Farewell to the Golden Horn. For now.

We caught the plane home from Istanbul at what proclaimed itself ‘the best airport in the world’. I suppose false modesty is a character flaw and at least this was certainly free of any trace of it. 

Tourist patrol in Istanbul: policing with a smile
if you're not an unlicensed street trader

It reminded me of the time I was using Liverpool airport regularly. It was the run up to the city becoming European Capital of Culture. Signs inside the passenger terminal proudly informed us that we were in the ‘official airport’ of that capital. All I could wonder is how many other airports had competed for the title. Had Glasgow perhaps been pipped at the post, Birmingham mounted a plucky but ultimately forlorn challenge?

Fortunately, however great its airports, Istanbul has a lot more going for it than that. There are the seven hills: seven naturally since this was the location of new Rome and it had to have the same number of hills as the original, even though it’s not that clear what exactly counts as a hill. There three different seaways, including the Golden Horn which snakes right into the heart of the city. And there are magnificent buildings recalling the past grandeur Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman grandeur as well as illustrating the dynamism of one of Europe’s great modern capitals.

What made the trip most pleasant,though, were the people. Everywhere we went we found friendliness, courtesy and good cheer. Even when they jostle you on the trams, they apologise so fulsomely and with such a winning smile that it’s hard to bear a grudge.

That kindness was so widespread that we were a little surprised when a policeman on one of those three-wheeled stand-up scooters went straight past us as we were trying to ask for directions. But then, as soon as he’d achieved his objective of driving away a bottled water salesman, he came straight back to where we were standing.

‘You had a question?’ he asked with the ubiquitous disarming smile.

Not only did he answer our question, but he took us to the door of the place we were looking for, and as soon as he realised Danielle was French, he expressed all his joy over the departure of Sarkozy, which only endeared him all the more to us.

Overall, it feels a Liberal city. Take the example of women’s dress: there are women wearing the full black costume and face veil, but probably no higher a proportion than we meet back in Luton. A much larger number wear a headscarf and cover up so extensively that the heat must be uncomfortable. But the largest number dress like any other women in Europe.

Islamic observance was, however, the one area that feels upsetting. A friend from the city told us how he’d seen the number of women in full Islamic dress grow over the last fifteen years. In itself, that’s not a problem. Where it becomes one is when the strict believers decide that they’re on to such a good thing, they ought to impose it on others. We’re seeing that in Western Europe too, in the slighter wackier fringe sects of Christianity, such as the upper echelons of the Catholic Church in Scotland.

With an Islamist government in power, however moderate, there has to be concern over wether Turkey can retain its vibrancy by preserving its liberalism and tolerance of diversity.

On our final day the city came up with another glimpse of its warm heart. As we were waiting in the hotel lobby to leave for the world’s best airport, a basil plant was delivered to reception.

‘What was that about?’ we asked.

‘The City distributes them to every single household, to help celebrate the Spring.’

A small gesture of generosity by the public authorities, without utilitarian value, only because it can spread a little goodwill.

Now that’s something that wouldn’t go down amiss in our own societies either, would it?

Flapping zippers and missed chances

It was, I suppose inevitably, a French friend who told me the story of the English and French naval captains of the Napoleonic war meeting for dinner on the Frenchman’s ship (fortunately: the food at least was passable).

‘Tell me,’ said the Englishman, ‘why do the French always fight for money while the English fight for honour?’

‘I suppose,’ replied the Frenchman, ‘that everyone fights for what he does not have.’

We all seek what we don’t have.

What France doesn’t have at the moment is a President worthy of the office. Sarkozy-the-little is for ever standing on tiptoes to get himself noticed, always looking for the limelight, and achieving next to nothing.

Meanwhile, as the financial crisis bites, particularly in countries such as Greece, Portugal or Ireland, we need an International Monetary Fund that is enlightened, liberal, capable of playing the long game and not focusing all its attention on the short term.

In Dominique Strauss-Kahn we had the answer to both problems. Under his guidance, the IMF has shown that it can understand the problems of the countries that turn to it for help without abandoning any of its financial rigour. It can demand action to address underlying failings, but without insisting on policies that would crucify the population.

DSK: might-have-been man

And ‘DSK’ was the runaway favourite to win next year’s presidential election in France. With all the qualities to be an outstanding President.

Or perhaps all the qualities bar one.

Obviously, we may discover that the charges against him are completely baseless. It does strike me as odd that a chambermaid was in his room while he was having a shower – in my experience, if hotel staff step into your room while you’re there, they beat a hasty retreat and come back later. So maybe he’s as innocent as a babe in arms, and I’d be delighted if that’s established by the trial, even though it will be too late for France or the IMF.

But if he’s found guilty, or acquitted on a technicality (it's notoriously difficult to get a conviction on a rape charge), I shall merely drop a tear over a lost opportunity. ‘With so many gifts,’ I shall sigh, ‘and so much to contribute to others, why did you never learn the self-control to keep your zipper shut?’

Another case of flapping zipper syndrome in a powerful man.

Another case of always wanting what you don’t have, however much you already do.

The whole story reminds me of the comment an American friend made to me, back in the late nineties. ‘He could have been great,’ she said. She wasn’t talking about DSK, of course. At the time, Bill Clinton was finding it so difficult to hang on to the presidency that he couldn’t do any of the things the office in theory made possible.

Aw, shucks. Obama don't like us any more

There was a curious piece in my favourite newspaper The Guardian (perhaps I should say joint favourite, since I have a soft spot for the scourge of Berlusconi, La Repubblica). It seems that journalist Simon Tisdall is concerned about Obama’s attitude towards Europe: ‘Obama’s coolness towards Europe worries his Nato partners’.

Perhaps it’s too cheap a crack to say ‘hold on: weren’t we supposed to think his coolness was the thing we liked about him in the first place?’, so I’ll resist the temptation.

In any case, Tisdall’s complaint does feel a bit like something from the ‘he’s-stopped-going-round-with-me-at-break’ school of international diplomacy. Who cares what Obama thinks of us? Well, apart from Brown and Sarkozy of course, snubbed when they wanted private meetings with him – but then why care about them either? In any case, if being liked is the issue, we have so much liking for him over here that we hardly need Obama to contribute any of his own. On the other hand, we might start liking him rather less if he doesn’t start delivering soon.

Bring in a climate change deal that sticks, sort out the mess in Afghanistan and avoid getting us into war with Iran, and he can call us tea-drinkers with bad teeth, cheese-eating surrender monkeys and square-headed cabbage eaters for all I care. And if he sorts out those brutal little bullies in Israel, why, he’ll have earned a Nobel Peace Prize into the bargain.

Fail to deal with those things, and as far as I’m concerned he’s just another loudmouthed American blundering around doing more harm than good. Not that he’ll care if we think that of him. He’ll be blissfully indifferent to our opinion, good or bad. A healthy attitude. One that we should emulate.