It's Not Finished...
Kept awake half the night by the amorous antics of thin-walled neighbours going for some sort of Kama Sutra record, we were in no state for the final 50 miles to Istanbul, especially into the nightmare traffic about which we'd been warned.
As it turned out, we flowed seamlessly through suburbs and along the Sea of Marmara, which was jammed with boats, liners and tankers all silhouetted against the sunset like Canaletto's Venice or Turner's Thames, while queueing to head up the Bosphorous to the Black Sea.
We followed the coastal promenade all the way to Sultanahmet, with the minarets of the many mosques rising over the waters of the Golden Horn. Everyone was out strolling, despite the chill, fishing from the water's edge, and cooking the results on open fires. That is, except for the entrepeneurial spirit who'd set up a shooting gallery (not the junkie kind) on the rocks with balloons and bottles as targets.
Finally, we turned off the main road and through a gate in the old city walls to enter the cobbled streets of the historic district of Sultanahmet, where we'd arranged to let an apartment from a Frenchman. Down a cobbled alley lined with ramshackle wooden houses and restored hotels, we found it pinched between the Marmara Sea and the minarets of the Blue Mosque.
Day 73.46km (Total 3650.7km)