Linsey McNeill loved the museums and bazaars of the Turkish capital, but it was the beaches of the Princes’ Islands that finally won over her kids
Linsey McNeill
The Observer
My seven-year-old son slumped onto the heavily patterned carpet of Istanbul’s Blue Mosque and looked up at me with a crumpled face. ‘Mum, it’s just a big empty room,’ he moaned. I turned to his sister Emelye, nine, who, a little earlier, had seemed intrigued by the sound of the mullah calling Muslims to prayer. ‘Look at all the beautiful tiles on the walls,’ I whispered. Em shrugged before collapsing onto the carpet next to Luke.
Day two of our trip to Istanbul and things were not looking good. Over the road, inside the Hagia Sofia Museum, the children had played hide-and-seek around the giant columns for 10 minutes before pleading to leave.
They had been eager to go to the Grand Bazaar, though probably because I had told them it was ‘like the Arndale Centre, but older’. When they failed to find a Turkish branch of ToysRus in the ancient alleyways Luke wailed: ‘This place is full of rubbish.’ Only a refreshing glass of mint lemonade at the historic Fes Cafe and the sight of a man selling spinning tops for two lira (less than £1 of his pocket money) cheered him up.
A suggestion of a cruise along the Bosphorus had resulted in collapsed shoulders and cries of ‘Boring!’ though the children could have watched the men fishing from the Galata Bridge, next to where the boats depart, for hours.
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