I love spending time imagining while I travel. For me stories are the best parts of history, they bring things to life in a way that transcends time because a story is always the same no matter when it’s read. The context changes though, and makes it unique and personal.
Istanbul had a layer of personal stories for me that stood out for some reason. Those are the stories of my dad walking around the city when he was about my age. Interestingly I’m not sure how many he has actually told me, memories can be funny like that, but they somehow stuck in my mind as ‘dad traveled here’. As I walked through streets I wondered if my dad walked there, and as I stood in old buildings I looked up and wondered how the place would have looked when he was there.
I now feel the need to clarify that my dad is alive and well, because it sounds upon reading the above like he might not be. I’m just missing my family a bit, I haven’t seen them in a few months.
Anyway, on to the exciting bit! Look how gorgeous Istanbul is!
Our hostel put on a delightful, traditional spread each morning where we feasted on fresh fruit, fresh bread, traditional soft cheese a bit like feta, and boiled eggs. We were getting a wee bit bored of cucumber, tomato and bread after having it at every meal through Azerbaijan, but the watermelon was still refreshing as ever.
The view from the little table on the street outside where we are breakfast was of the back of Hagia Sophia!
Wasteless Wanderess 