Day two. Once again, we have breakfast on the hotel's rooftop terrace, but this time Rick convinces me to sit on the upper level so we can have a better view of the Bosphorus. I have been reluctant to sit there previously, because of an ominous notice that warns "Beware. Crows will attack." It's irrational, I know, but I still suffer from the lingering symptoms of a bird phobia that has plagued me since childhood. Fortunately, breakfast occurs without any crow incidents. Then it's a quick getaway for the Topkapi palace, the residence of the Sultans of the old Ottoman Empire.

Comparisons to the Alhambra are unavoidable. "It's like the Alhambra squared!" I say. The opulence is over the top, although the architecture and grounds are perhaps less impressive than the Alhambra's. We decide to tour the harem first, while the crowds are still relatively thin.

One of our guidebooks tells us that "harem" means "private" in Arabic. Another book says that it means "forbidden". Taking an average of the two, I decide it probably means something close to "off limits". The harem was protected and administered by eunuchs. What these poor boys had suffered doesn't bear thinking about, let alone writing about here. (Of interest, the eunuchs were obtained from elsewhere, since Islam prohibited the practice of castration.)

We learn that the mother of the sultan, the "Valide Sultan," was one of the most powerful people in the empire. Clearly a great deal of ruthlessness must have been required for the role, and some even took the harsh measure of having the sultan's half-brothers strangled to avoid challenges to the throne. Yes, Virginia, there really are evil stepmothers. I recall the story of the mother of the sultan of Grenada, who, with her son in tears over the fall of the Alhambra to Isabella and Ferdinand of Spain, said "Cry like a woman for what you failed to defend like a man!" Don't come crying to mama. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

At least the harem girls had nice digs! We admired the views from the terraces before moving on to the treasury. Even though the crowds are still relatively thin, tourists are already becoming testy in the heat of the sun. A young couple having their photo taken at a viewpoint gets a dressing down from an older tourist. "It's not your turn.....that's very rude." "Come on, forget it" says her embarrassed husband. But no one dares to complain about the pretty little girl posing to have her photo taken, whose equally pretty mother counts "bir, iki, uce..." Maybe now I will remember these numbers.

In the treasury, we see riches beyond belief. I think about my mother, who read an article about these treasures to me over the phone the night before our departure. I wish she could see this. The "Spoonmakers diamond", at 86 karats, is likely the largest diamond we will ever see, although not the largest diamond in the world. The Topkapi dagger is perhaps the most famous piece, its hilt studded with massive emeralds. A pair of gold candlesticks brought back from the tomb of Mohammed during WWI weigh 48 kilos each. A jade tankard is inlaid with gold and encrusted with diamonds, rubies and emeralds..did someone really drink from this? A bowl of glittering jewels makes me imagine a sultan stretched out on a divan, running his fingers through emeralds and rubies like King Midas fondling his gold. The wealth is mind-boggling, but it's worth keeping in mind that the extravagance of some sultans eventually crippled the empire. (Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take any photos inside the treasury, but you can find images for some of the treasures online.)

By the time we have filed past all the glass cases of the treasury, it is time for lunch. We have one of our most expensive lunches ever in the terrace restaurant on the grounds. To make matters worse, it wasn't even particularly good. But speaking of food, this might be a good time to mention that in its heyday, the palace's kitchen had 800 staff preparing meals for the 4000 people who lived on the grounds.

At lunch, we realize that Rick's sunglasses are missing from his breast pocket. We have chased an identical pair through various locations in Europe before they finally sunk to the bottom of the Aegean Sea beside a dock in Ermopoulis. This replacement pair is almost new. The most likely explanation is that they have popped out of his pocket as we shared the earphones to our audioguide. (Yes, we share an audioguide, because all these little add-ons add-up!) We retrace our steps and inquire at the lost and found. No luck. Bad luck. Never mind.

On to the Sacred Trusts. We see a small casket containing "the beard of the Prophet", and other cases with the tooth of the Prophet, the footprint of the Prophet, the Prophet's mantle and the Prophet' s sword. Unbelievable? Maybe not, since Mohammed is a figure from relatively recent history (circa 600 AD). But the "Staff of Moses", which is handsomely displayed in a larger case, requires a bit more credulity. I recall a heated debate with Wally about whether or not a certain podium we had seen in Corinth really was the place where Paul the Apostle preached. (I am still convinced that it was.) I can only imagine what Wally would have to say about this room! We could round out our "relic tour" by travelling to Selcuk to see the house of the Virgin Mary, and perhaps even to Loreto in Italy, to see a different house of the Virgin Mary, that actually FLEW to Italy (via Croatia). Care to meet us there Wally?

We tour a few more opulent pavilions, then decide it is time to move on to the Grand Bazaar. First, though, we make a pit-stop at the hotel to use the washroom and check to see if our bag has arrived. No joy on the baggage front, but Rick's sunglasses are on the bedside table. Well, it could happen to anyone.

We make our way to the Grand Bazaar and wander through the labyrinth of stalls, where everyone wants to sell us a leather jacket, or a carpet, or a pashmina, or antiques, or frankly almost anything you could think of. All the languages of the Tower of Babel are bouncing off our eardrums. Rick's maple leaf hat is attracting a lot of attention. "Where in Canada are you from?" asks one vendor. "Halifax? I love Halifax. Everything is so old". Which is kind of funny, coming from someone who lives in Turkey. "I didn't like Montreal though" he says. "Too cold. My moustache froze." I know the problem.

Next we make our way toward the Spice Bazaar (aka the Old Bazaar), passing through a discount clothing area where the fashionable long overcoats favoured by many Muslim woman are incongruously displayed side by side with strapless prom gowns. The overcoats interest me. They come in many styles and colours and must be a bit of a fashion statement since they seem mainly to be worn by young women.

In the Spice Bazaar, we are approached by a group of teenage boys who have apparently been given an assignment by their English teacher. They interview us by turns..."Where do you live? Is this your first visit Turkey? Do you like Turkey? Would you suggest your friends to come here?" They refer to a rumpled cheat sheet and read their questions in halting English. Rick's interviewer is much more proficient than mine, but even with him we have to play "guess the question". At the conclusion, they take our photograph. We take theirs too.

Rick wants to buy some peanuts, but each time he asks for them he is shown pine nuts. "No no" says Rick, "Not pine-nuts, peanuts." "Yes, yes, these are peen nuts" the shopkeepers respond, with puzzled expressions. Eventually, we find delicious salted peanuts for 10 lira/kilo, buys a half kilo and then see them at another stall for 7 lira/kilo. We convince ourselves that our peanuts are larger and fresher.

We are now too tired to walk back to the hotel and have not yet figured out the tram system, so we decide to take a taxi back to the hotel. This is a big mistake. I will write this up in a separate blog so that anyone searching for Istanbul Taxi Scams can find the story. In the meantime, suffice it to say that we left the cab with 70 lira less than we had when we we got in!

Back at the hotel, we spend an hour trying to get information from Turkish Air about our bag. We want to tell them that they have confused the number of the lost bag with the number of the found bag, but this is not an easy thing to communicate to agents whose English skills are limited. Eventually I plead with the desk clerk in the lobby to speak with them for me. "Why call them?" he says. "When they find your bag they will bring it." I explain the confusion and he tells me I should speak to them myself. "But I don't speak any Turkish" I say. "They speak English very well" he says. "One hundred percent they speak English". "Not today, they don't," I tell him. It dawns on me that this grumpy "night desk clerk" has been the subject of several negative reviews of the Side Hotel on Trip Advisor. Finally, he reluctantly agrees to phone the Turkish Air baggage line for me, asks if anyone there speaks English and is surprised when they tell him no. He sets them straight about the bag tags. Or at least, I assume he does. (Personally, I think the reviewers on Trip Advisor were a bit hard on the guy, and by the way, the Side hotel is very nice.)

By the time I get back to the room, it is too late for us to make it to Venge restaurant, where my friend Julide (originally from Istanbul) had kindly made a reservation for us. Instead, we wander down the street and have a good meal of grilled sea bream at a local restaurant. At least we have finally managed to stay awake long enough to have dinner!