A magical place, filled with ‘Fairy Chimneys’, ‘Cones’, and ‘Pigeon houses’. As the sun sets behind one of the many hiking trails at the Rose Valley, its name becomes so elegantly clear and descriptive. 
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The echoes of the call to prayer reverberate throughout the city leaving you wıth a weak warm feelıng of piety. The cacophony of taxis honking horns, the haggling of store owners every two feet, vendors on every corner selling every snack you could imagine–side by side wıth edify that have born wıtness to much of the history of the modern world unwind. The fiery sun sets behind the Bosphorous, the great river dividing Asia and Europe, while riding the ferry back to the Asian sıde where I stay after a long day of sightseeıng ın ancient Sultanmet; the cool breeze gıves lıfe after a scorchıng hot summer day. 