaters above us kept us warm.

We decided to cancel our reservation at the exclusive Mikla. It wasn't just the snooty staff that put us off but the table wasn't booked until 10pm. We couldn't see oursleves making it!

Instead we tucked into a bowl of chips with hummus. It wasn't exactly haute cuisine but it was an inspired choice as we dipped our delicious potato fries into the warm chickpea puree.

The friendly waiter asked us if we liked the warmed dip "It's a new idea we're trying" he said "We think it goes better with the chips." We'd never had hot hoummus before but it worked. It was the perfect cosy comfort food. A concept worthy of Michelin recognition!.

"I'm off to the toilet" said Julie "and if I'm not back in three minutes come and break the door down!"

It may seem like an odd thing to say but experience has taught her that toilet locks in foreign lands can be quite tricky. She's been locked in lavatories all over the world!

Luckily today was not one of those days. She came back from the loo happy to have survived but also raving about the tiles in there.

"I don't know if it's the same in the mens but you've got to go and have a look!"

Curious to see what all the fuss was about I did go and she was right, they were worth having a look.

After an awkward few minutes loitering outside the men's toilets with a camera I got inside to see the really funny wall tiles, a series of humorous toilet themed cartoons dotted around the wall.

We left Cozy Pub and headed down Klodfarer Caddesi towards our hotel.

About halfway down I caught the attention of a barber. He noticed my silver locks and scruffy stubble and beckoned me over to have a haircut. I smiled, laughed and shook my head.

We carried on a little until Julie suggested perhaps I actually should have a shave. "It'll be such an experience!"

I didn't need much encouragement and we turned around back to Öztürk Ekek Kuaförü.

We stepped inside his salon, a narrow channel of a room. We agreed on a price and he agreed to leave my hair alone, just a shave.

He then sat me down in a chair at the far end. Draped in a fetching blue cloak I stared at my reflection looking ten years older than I thought I look. Obviously it must have been the harsh lighting and high definition mirror.

I shifted about nervously in my seat, I wasn't too sure what to expect. What I certainly didn't expect was that he would just run hair clippers over my face.

When he finished I turned to look at Julie, raising my eyebrows. I thought "Is that it? I could have bloody done that myself with my little battery beard trimmer."

Of course I was jumping the gun slightly.

By the time I turned back to look at my roughly shaved face he had swapped the clippers for a brush and soap and got busy lathering me up.

The next thing I saw was the glint of a cut-throat blade coming towards me. I swallowed hard and began breathing heavily. I was suddenly aware that I stank of alcohol. I didn't feel to guilty however as he had a strange acrid smell on his breath. That made us even. He did tilt my head to face away from him but I'm sure he would have even if I was minty fresh.

He place the blade at my cheekbone and glid it down in one smooth motion. It was odd how gentle it felt despite making a very abrasive scraping noise.

It didn't take him long to finish that side. He then rolled my head exposing my other cheek which again he expertly scraped off the soap. There was only one area left, the neck.

He tilted my head backwards and ran the blade down my neck, my throat, moving closer to my adam's apple with every stroke. At that very moment my mouth was so full of spit and I was desperate to swallow but I just couldn't. Without any hesitation he lightly slid the blade over my laryngeal prominence without slicing it off.

When the blade was nowhere near I gulped loudly which I'm sure even the young guy, who had just popped in the door literally for a squirt of cologne, heard it.

Well, that was it, I had survived my first shave by a cut-throat blade. It had been a rather pleasant experience.... up to now.

I was ready to get up when he appeared from behind me splashing cologne onto his hands then rubbing it all over my freshly exposed skin. Oh my dear God that actually brought tears to my eyes. It stung like an acid attack.

Then adding to the pain he tilted my head back for better leverage for pressure to rub the perfume deeper into my open pores, I could hardly breath for the cloud of neat alcohol lifting from the cologne. It was going right up my nose burning my nostrils along the way.

On the verge of being overcome by the fumes I was saved when he massaged in a soothing balm which immediately put out the burning sensation. The pleasure / pain was further re-balanced as he continued to sooth giving me a very satisfying head & shoulder massage.

I only came in for a shave now he had me in a head lock rubbing my scalp! It all ended with a quick ruffle of my hair to make me look presentable and there I was, looking not much different to when I came in but hey it was quiet an experience.

We left Öztürk's and despite being ready for a siesta we continued past our hotel to shop around the corner that sold nothing but Lokum. The variety available was mind-boggling. When you have so much to choose from it always makes it more difficult to make a decision.

I've never been a lover of turkish delight. Probably because I associate it with Fry's chocolate covered wobbly pink Turkish Deligth that tasted like my mother's handbag. I've had the proper stuff a few times, I never bought myself, they were usually a gift from someone who'd been to somewhere exotic.

I always found them to be exceptionally sweet.

Anyway, we bought some for Rory & Tyler to try, they're always game for a sugar rush.

Finally back to our hotel. The manager welcomed us back and tried again to offer us our welcome drink. Julie mentioned that it was our 24th Wedding Anniversary today and he looked surprised. He shouldn't have been because I'd tried to arrange flowers or something in the room for our arrival. He mustn't have read the e-mail as nothing materialised, not even the double bed we requested!

Anyway, we finally accepted his offer of a drink, (only because he mentioned beer!) and sat outside in the "garden" watching two TV repair men trying to fix the television in the breakfast room. There was a really odd smell inside. It was exactly the same smell that was on the barber's breath only much much stronger. I can't explain it really, a blend of sweet hashish, burnt plastic and cat piss. It was a very unpleasant aroma and it had permeated the entire hotel. We could still smell it when we returned to our room, albeit not as strong.

It must have anaethetised us as we fell into the deepest of deep sleeps. It was over three hours later when were heard loud voices our door. They were loud enough to wake the dead or at least wake us from our coma. We struggled with the urge to just roll over and go back to sleep. What got us out of bed was simply that tonight was our last night in Istanbul and it would be a crime to spend it in bed. We could do that at home.

So we got dressed and as we were too tired to make a decision we just made our way back to the Cozy Pub.

As tempting as it was to order another round of delicious hummus and chips we took a look at the menu and ordered proper meals. Julie had Lamb Chops which were just as tasty as last night's restaurant meal but the real winner were the roasted potatoes!

My dish of cold stuffed vegetables (peppers/courgettes and vine leaves all filled with rice) was delicious especially with the hummus and chips on the side. I couldn't help it!

All washed down with plenty of Effes, of course.

Once we had eaten we moved on and came across a small bar making a big noise. It was called Sirevi and there was some frantic live music going on inside.

We walked in and settled down for the entertainment. It wasn't busy, our arrival made it four tables occupied and one of those appeared to be the owners. The others were a Canadian family and a large group of Belgian middle-aged marathon runners.

The performer armed with an accoutstic guitar and a book of chords rifled through musical montages blending seemlessly popular sing-a-long songs like "Country Road" into "Delilah" all strummed at double quick time.

He leapt from one frantic medley to another. He wasn't the best of singers nor guitarist but the Belgians loved him. Especially one lady who needed no encouragement to get up on her feet to dance.

She was obviously suffering the effects of dehydration and the strong "double lagered" Vole beer they served here. She danced all night until she slipped and fell on her arse. Her friends reclaimed her and propped her up in the corner. It was the last we saw of her.

The singer was running out of material and asked for some requests, the Belgians asked for Abba, Julie asked him to sing his favourite song.

After a little persuasion and approval from the boss he obliged and what a transformation. "It's a song from the East of Turkey" he said "a song about love lost".

His voice took on an amazing quality as it drifted up, down and quivered all around the precisely played notes of a beautiful Turkish lament. We were totally mesmerised for the enitre song. He looked a tragic figure, gaunt to the point of haunted. His heart felt emotion he placed into the performance was dramatic. We almost had tears in our eyes by the time he finished.

How could he follow that? Well with "Fernando" and "American Pie" of course.

It was getting late yet he was still going strong. "I've been singing since 8:30pm non-stop" he said. It looked like he still had a few more hours to go as the Belgians were still up for it, the Canadian's had left but had been replaced by a Texan and his Uzbekistani girlfriend. Also two Indian girls had been lured in after hearing him sing another beautiful traditional song. It seemed that whilst people were still in here drinking he would still be performing.

It was probably more the other way around. As long as he was still performing then we'd all still be drinking. We wisely decided to bring our evening to an end after we checked the time. It was 2am!

Back at the hotel the sharp stink was still lingering, the TV still didn't work, my head still triggered the lights on and off and the aircon was still buggered.

We set our alarms for 7am. We were flying home tomorrow.

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