Istanbul?

IdleRich

IdleRich
"I think Efes is one of those warm-climate beers, much like Red Stripe, where much is forgiven if you're drinking it on a lovely hot sunny day. Preferably on a terrace overlooking the sea, with something pleasantly savoury to snack on."
Never thought about this much before but it makes a lot of sense actually. In Portugal ninety percent of bars have only two beers - Sagres and Superbock. Out of the other bars, ninety percent of them have just one of those two. The remaining one percent have some extra fancy things like Carlsberg or whatever. Anyway, Superbock is pretty rank, in fact I'd say it's possibly the second worse beer I've ever tasted. And as for Sagres... well you've guessed the rest of what I'm gonna say I'm sure.
It's weird though, Portugal has great food and loads of fucking brilliant, underrated and cheap wine. And beer that tastes like someone drank someone's beery piss and pissed it out again and then put it in a Sagres bottle.
 

kevinoak

Active member
I've been to Istanbul, and it didnt light my fire either. Interesting, yes; but I travel for more than architecture. Just never got comfortable. There are some specific great "wow" sights such as the Tokapi palace, Hagia Sophia and one or two of the mosques, plus it's an interesting city of contrasts to walk around (especially if you cross to the Asian side).
 
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pattycakes_

Well-known member
It was the old streets and the people that made Istanbul so cool. Everything's so uneven. Sometimes you'd look down a side street expecting nothing and it'd be this exotic little cornucopia, all higgldy piggldy, ancient cobbled floors, multicoloured tiles, huge dangling plants spilling over balconies of multiple designs and eras, far leaning walls, trees that pushed their way through the asphalt and now claiming the street their own. Little urban oases you could never design yourself. Wabi sabi perfection. Takes decades of decay and dirt to make things so rich. Kind of like that feeling when you were a kid and you went to a flea market or warehouse full of bric a brac with the smell of old metals and wood and plastic and dust in badly ventilated, low lit spaces. The possibility of spectacular relics to be revealed after some patient digging. And staying up all night with the hostel receptionist and her taking you down to the Bosphorus just after sunrise to have an unforgettable breakfast and you find yourself getting into a conversation with the old craggy faced guy on the next table telling you all about the surroundings in the most charming way possible.
 
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