Karaköy is grittier than Sultanahmet, with small shops, cafes, narrow streets, graffiti, studios, music stores, vintage clothing boutiques, and picturesquely derelict buildings. In other words, my kind of place.

After a trolley ride across the Golden Horn, I looked back across the waterway at the Haggia Sophia.

I then followed the steeply sloping streets up into an old residential district and then back down to the waterfront.

I really liked this guy’s wood-fired multi-pot coffee maker.

This sheep has been dyed with henna to symbolize innocence. It is presumably taking its last walk before winding up as dinner at someone’s Eid celebration.

This family was begging on the street. I didn’t see very many people in this condition.

I snuck a picture inside a vintage clothing store.

Up this road and just around the bend is a side street that contains one of Istanbul’s red light districts.

Once upon a time it was open to all and frequented by sailors from all over the world. Recently, however, the street has been closed to foreigners. A guard stands at the metal door to the brothel street, inspecting ID cards. No Turkish ID, no entry. This is presumably an innovation of the Erdoğan government, which has been pushing Turkey in a more religious and conservative direction.

The Blue Mosque, the Haggia Sophia, and the Grand Bazar: the big three Istanbul tourist attractions are all located in the Sultanahmet neighborhood. But at the time I was there, the Haggia Sophia and the Grand Bazar were closed for Eid weekend. So I wandered around the area, seeing what I could see. It’s definitely touristy, but still well done.

I decided that when I die, I’d very much like to have a gravestone like this (although possibly with a Golden Retriever instead of a lion).

I was able to walk around the exterior courtyards of the Blue Mosque, but there was a two-hour wait to get inside. With my time so limited, I decided to forgo such a visit this time, but still got a few photos.

I passed by the Burned Column, where a statue of Constantine once stood. There’s not much left of old Constantine here now, the statue of him having long ago been pulled off the column and destroyed.

Nearby is the Nurusmaniye Mosque, which has the nicest public bathrooms I have ever seen.

I zig-zagged my way back to Aksaray, looking down steep streets toward the Sea of Marmara.

As I walked through my residential neighborhood at 5:45 Friday morning, I heard the unexpected bleating of sheep waking up on one of their last days on earth. Eid is not a good time to be a sheep in Tunisia. Mr. Dahoud picked me up right on schedule and we drove north out of Sousse toward Tunis and the Carthage International Airport. As the sun rose over the sea to our east, I saw huge stork nests atop high tension towers by the roadside.

It was my first time leaving Tunisia and I was anxious. I’d heard stories about the government not allowing people to take money out of the country and about people being forced to pay a exit fee (or, as the government here calls it in true Orwellian style, to purchase a Solidarity Stamp). I had no such problems, however, and breezed through the exit queue.

I flew Turkish Airlines, a first for me, and was impressed. The plane was a new 737-800, the crew was gracious, the meal was good (and served with metal cutlery!), and the check-in clerk must have decided that since I was the tallest guy on the plane, I needed to be in the exit row seat with twice the usual legroom. After an easy two-hour flight over the eastern Mediterranean we touched down in Istanbul and taxied past jets of unfamiliar liveries: Solinair, MNG, Etihad, Air Moldova, Orunair, Aeroflot. We took our spot between Iraqi Airways and Air Serbia. Nearby was an Ilyushin Il-76, an ugly but tough old bird, done up in the colors of Turkmenistan Airlines. Turkey’s in an interesting neighborhood.

My hotel was in Aksaray, a commercial/residential neighborhood. Directly across from where I stayed was this convenience store.

Most of the little stores like this I saw in Istanbul were well-stocked, well-maintained, artfully merchandised, and actually pleasing to the eye. Here’s another example from nearby.

A short walk brought me to the trolley line was to be the central artery of my stay. I saw a number of sidewalk vendors selling the latest thing to hit Istanbul: a toy I knew in my youth as Spirograph.

There were also bootblacks whose equipment was the fanciest I’ve ever seen.

Note in the above pictures how well-dressed the men are. This is typical of what I saw. Even street vendors and working men often wear suit jackets. This was the first city I’ve visited where the men generally dress more stylishly than the women.

The streets were generally clean, perhaps owing in part to these cool underground public trash compactors.

In the last year, I’ve become interested in the world of late antiquity, so I wanted to see the city of Constantine, Justinian, and Theodosius. Time didn’t permit me to do much of that, unfortunately. There are, however, ruins scattered here and there. This is all that’s left of the Triumphal Arch of Theodosius from the fourth century BCE. I thought the sperm-shaped design on the column was unusual, though I’m hardly well-versed enough to know that for sure.

Istanbul struck me as a mix of London cool, Paris style, and Chicago feel. As in Chicago, the main streets are broad and the buildings have a confident, muscular look to them.

Later, I reflected that for some students of antiquity, Istanbul was to Rome as Chicago was to New York: the Second City, the city of broad shoulders.