A wander through Prague to the Charles Bridge and beyond...

It's odd being a foreigner. Walking around a foreign city is strange, although, these days, you never feel that far from home thanks to the concept of 'globalisation'. You know when globalisation has overstayed its welcome when you find yourself, like I did, on the other side of the world, but standing next to a Claire's Accessories shop. I think I was in Calgary at the time, but since then, I've found myself in the Middle East staring at, say, a Dixon's or a Monsoon, and it's as if I'm a mere bus ride from home, let alone a few thousand miles.

One of many religious statues on Prague's Charles Bridge.

And you don't have to be that far away either. Any modern European city is the same (with a few exceptions). Now, however, I'm in Prague and I might as well be in Croydon or the Bluewater shopping complex. As I wander around the cobbled streets, what do I see? Zara, Debenhams, Mango, Apple, Tesco, and many more, some of which escape me as I write this. It wasn't so bad in Istanbul, but in places a little more developed, the big brand names all have a presence and I wish they weren't there; admittedly, Prague does have other, more quirky shops and if you get onto the other side of the river, preferably by crossing the Charles Bridge, you'll find a much quieter city with quirkier shops and quiet and cosy cafés and restaurants.

Once my business was over I did just that, as the light was beginning to fade. I headed off towards the river, although I really had no idea where I was going, I was simply remembering a street map I'd left in my hotel room. It wasn't a problem, however, as all I had to do was keep walking in a straight (ish) line and, lo and behold, I eventually reached the Charles Bridge. The bridge is strange as it is lined, at regular intervals with religious statues and peppered here and there with the odd beggar stroking his dog or holding out a paper cup, sponsored by another rather prevalent big brand name – Costa. Oh, and there's also Starbucks and Subway here too.

One thing I do find rather wearing is the shops full of tourist 'tat'. There's loads of it in the shape of tee shirts, glassware, Russian dolls, furry slippers, hats, you name it and it grates a little, but not as much as the big brand names.

On the other side of the Charles Bridge, Prague.

After walking for some considerable time I found a café and ordered a fresh ginger tea and a slice of honey cake. Alright, I know I should have held back on the cake, but generally I've been good so I treated myself, having found a very cosy little caff just on the other side of the Charles bridge*, which was nice. I sat there for all of 10 minutes and then headed back across the bridge to my hotel where I sit now penning this post. I'm likely to being going back in the direction of the Charles Bridge in a second or two as my colleague Nick and I need something to eat and tonight we thought we'd try out somewhere other than Al Forno, even if I did say I'd be going back there tonight for the final time.

It's 1150hrs and I've just got back after what can only be described as a very pleasant evening. Nick and I met up as planned and we walked back towards the Charles Bridge and then wandered around and eventually walked over another bridge and back towards our hotel, having looked at (and turned down) spending our money in any of the restaurants we passed en route. In the end we decided to visit Ristorante Italiano Buschetto where we chewed the fat about this and that and had a very pleasant evening setting the world to rights and so on before a leisurely stroll back to the hotel, from where I complete this post.

View from the Charles bridge...

I head back home tomorrow afternoon and while I love being here in Prague, I miss my family and look forward to being reunited tomorrow evening. It's work on Friday as normal and then the weekend. So here's to everything!

* On a later visit to Prague the café had been closed down.

An early night reading the newspaper – how staid I've become!

It's raining in Prague. Drizzly rain makes the cobbled streets outside my hotel shiny and the pathways a little slippery. Having worked all day, I walked back to my hotel in the drizzle, glad to get back to my room but conscious that I'd need to go and have dinner somewhere; the plan was to head back to my favourite Al Forno restaurant a few hundred yards from the hotel. But first, I thought I'd check out other restaurants nearby. In all honesty, I knew that I'd be heading for Al Forno, but I felt it was only fair to see what else was on offer. Not that I didn't know already. Back in 2004 (or thereabouts) while editing a fine dining magazine, I made the trip to Prague to review a few restaurants, but can I remember any of them? No. I've seen a few nice places on my route to the conference hotel, but I can't be bothered to walk back that way again, especially in the rain, and besides, I know Al Forno, I love the food, the ambience and the service so why go anywhere else?

 I eventually found myself seated at Al Forno. The menu arrived. I chose a vegetable soup (as always) and this time opted for a fish dish of flounder and a large king prawn on a bed of spinach with some cherry tomatoes and carrots. Very tasty. I ordered a glass of red wine and a small bottle of sparkling mineral water, the bread rolls arrived and I sat there reading the Independent on Sunday, a newspaper I'd picked up at Heathrow prior to the flight to Prague. I've virtually read it all.

I should be out on the streets of Prague, but I really can't be bothered

The restaurant was busier than usual, but just as good as it has been all week and I plan to go back there tomorrow, my last night here in Prague. I read a number of comment articles, one arguing that the end of China's boom need not trigger a bust; another headlined A good read is just that. Ask any child, which was all about how the newspaper will, in future, refuse to entertain gender-specific books. Then there was Master of reportage, whatever the cost, a story about Joe McGinniss, a writer who recently passed away, but prior to doing so he wrote about Richard Nixon, the Jeffery MacDonald case in the USA and the former Republican party vice presidential hopeful, Sarah Palin. I've reached the letters page now. It's amazing how one newspaper can last so long. After paying my bill I wandered back to the hotel in the rain and went straight to my room where I checked out the remaining articles in the Independent on Sunday. There's an article by Dom Joly entitled From VIP guest to abused idiot, it's a short hop, so I'm going to read that and then hit the sack. When I come to think about it (as I am now) that last headline could so easily be the title of my autobiography.

Quirky buskers
I tell you what I do like about Prague (there are lots of things) and that's the buskers. They're just a little bit more left field than what you find in the UK. In the UK it's always somebody playing a guitar, nothing quirky, just the same old thing. It could be argued that British buskers haven't really progressed from Ralph McTell's Streets of London. But in Prague it's a little bit more, I don't know, a little bit more unusual. Today (and yesterday) I felt compelled to stop and listen to a man playing some really complicated, mesmerising and magical stuff on, wait for it, a collect of different-sized wine glasses filled with varying amounts of water. An old trick, I know, but I've never seen it in the UK

Getting my bearings in this great city...

A much welcomed late start, but I was still up with the lark (until I realised it was to be a late start and even then I didn't go back to bed). Breakfast wasn't that good and that restaurant downstairs on the ground floor, not that inviting, but it's more suited to breakfast than it is dinner.

I spent the morning wandering around. First I needed to check whether or not it was possible to walk from my hotel to the venue for the conference and it was possible: only 20 minutes at most so I don't have to employ a cab, meaning I save money.

Old fashioned rickshaw on Vaclavske Namesti.

 The walk is straightforward: up to the end of Truhlarska, turn left and then right into Na Prikope and left into Vaclavske Namesti (all these street names have accents over certain letters, but I'm not sure how to reproduce them on my laptop). Na Prikope is full of many of the big name shop brands you can find almost everywhere these days, certainly in the UK (Zara, Mango, Converse, Marks & Spencer, Debenhams and many more). It's a shame in a way that globalisation has enabled these brand names to plaster themselves all over the world, but there you have it. Stroll along Vaclaveske Namestic for about 100 yards and then cross the road and take Stepanska where you'll find the Radisson Blu Alcron on the left, my base for the next day or two.

Once I knew I could walk it, I wandered back to my hotel to change and then I set out again, in search of a lunch venue near the Radisson, which I found in the shape of Ristorante Italiano Buschetto, a very pleasant place where I enjoyed a light meal of grilled fillet of salmon with grilled vegetables and a glass of wine.

This guy sits in front of Restaurant Italiano Buschetto on Vaclavske Namesti

After the conference I headed back to the hotel, met a colleague and we had dinner in the same restaurant I visited yesterday, Al Forno, just a few yards to the left of the hotel. Now I'm sitting here, at the lap top, at my desk in the hotel, wondering whether to walk off the meal for a bit or just hit the sack. It's 10:15pm so I think hitting the sack might be best.

Prague's a nice place. A lot less chaotic than Istanbul and certainly the food is better and it's easier to get around. In other words, it's more western and more people here speak English, which is good news. Not only that, Istanbul is almost four hours away while Prague is just 90 minutes. It has a lot to offer in so many respects – decent food being high on my list.

Couldn't find any 'Boris Bikes' anywhere so it looks as if a cycle is out of the question, but I did a lot of walking today so all is not lost. Early start so I'd better go.

I was wandering around this bit of Prague.

In Prague...

I allowed an hour (by taxi) to get from South Croydon to Heathrow on a Sunday morning, but it took almost two hours due to slow traffic. It was the start of the travel hassles. When I reached Terminal 3 I went to the 'bag drop' area for my BA flight and found, to my dismay, that, despite booking my seat online on Saturday afternoon (at the cost of £10) I was given seat 7b (the middle seat in an aisle of three seats). I'd bought seat 15a (a window seat) but was told, by customer services, that I should have booked for both ways and that the seat I'd purchased was for the Prague to London leg. Fine, you might say, but this was far from clear and British Airways get a severe black mark for this.

However, the flight was good and it was only 90 minutes. Despite the pilot threatening turbulence over Paris, we didn't fly over Paris and the only 'choppy' skies were on our approach into a very windy and cloudy Prague.

Room 117, Grand Majestic Plaza Palace Hotel...so far, so good...

I jumped into a cab for the 30-minute journey into town and my hotel, the Grand Majestic Plaza. It's alright. The check-in was pretty straightforward and soon I was in my room. Downstairs, the receptionist had told me that there were a couple of good restaurants nearby. I'd been considering the hotel restaurant, but it didn't look too inviting: for a start it was empty, the seats looked a bit uncomfortable and, well, I just didn't fancy it so I went out and turned right out of the hotel and there, about 500 yards away, was the Italian restaurant, Al forno. I ordered soup to start, followed by chicken and accompanied by a glass of red wine and a bottle of sparkling water.

The restaurant was great: quick service, good quality food, pleasant wine and a great atmosphere. I'd happily visit this place for dinner most nights of this week.

More to report as the week progresses, but so far, so good. The room's fine too: there's a lead rather than a complicated password to access the internet, so it's just a case of plugging in the laptop and off I go.

I'm just sitting here watching CNN, but in all honesty I'm considering hitting the sack. The room's fine, but it's pretty unimpressive and there's an odd, 'walnut dash' design that grates a little bit. The bathroom's nice – although the washbasin suffers from the interior designer's inability to remember the golden rule: function before form; there is a plug, but it can't be sealed to prevent water simply flowing down the plughole. Ridiculous. Everything else about the bathroom is fine: there's a security safe for valuables and a minibar that's full of stuff – I hate it when I visit a hotel and find the minibar to be empty or locked. For me it's a sign that the hotel doesn't trust its guests. Not here, though! There's everything: spirits, wine, soft drinks, but no chocolate bars, not even a Toblerone or a tube of Munchies. Not that I'm bothered as I'm not planning on eating (or drinking) anything. Well, that's not strictly true. I will be eating breakfast, lunch and dinner, but nothing in between.

Talking of breakfast, it wasn't brilliant. Lots of cakes – and American tourists – which I avoided. The fresh fruit looked a little tired and then there was the usual selection of sausages, scrambled eggs and so on. I opted for cornflakes, a bowl of yoghurt and yes, the fresh fruit, plus a cup of tea and an apple. I'll scan the city for a decent caff on my way to the conference centre.

The rather uninspiring view from room 117.

In the news, two disturbing stories, the first being that of Malaysian Airlines' Flight MH370 which was en route to Beijing from Kuala Lumpur. It's disappeared off the face of the earth and nobody seems to know where it is, whether it's crashed or been hijacked – or both. It all smells a bit suspicious if you ask me, but there's no sign of wreckage, nothing at all and it's been over a week since the flight went missing. If it's not terrorism then it's got to be something to do with the plane being accidentally shot down by, say, the Chinese or the Americans and they're stalling for time while they think up an excuse. What amazes me is that none of the passengers used their mobile phones to make contact with the outside world.

Also in the news, Russia has done an 'America' – it's gone and 'invaded' a sovereign nation and guess what? The West ain't happy, despite the fact that they do this sort of thing all the time: think of Iraq, the lies over 'weapons of mass destruction', the mysterious and unexplained death of Dr. David Kelly...need I go on? But that aside, the West ain't happy and they're deeply hypocritcal in my book. Besides, the people in the Crimea seem to want to be part of Russia. They're all waving Russian flags and the Crimea prime minister has been standing proud, announcing to his people that they are going to be part of the Russian Federation, amidst cheers from the crowd. What, then, is the problem?

As I sit here watching CNN, there appears to be a lot of happy Russians, glad to be going back to the Motherland. The West says the referendum was illegal, but what exactly does that mean? Who knows what's going to happen next, but it seems as if the Russians have got their way – for the moment.

I'll be out exploring tomorrow – and looking for Boris Bikes – as I'll be walking to the conference venue so look out for further posts.

No cycling for Matt this week, but Andy got out on Saturday...

... and the reason behind my failure to get out of bed at the crack of dawn? A lack of sleep brought on by eating later than planned and drinking two or three glasses of wine. So I lazed about. But also, I've got a busy week ahead so I thought I'd take it easy. Andy's not going today, but he went yesterday and the annoying thing is the weather: it's been fantastic! Blue skies out there now (0926hrs on Sunday morning) and it was the same yesterday. As Andy might say, 'positively balmy', but the only balmy thing about it is I stewed in bed until around 0800hrs yesterday and didn't bother going out. Today I was up with the lark but figured there was too much to do this morning to warrant going out, although I probably could have squeezed in a short one to Warlingham Green and back. Still, there's next weekend when I plan to rise early, meet Andy at the Green at 0700hrs and head off for Westerham – on both Saturday and Sunday.

Andy headed out to the Tatsfield Bus Stop via Kenley and Warlingham Green.

Town and country – Andy's new racer and his Kona Blast mountain bike.

...but clearly, he chose to ride out on the racer, the Lycra Monkey!

Tatsfield in the fog and then Westerham in the sunshine...

Two early starts this weekend. We met at 7am on the Green on both Saturday and Sunday, heading out for the Tatsfield Bus Stop on a foggy Saturday morning and then to Westerham on a bright and sunny Sunday.

It's odd going up Beddlestead Lane in the fog; it's a long road and at least when it's clear you can work out when Clarks Lane is coming up. In the fog you rely upon the noise of cars.

Yours truly, Westerham, Sunday 9th March 2014.

Andy, Phil and I sat at the bus stop watching cars disappear into the fog and eventually mounted our bikes headed home. Andy had his racer again and turned left down The Ridge instead of riding to the Green (the off-road track halfway down the 269 is out of bounds for anything but a mountain bike) and Phil and I continued down the 269, the fog not really clearing until we approached the green.

Sunday was just Andy and I and we decided to head out for Westerham, somewhere we haven't been for a while, certainly not this year. I'd woken up at 0400hrs and hadn't really been back to sleep. At various stages I considered an 'abort' text, but once I'd gotten up and made myself a cup of tea I felt alright. 

A new routine for me is getting the car out of the garage. Fine during the week, but at weekends I can't get the bike out without taking the car out first. It's no big deal, but just another obstacle and I'd rather keep the car in the garage than leave it on the drive. Basically I'm turning into my dad, which is a good thing; he always put his car in the garage and now so do I.

So the car came out on the drive, followed by the bike and off I went towards the Green and then to Westerham. We decided to keep our heads down and not dawdle about and this proved worthwhile as we reached Churchill's statue (and General Wolfe's) at 0750hrs. The sun was shining and it was, quite simply, the first decent day of the year. There were blossoms on the trees, clear blue skies, daffodils, you name it, so we broke out the tea and the cereal bars and revelled in the greatness of the day.

Around 0820hrs we mounted the bikes and rode out of town, wondering when exactly we had last been in Westerham (I was guessing October time in 2013) and we both agreed that early starts are still the best as we get out early and we get back early and we get to ride for 22 miles. In the old days we used to get our heads down, ride to Westerham, buy a cream bun from the Co-op and then, after eating it, we'd jump back on the bikes and ride home. These days we're making mountains out of molehills. First, we've been leaving later, which means getting back later. Getting back later means we shorten the ride distance rather than leave the house earlier and as a result of this we only ride to what I'll now refer to as 'The Tatsfields' – in other words, the bus stop, the village or the churchyard. Yes, it's been getting boring. Alright, the slow way is pleasant but our mileage has been steadily going down because we haven't been meeting on the green at 7am.

So, we're going to try to get back to the good old Westerham days, the good old 44-mile weekends. Let's see how it goes.

We were back at Warlingham Green at 0902hrs and by 0920 I was padlocking the bike and locking the garage door. In total we rode just under 40 miles and hopefully next week, or soon, we'll be putting in the full 44 miles. Next week is going to be Saturday only due to commitments on all sides.

It was good to see Phil back on the rides; we haven't seen him for about a month.

Andy took this weekend's shot and the cropping is tremendous: just look at that cropping, it's perfect. Not a waste bin in sight, although I'm beginning to hate seeing photos of myself, this one included. That cropped hair cut looks a bit dodgy and as for those Tesco tracksuit bottoms, I've never liked them. Perhaps I'll keep on the other side of the lense until the hair grows out a bit and the tracksuit bottoms are in the wash.

The last time we were in Westerham was 8th September 2013. Click here for more.

Tatsfield Village and Bus Stop – two rides, approximately 32 miles

On Saturday morning I felt good: light, energetic, full of beans. I sailed up Church Way and along the Limpsfield Road, met Andy at Warlingham Green at 7am and then we powered our way to the Tatsfield Village where we sat, like last week, and discussed photography.

This shot was mine. Andy took the same shot but failed to crop the
bin so, on this rare occasion, my photo won through. Less is more.

Weatherwise, the salient feature was fog. Thick fog. It was the same on Sunday when we initially headed out for Tatsfield Churchyard, but with rain falling as we rode along the Limpsfield Road, we cut the ride short (not by much) and headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop.

Sunday's fog was very thick, but it dissipated pretty quickly as we sat there drinking tea and discussing this and that.

On Sunday I wasn't as energetic as I was on Saturday and I put it down to eating a load of mince and pasta and a rather heavy, oily apple crumble (Sainsbury's own label). Thank God for not gettting a bottle of wine! I awoke with a headache at 4.28am, got up around 6am and considered an abort text. Andy said he would have welcomed it, but ultimately, we both felt good about getting out and taking a ride. We met on the Green at 7.30am.

Two rides at the weekend is good news. We did one early ride on Saturday (meeting at 7am) and then a later start on Sunday, but it was all good.

On Sunday morning there was evidence of rain throughout the night: large puddles everywhere; and this meant that I got the usual wet arse and vowed, as always, to buy myself some mudguards. I probably won't succumb (I never do, something about keeping the bike as it was when I bought it).

Andy had his new racing bike with him; he's breaking it in for a 100-miler in the summer, but prefers riding the old Kona. He'd had a few teething problems with the brakes, which have been sorted out by his local bike shop, but Andy's no Lycra monkey and I think next week he'll be back on the Kona Blast.

Rainy, blustery weather returns (or did it ever go away?)

Up around 0515hrs and out of bed around 0529hrs. The plan was to meet at the Sline's Oak pond around 0700hrs, but things went a bit awry. Why? Silly hassles like my Tesco Tearaway track suit bottoms were not dry, meaning I had to rely upon the iphone torch to dig out a pair of old cords instead. I was delayed around 10 minutes, but then, on getting outside, I felt rain and sent Andy a text. He said let's see what it's like at 0730hrs, but I was already out and while the temptation to go back in for another cup of tea was strong, I carried on along the Ellenbridge Way as the spitting rain gently gave way to just a blustery greyness. The winds were strong along the Limpsfield Road, holding the old Kona back a little bit.

Andy's new racer (left) at the Tatsfield Village bus stop, Sunday 23rd Feb.

Photo taken by an amateur (yours truly) on an iphone.

I arrived at the Sline's Oak pond at 0722hrs – just in time to see Andy coming up the hill on his new racing bike, a 16-gear Carrera that he's breaking in; it looks good, but Andy's saying it's tougher on hills and he's got to get used to it. I must point out that Andy is trying his best not to be a Lycra Monkey. He didn't start talking about pension plans or his golf club membership and he didn't challenge me to a game of squash OR discuss the brilliance of Genesis and Phil Collins. He didn't even talk about the Sierra Cosworth.

The plan was Westerham but the weather was dictating otherwise: fast-moving grey cloud, the wind and the ever present risk of rain led us towards Tatsfield Village where there was cover, should we need it.

The same shot, taken by Andy on a proper camera (digital)

Fortunately it wasn't cold. In fact it was fairly warm, but there was rain, but only as we neared home. My bike's lack of mudguards led to a muddy, wet arse (as always) but generally speaking it was a good ride.

In the village, under the cover of the bus stop, we discussed photography as Andy was on a course during the week in Cobham. We talked about how, these days, photographers generally are losing out to enthusiastic (and no so enthusiastic) amateurs with digital cameras who think they're David Bailey. It's a serious problem for professional photographers, like my mate Rob Wilkinson (click here for his website) who finds that where editorial is concerned, publishers – for some time now – have not been willing to pay for photography. A lot of his work has been advertising and PR and I remember the days when he and I would travel to press events only to see journalists now doubling as 'photographers' with cheap, brushed aluminium digital cameras, taking photos without looking through the viewfinder: that was back in the early noughties. Since then it's got much worse. I've seen journalists and, wait for it, amateur bloggers (trying to replace bona fide journalists from respected publications) at press events with their iphones or more cumbersome ipads, taking photographs of food (surely the reserve of the professional).

The other problem, of course, is the web and the fact that high resolution images are not needed any more. So everything has been dumbed down, and quality is no longer a key requirement. These are tough times for photographers as there are so many people out there who think they're as good as a professional and are either prepared to work for nothing or a very low fee compared to what a professional will charge.

For more on this subject read this article by yours truly. Click here.

Anyway, enough already.

Walking from Besiktas to Kabatas...

One of many cobbled streets that make up the Grand Bazaar.

When I awoke this morning and looked out the window I thought the fog was still hanging heavy over Istanbul, but was pleasantly surprised, when I reached the breakfast room on the sixth floor, to discover that, by and large, it had lifted. Later I saw planes coming in to land at Istanbul airport so I knew that I wouldn't be stranded here for the weekend.

As has been my routine the last couple days, I took the tram from Beyazit to Kabatas and then a taxi to Besiktas and the Renaissance Hotel. Today it was a little smoother than normal and for no particular reason. I jumped on the tram, got off at Kabatas, jumped into a cab, showed him the address of the hotel and off we went; I arrived on time and enjoyed my last day at the conference, which finished at 1530hrs.

The Grand Bazaar – honestly, it's amazing...

The weather was perfect. It was like a spring day in the UK and I decided to walk from Besiktas to Kabatas and not draw money from a cashpoint. By walking I figured I'd be getting some exercise and saving the company a bit of money too. I was longing to get back to the magic carpet land of Beyazit, home of the Grand Bazaar. Up in the Besiktas area it's a bit, I don't know, a bit officey, a bit Croydon and it was odd how, when I set forth from the Renaissance Hotel on foot, the landscape grew more and more Indiana Jones as I walked towards Kabatas.

Another scene from Istanbul's Grand Bazaar...

It was a pleasant walk. The sun was shining and by the time I reached my destination I'd been walking for around 40 to 45 minutes – a good work-out and much needed as I had been sitting down most of the week.

Child mannequins – slightly spooky.

There's a first time for everything, of course, and today, for the first time, I saw a couple of cats shagging. In the UK this is not only rare, it's probably non-existent, but bearing in mind all the manky little street cats that populate Istanbul it's probably not so rare for inhabitants of this great city. I was tempted to take a photograph – the cats in question didn't seem too concerned about having an  audience – but it felt wrong so I passed on by and jumped on a tram bound for Beyazit.

Once off the tram I headed for the Grand Bazaar and was bowled over by its size and the fact that it was an Aladdin's Cave of all sorts of things: carpets, lamps, trinkets, lanterns, mirrors, boxes, everything and very colourful (see photos for proof).

The President Hotel's 'seasonal fruits' – seriously tasty, trust me...

Having walked from Besiktas to Kabatas and then having walked around the Grand Bazaar, I headed towards the harbourside with a view to eating a meal outside of the hotel. What a mistake! I hummed and hah'd to myself as to which restaurant to pick, but eventually found myself being cajoled by the manager of the Beyaz fish restaurant, who was standing outside trying to drum up custom.

The further away from Besiktas, the better the scenery. This was near Kabatas.

There were many problems. Some advice: never eat in a restaurant that has photographs of the food on the menu; never eat in a restaurant that has a television; and never eat in a restaurant with a crappy-looking menu. The Beyaz fish restaurant had it all, and yet it promised so much: right by the sea, a seafood-based menu, surely this was going to be something special, but no, it was crap and I felt cheated.

Down by the water's edge – the Bosphorous near Kabatas.

I ordered sole, but it wasn't succulent. It didn't fall off the bone and, well, it was just rubbish. Accompanying two sole fillets (which were shrivelled and lacked any real meat) was a quarter of a raw onion, some rubbishy McDonald's-style French Fries and a rocket salad. Toasted bread rolls were also offered, but I wasn't happy. I'd ordered a 'shrimp' salad of sorts, but it was completely tasteless and the only decent thing about the meal was the half bottle of wine. I sat there, no newspaper, nothing, just a blank expression on my face.

Back in Beyazit and close to the Grand Bazaar

It took a while of reasoning with myself, but my mind was made up. I was sitting there dreaming of how pleasant it was in the restaurant at The President hotel where I was staying and so I started thinking seriously about what I'd eaten and whether there was any possible excuse for having two evening meals. My reasoning was simple: what had I actually eaten? Well, that was easy: a handful of French fries, a couple of slivers of sole (it was on the bone so I spent miles too much time separating the flesh from the bone and not actually eating much in the way of fish. Alright, I'd had one bread roll and the prawns, but the 'shrimps' were tiny and tasteless so, in reality, all I'd eaten was a handful of chips and a half bottle of wine. I asked for the bill and left, climbing the hill to The President hotel and then taking the lift straight to the 7th floor where I took my seat, ordered chicken breast with rice and vegetables followed by my favourite dessert, none other than 'seasonal fruits'. Perhaps I shouldn't have ordered a glass of wine, but I needed to feel chilled out and the Beyaz fish restaurant had not achieved that for me.

I sat there gazing out over the twinkling lights of night-time Istanbul, watching the headlights of cars weaving their way here and there. Things had worked out fine, but only just and I did feel a tad guilty about 'pulling up a chair' and enjoying what amounted to another meal, although I was still starving hungry, thanks to that long walk earlier.

Tomorrow a late start and then departure – at 1330hrs – for the airport and a flight back to London Heathrow. I'm desperate to get home. It's fine being here and I'm glad I've paid a visit to this fantastic city, but there's no place like home and my work here is done. I'll nip out tomorrow morning to explore a bit more and, hopefully, find a decent 'caff' for my other blog about teashops and caffs (click here for a direct link).

Heavy fog shrouds Istanbul...

... and there's a strong element of Groundhog Day too. Why? Because in 1987, flying home from Bombay (now Mumbai) my Turkish Airlines plane, which was due to land in Istanbul prior to flying on to London, was diverted to a military airport in Adana on Turkey's southern coast, due to heavy fog shrouding Istanbul.

Then, as now, the airport had been closed and should this fog continue, I'll be holed up here until it clears. Here's hoping that when I wake up tomorrow morning it will be a clear day.

One thing about Istanbul and, indeed, many foreign cities, apart, perhaps, from the USA, is their lack of concern for the safety of their people. Now, I'm saying this as a resident of the United Kingdom with its so-called 'nanny state' and its 'health and safety' culture, but it's only when you find yourself walking the streets of a city like Istanbul that you realise just how lucky you are...or not as the case may be. One of the attractions of Istanbul is its quirkyness, its chaos and the fact that it really is like one of those places you expect to find in an Indiana Jones movie or earlier films starring Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Ustinov and Peter Lorre – you know who is he, the guy in Casablanca who says to Bogart, "Why don't like me, Rick?"

Sydney Greenstreet

There's also a great smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, which I love. 

Yesterday I took a short walk in search of a shop selling a notepad. My first problem was trying to convey my need to the male receptionist of the Renaissance Istanbul Bosphorous Hotel, not to be confused with the Renaissance Hotel nearer to the airport (although that didn't stop my taxi driver yesterday costing me a cool 100 lira). But when I eventually got through to him, via sign language, I was cryptically directed to somewhere across the street and ended up walking considerably further than I needed to; not that it bothered me, but what I noticed, first and foremost, was the very dangerous conditions endured by Turkish pedestrians. For a start the quality of the driving in Istanbul leaves a lot to be desired; in short it's darn right dangerous as there appear to be very little in the way of rules. Motorcyclists think nothing of riding on the pavement, 'taksi' drivers duck and dive and drive at furious speed, nobody is averse to a bit of cutting up other drivers and it's fine to ride a motorcycle without a helmet.

"Why don't you like me, Rick? Actor Peter Lorre.

Worse still, pedestrians find themselves exposed to fast traffic on precarious (and narrow) pavements close to the looney drivers who simply do not care about anybody but themselves. Just a shortish walk  – I say 'shortish' but it was probably 30 minutes in total – and I quickly realised that it was a case of 'survival of the fittest' on the streets of Istanbul.

But it all got me thinking about the possibility of Turkey joining the EU and I soon realised that, on so many levels, it will probably never happen. When I think of all the EU directives designed to protect the individual, I can't really imagine the Turks ever conforming in any concerted way and becoming a 'nanny state'. Add that to the fact that Turkey is very much a kind of halfway house between Europe and the Middle East (and all the ramifications of its Islamic links) and I wonder whether EU membership will ever become a reality for Turkey. Having said that, Turkey doesn't strike me as a nation of unhappy people eager to escape and struggling with very, very low salaries; it's a nice place, an unusual place, where the weather is a million times better than in a lot of EU countries and where just going to work in the morning is an adventure of sorts. If Turkey did become a member of the EU, I don't think the British tabloid media would have to worry about hoardes of Turks queuing up to work in the UK. In fact, thinking about it, I wouldn't mind working in Turkey (while on the tram tonight I noticed a couple of English language schools near Kabatas – that would suit me fine!).

Peter Ustinov

It's worth mentioning Turkish 'taksi' drivers, none of whom appear to know much about the city in which they work. This morning I took two taksi cabs to my destination. I paid one 10 lira and then another 12 lira to a second one to get me to where I wanted to go; and this was after first taking a tram from Beyazit (where I'm staying) to Kabatas (pronounced 'Kabatash').

The traffic situation is very bad and it's not dissimilar to Bangkok or Bombay during rush hour. There's miles too much traffic and it takes an age to get anywhere – you can't even get nowhere fast. This morning I left before 0800hrs to reach my destination by 0900hrs. I was a good ten minutes late. The best part of the journey is the tram, but I was amazed by the way the Turks board the tram without letting passengers off first. Earlier this evening I had to travel one stop beyond Beyazit as I physically couldn't get off for people crowding into the carriage I was trying to vacate. In the UK there would be a voice saying: "Kindly let the passengers off the tram first before boarding." No such politeness here!

But it's all part of Istanbul's character – and I mean that. Staying in the Beyazit area is good too as it's a place of magic carpets and bazaars and street sellers offering cheap shoes and belts, there are cobbled streets which, incidentally, are hosed down by local shopkeepers – all very well, but it makes for a slippery surface and nobody's putting out any yellow plastic signs stating 'caution: wet floor' – and on street corners there are men congregating, drinking Turkish tea out of small hourglass-shaped, vase-like shot glasses. Is this, I wonder, real Turkish tea in the true sense of the word or just Lipton's served without milk and accompanied by two sugar cubes? I'll never know and besides, what IS 'real Turkish tea?'

For the past two nights now I've been having dinner in the hotel restaurant (I had lunch there too yesterday – chicken noodles and a small glass of Efes Dark, Turkish ale (very pleasant). The restaurant I've been using is on the 7th floor and on a normal day it offers great views of the city, but not today. The aforementioned fog blocked out virtually everything. It was a real 'pea souper' as they say and reminded me of Jack the Ripper's London.

There is a restaurant on the 6th floor, which doubles as the breakfast room, but it's always being used at night time for private functions and so is out of bounds for run-of-the-mill hotel guests like yours truly. Last night I had fillet of seabass on a bed of spinach with potatoes; not bad, but there were a few bones (which can't be helped) and I ordered a glass of wine as a wine list was not offered. Yesterday the 7th floor restaurant was virtually empty. Today there were more people and, for the first time, I was offered a wine list and chose a very good half bottle of a Turkish red to accompany my stuffed salmon followed by a chicken curry with rice (all very minimalist) and, of course, a selection of 'seasonal fruits' which today included kiwi fruit, banana, strawberry, tangerine and sliced apple; yesterday it was the same but minus the strawberries.

I love Istanbul although it does get frustrating sitting in a taksi during rush hour waiting for lights to turn green or shielding your face with your hands as your driver ducks and dives his way through horrendous traffic jams, but other than that there are so many good things going for this great city: the general street culture, the smell of roasting chestnuts, the exquisite-looking bakeries with their wonderful patisserie displays, the street sellers, the carpet salesmen, the list goes on.

Prior to flying back Friday I've got a couple hours to spare and might use them (and the tram) to reach other parts of the city. I've also seen what looks like a decent sort of 'caff' in Gulhane for my other blog, so I've got my work cut out. More to report later, but right now, with the time approaching 2330hrs, it's time to hit the sack in preparation for another busy day tomorrow.