Although the tulip is widely considered to be a Dutch flower, its origins are Turkish. They were exported to Holland from here in the 17th century. We arrived in Istanbul at the start of the annual two week tulip festival. The streets, monuments, parks and shops are floating in a sea of purple, white, orange and yellow flowers that, from a distance, look like the icing of a colourful cake. The air is rich with their perfume. I feel like diving into one of the beds, rolling around a few times and having a nap.

We've been in Istanbul for a week and the list of interesting things that we won't have time to visit is longer than the ones we've made it to. Our guesthouse is located in the centre of the main tourist area of the European side. When I look out the east facing window of our room, cargo ships and ferries glide up and down the Bosphorus, heading to or from the Marmara or Black Sea. Most head north empty and return laden with oil from Russia, Georgia or the Crimea. At night, the lights of Asia flicker in the background on the far shore - a continent, but not even a city away. Stretching my head out the north facing window of our room looking west, the pink, chunky silhouette of the Aya Sophia dominates the view. It's four minarets, added when the Ottomans converted it to a mosque following their conquest of Constantinople in the 15th century, depict the central and complex role this city has played in the history of the western world. One cannot appreciate the seminal events of the last century, or the several millennia preceding it, without understanding what happened right here, where Europe and Asia collide. Luckily, the major players left behind a treasure of monuments to remind us of their lives and times. From the terrace of the hotel looking south, the Blue Mosque peeks through the budding trees, competing ably for our attention.

Turkey has been in the international news a fair bit lately, both for its involvement in the Syrian crisis and a milder but still violent manifestation of the Arab Spring. We delayed our arrival in Istanbul until a few days after the Turkish elections. The ruling party and its increasingly non-secular policies are unpopular here in this big, cosmopolitan city. We were unsure what to expect as we strolled up Istiklal Caddesi, the crowded pedestrian thoroughfare that terminates at Taksim Square - the heart of modern Istanbul. As we passed music stores, restaurants, cafes, boutique shops, candy stores and street performers it was hard to reconcile the violence and state reaction that has brought this place to the attention of the western world in recent months. It felt more like Oxford Street, Champs-Élysées or Fifth Avenue than the heart of Turkish civil unrest.

The kids were tired, hungry and jonesing for Turkish Delight by the time we reached Taksim. I was a touch disappointed that there was nothing out of the ordinary happening. Not even a lingering whiff of tear gas! We snapped a few photos, shrugged our shoulders and headed back in search of a bite to eat. Every little side street seemed to call out to us, with dim orange lights shimmering out from cozy tables nestled in the subterranean restaurants and cafes. Every town in Turkey seems to do bread a different way. In this part of Istanbul, white robed women sit cross legged on the floor behind front windows rolling out soft thin pancakes of dough which they then slap down on a coal-heated, dome-shaped grill. Once it's charred slightly on each side and smelling rich and smoky, they deliver it to your table slightly blackened and steaming hot with a flavored yoghurt sauce to keep you busy while you scan the menu. We opted for a mixed grill which arrived sizzling at our table in about ten minutes. It was piled high with lightly spiced chicken, meatballs, steak and lamb chops. The meat was served on a bed of fragrant rice and interspersed with arugula, bursting roasted tomatoes, red cabbage and blackened red and spicy green peppers. I almost lost a hand trying to get a fork in one of the two lamb chops as my ravenous progeny beat me to the prize. It was getting dark and getting busier when we headed back out onto the street. The shops and stores were full of people and bustling with energy. Hard to believe it was a Tuesday night. We couldn't resist stopping for muddy black coffee and honey-drenched baklava before catching the train home.

The Aya Sophia was our primary target for an introductory dose of history and culture on our first day. There have been christian churches at this place since 360. The current version was constructed by the Emperor Justinian I in 537 and served as an orthodox cathedral for a 1000 years, when it was converted to a mosque by the conquering Ottomans. It is decidedly uninspiring from the outside. Notwithstanding its impressive size, it looks as though it was put together by a distracted first grader with a set of massive, faded and mismatched blocks. Given that it was built 1,500 years ago, I decided to cut it some slack. Even the Taj had a thousand more years of building innovation by the time it was slapped together. I was impressed by the interior, but not necessarily by its beauty. Quite the opposite. I admired how raw and unpolished it is. Like most ancient sites we've visited in Turkey, it looks as old as it is. It hasn't been restored to reflect its former glory. In fact, the decay, neglect and official vandalism tells most of the story of the place. When you run your hands over the crumbling tile work, the massive columns, the faded paint and the grooved marble, you are adding your small mark to those that have run their hands over the exact same places for a thousand and a half years. It is humbling. This is how I like to experience historical places - when they are left to age naturally. It is a truly remarkable edifice, in terms of its architecture, its resilience, its artwork and its vibe. No wonder it is listed as one of the "must see" buildings on earth.

The amazing sites just kept going from there. In a few short days we have visited the Blue Mosque, Grand Bazaar, Spice Market, Taksim Square, Hippodrome, Basilica Cistern, cruised up the Bospherous to the Black Sea and taken in several Ottoman palaces and museums full of mind bending collections. Today we attempted to forgo the "one activity a day" rule and purchased tickets to both Topkapi Palace and the Archeology Museum. Big mistake. We needed a full day for each. After strolling around Topkapi, the first of the Ottoman palaces, with our jaws hanging open for four hours, our brains were full. In addition to ornate rooms full of priceless gems, artifacts and loot from all over the vast Ottoman empire, the collection includes the original Qur'an and countless relics of the Prophet Mohammed including a few strands of his beard and a tooth. The kids are humoring me my fascination with really old stuff but cannot conceal glazed eyes when I stop them in their tracks every minute or two to lecture them on early persian, greek, roman, Christian and Ottoman events. "Yes Daddy, we know, this is a gazillion years old right?" With only two hours remaining before closing time, I headed to the Archeology Museum by myself and whimpered like a dog salivating over an unreachable chew toy as I was forced to rush by most of its million piece collection, including some of the earliest examples of human writing, three thousand year old carvings and the entire Troy excavation, without slowing down to gaze at each one in detail. To my relief, I was able to spend twenty minutes pouring over the Alexander Sarcophagus before they kicked me out. One of the masterpieces of antiquity, the marble tomb is the museum's prize possession and depicts contemporary scenes of the exploits of one of history's greatest, and perhaps maddest characters in exquisitely detailed bas-relief. No matter if you visit it as a lover of history, art or megalomaniacs in general, it is impossible not to be profoundly moved by its beauty.

As always, some of the best experiences in life are the ones we don't see coming. On our walk back from the Grand Bazaar and spice market we stopped in at a small gallery that caught our eye. Inside, a friendly young artist was "marbling" in his studio. This heretofore unheard of medium involves dropping small beads of bright paint into a tray of water and resin. When the paint droplets spread out across the surface, they are pulled into lovely patterns by running small sticks through them the same way a chef would decorate a serving dish with coulis or a barista the foam atop a cafe latte. Paper is then laid on top to absorb and capture the rich pattern. He invited the girls to try and they were captivated by it and by him. When he offered to give them a class the next day, they were all over it. We rearranged our plans and Deb and I headed to an outdoor cafe for a beer and Narghile after dropping them off. One hour turned into two and by the time we picked them up they had created about ten pieces and actually sold a few to curious tourists passing by! They hated to leave but came away with some homemade (and lightweight) souvenirs, great memories and a few Lira which we made them use to pay for the class. Afterall, if they want to be artists, they can't get too used to having cash in their pockets.

Every night we collapse into bed after staying out on the bustling streets well past bedtime. Before falling into a dreamy sleep, we vow to slow down the pace tomorrow and get to bed earlier. The next morning, we do it all over again. Istanbul is a massive, world class city. It has taken a bit of getting used to after coming from laid back Antalya and Cappadocia. The streets are full of touts trying to draw you into restaurants or carpet stores. They are friendly but incredibly persistent. Even in the shoulder season the main tourist areas are very busy. I almost got into a fist fight today with an elderly Chinese lady with crimson hair who insisted on digging her pointy elbows into my ribs while in line to gawk at some gigantic ruby or diamond at Topkapi palace. I think I could have taken her, but her 6 year old great, great granddaughter looked MEAN.

Tomorrow is our last day in Istanbul and we plan to spend it revisiting some of our favorite spots in slow time rather than attempt anything new. There's a great outdoor cafe in the neighborhood bazaar that serves good tea and baklava and plays soothing live Turkish music. We've been going there most evenings for a bedtime cuppa and a few rounds of backgammon. Despite its second to none tourist attractions, I think my enduring memory of Istanbul will be the endless clickity clack of dice and game pieces as we relax in this everyday place with the inky and fragrant smoke of a hundred narghiles bubbling its way through the pipes and into our senses.

Tomorrow morning we take a bus bound for the Gallipoli Penninsula where the first soldiers of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment fell alongside their Australian and New Zealand comrades in one of the deadliest and ill-fated adventures of WWI. We will be there just two weeks before ANZAC day and one year before the 100th anniversary of the first landings at ANZAC Bay. The Newfoundlanders were the only North American troops to see action in the Dardanelles. It's both sad and satisfying to know that one of the thousands of historical lines that cross through this amazing land stretches all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to the shores of our little island. An island that no one on this side of the pond even knew existed when the timeless monuments of this city were already starting to show their age. I can hear it already: "Yes Daddy, you told us a hundred times already about the Newfies who fought here. Will you just be quiet and let us listen to the guide?" A hundred times? Really? That's gotta be an exaggeration. OK, I'll shut up now.