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Who are we?

This travel blog is created by me, Lars Aldman, a Swedish journalist and traveller, always in the company of my wonderful wife V. who is also a journalist and a fantastic photographer.

I worked for many years for the Swedish National Radio and Television, as a reporter/producer/studio host and a bunch of other roles.but now I’m retired and do whatever I like.

We love to visit foreign countries and cultures and meet people all over the globe. So far we have been to Asia, Africa, South America and the Caribbean and of course Europe. And we’d like to share with You, dear reader, what we have experienced and seen. We hope You want to join us and possibly find ideas for Your own adventures.

PS. To see more of my photos from journeys far and near, head over to aldmangallery.com

To contact us via mail: info@resormedv.se

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Travels with V

Istanbul

Travels with V

Istanbul

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A sea voyage to Prince islands

Istanbul part three

A nice and cool sea voyage takes us to the so called Prince islands, an hour by tour boat from the city centre. The name is according to legend from ages ago when banished ottoman princes were shipped out here. But today these islands are a summer holiday paradise for rich Istanbul families. They have built fancy wooden palaces here, all with lush gardens and swimmingpools. And the lucky ones who have found a lot by the sea of course have private harbours.

The  Prince islands are perfect for a day’s escape from the fumes and noises of the big city. Here all vehicles with combustion engines are forbidden, so it’s really quiet. Transports are made by horse cart, or bicycle, or most common, electric scooters. Just strolling around is like a dream.

FÄRJETERMINALEN, ETT VACKERT OTTOMANSKT HUS I HAMNEN
BEAUTIFUL OTTOMAN HOUSE, NOW FERRY TERINAL
AFFÄRSGATA I BUYUKADA
SHOPPING STREET IN BUYUKADA
FORDON FÖR HANTVERKARE OCH HANDLARE
COMMON TRANSPORT FOR VENDORS AND HANDYMEN
MEN VI KÖPTE INGA SKOR
BUT WE DIDN'T BUY ANY SHOES
PRINSÖARNA ÄR KATTERNAS Ö
IN THESE ISLAND STREETS THE CATS RULE
DET ÄR SVÅRT MEN DET SKA GÅ
IT'S DIFFICULT, BUT I'LL MAKE IT!

After a ferry ride to one of the southernmost islands, Buyukada, we find the roads in good shape so pedalling around is easy. We head out first looking for the house where the Russian revolutionary Lev Trotsky stayed when he was on the run from Stalin’s terror regime. But the house is not easily found, people we ask who live here don’t even know where it is. But one man gives us directions and soon we stand in front of an overgrown garden with a brick ruin in the middle. An odd spot surrounded by luxury villas.

The house was at the time owned by the chief of the secret police and Trotsky hid out here with his family for two years, and then continued on to Mexico. Why the house still stands in this sorry state is a mystery. Maybe it has something to do with superstition?

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We pedal on to the middle of the island where all roads meet, a place called Luna Park. We leave the bikes, because the road further on is only for pedestrians. It’s uphill and a bit steep.  On the way we pass bushes with coloured ribbons tied to its small branches. These are a kind of prayers tied there by young girls wishing for for fertility.

The road leads to, and ends at the top of the mountain, and from up here you can overlook almost the entire island. Further across the water you also get an overview of the enormous city that Istanbul has become, especially on the Asian side.

There’s a small greek-orthodox monastery up here, dedicated to St George, the dragon slayer. The door is locked so instead we walk over to a taverna that almost leans over the steep slope towards the sea to the north.

Our last day in Istanbul we just take it easy, stroll around narrow streets in Fatih and have a coffee by the Hippodrome. But there’s some kind of racket here, a large group of street vendors have gathered, they normally sell maps and tickets to tourists. But now the tourists here are few, so maybe that’s the reason a big fight has broken out. One group of vendors chases another group off the Hippodrome, and the winning side, heavy with testosterone, keeps on gesturing and shouting for a little while.

We finish our coffe, take our bags and head off towards the tram station for our transport to the airport and back home. While we wait for the tram we see a small boy walking around barefoot in dirty clothes.  It’s november and rather chilly. We suspect the kid is a refugee from Syria, and we contemplate an idea about taking him to a shoe shop and buy him a pair of shoes. Just then the tram arrives and we hop on. But still today sometimes we say to each other: –We should have bought that kid a pair of shoes!

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