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365 Day 6 Good morning Istanbul

It’s a gorgeous morning in Istanbul. I’m about to head out for a jog around my neighbourhood park, which is unfortunately a bit crap for running because it contains two unsuitable tracks. One is laid with pavers as favoured by the Paris Municipality; looks good but not great on the feet. The other track looks and feels like clay and gravel aggregate and I spend too much time trying to avoid small divets and gullies that have formed during the winter months.

The sun rises over the Bosphorus

Anyway, it’s a beautiful day and I intend to get the most out of it.

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Just returned from my run. Macka Park is full of the rare Istanbullites who enjoy exercise. Lots of middle-aged women with mongrel-looking dogs, the former languidly tossing a ball into something that would once resembled a shrub, the canines looking about as interested in fetching the ball as the shrub looks at being accosted yet again by some filthy animal.

Along with the women in large sunglasses and ugly tracksuits are an assortment of Istanbul’s youth, forever clad in black and smoking like it’s their sole intake of nutrition for the week. Wherever you go in Istanbul, there’s always a group of lads in their early twenties, dressed like hoods, unkempt faces, lurking about no where in particular. They guffaw in unison at me as I pass in my jogging shorts. Other than the pointless groups of hoods, there’s the usual sad, married homosexual looking forlorn, undoubtedly intending to cruise about in the park for as long as required, or generally until the sun begins to sink.

Above at one of the park’s entrances stand a couple of security guards that look about as useless as a church in Riyadh. They follow me and my glamorous jogging outfit with shifty little eyes, but hey, I know who looks the most trustworthy out of us – and it’s not them.

After three laps about the park I head back across Besiktas Stadium and up the slight ramp that leads to my apartment. Time for breakfast.

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