I’ve always enjoyed a quick fix of Turkish kebap - preferably a tender shish singed to perfection over open coals in clouds of pungent smoke. They do it pretty well round the corner from me in north London, but even better in Anatolia itself (that name is so much more exotic than Turkey, or Turkiye, which somehow gobbles). Anyway, what I was unaware of until last week was the vast range of kebabs at their source. Nor did I realise that history in south-east Anatolia floats around between 9000 BC (we actually saw a cult centre from this time) and the Ottomans - racing through Hittites, neo-Hittites, Assyrians, Romans and many others. As mind-boggling as the food, but far more conjectural.

Last week I nearly found myself in the middle of a military coup. It was touch and go but thankfully democracy won the day. Yet oddly it was a confrontation between the army (normally perceived as reactionary) and a democratic opponent labelled as a potential Islamic extremist. Somehow this paradox is typical of Turkey.

What is extraordinary about Istanbul is how much it lives up to the cliché of a dual existence, of being the bridge between East and West, of Asia and Europe. That schizoid character appears again and again, as much in the political arena as in women’s appearance which veers between dowdy headscarf and body-enshrouding full-length dress to the tightest jeans and full-on make-up.