What a Nob

It’s time to leave Istanbul as we head to the second stop on our Turkish adventure. Istanbul is quite the place: mad drivers, pushy waiters and fascinating historical exhibits. Jamie went to a mere two huge museums yesterday, one of which claimed to be in possession of Moses’s cane, strands of the Prophet Muhammad’s beard and Ken Dodd’s tickling stick. (I may have made one of those up. No clues on which one).

But after a combined total of more than four hours learning about really old stuff, our boy declared himself intellectually fulfilled - until our next destination where arguably the ante goes up a notch further. For Vanessa, Charlotte and me, the plan was to walk across a bridge from European Turkey…

…into Asian Turkey…

…before declaring ourselves inter-continental travellers.

Unfortunately, we took the wrong bridge and the whole “crusade” was a total waste of everyone’s time. Last night, for our final meal in Turkey’s largest city, we weren’t sure what to do. But after resisting the “encouragement” of at least a dozen eager restauranteurs to enter their establishment for decent food but cheap wine at stupidly expensive prices, we went to Nob, a dry but fairly priced eatery which, by common White family consent, served up our best meal thus far.

Plus it was called Nob which obviously gave licence for us to behave in a silly (yet sadly sober) manner the whole way through. (Admittedly, we did grab a bottle of Turkish plonk on the way home to toast the experience). We’re not sure what lies ahead today but we’re heading to the airport now and will soon find out.