Happy hour

Medusa, upside down, as though things could be worse for her, in the ancient cistern

What Bahaus hostel lacks in finesse it makes up for in atmosphere. So while it offers the most basic facilities, with metal bed frames and lockers that made me wonder if I was up-to-date with my Tetanus jab, and a stripy quilt now stuffed above the roof beams to keep the rain out, it transforms into a party palace in the evening. Last night Dude (the owner, whose name I cannot spell) had arranged for a belly dancer and decided that we would all get drunk together. "It's nice!" he declared. Earlier on his feelings had been hurt by a guest who had stayed for one night before criticising the breakfast. "He wanted cereal," he said. "But I thought criticise the roof or anything else, but not the breakfast!" Like an unappreciated host, he was quite upset and wanted cheering up.

Dude, it turns out, grew up in the university of life. Orphaned at the age of nine he was out selling bottled water on the streets of Istanbul by the age of eleven, graduating on to water melons by the age of fourteen, via corn on the cob. After a brief stint through junior boxing and selling t-shirts, he ended up in the hospitality trade. He sees his business as a way of helping tourists. His mother, he tells me, is his conscience, showing me a black and white photograph of a handsome woman who bears a strong resemblance to her huge bear of a son.

By the time the belly dancer had arrived Dude was holding court at a table and rushing off to refill guests' glasses before they were emptied, creating havoc with the staff who were trying to maintain order in the kitchen. Only when his chair collapsed did it all threaten to come crashing around his ears. But undeterred, he propped the fallen chair-leg back up and carried on until it collapsed again, nearly taking the entire table with it.

It was only at midnight when he rushed off to fetch me another drink that I did not want that I ran away. Ten o'clock UK time, it was getting close to my bedtime. From what I hear he was a little upset I had vanished, spurning his hospitality. But any disappointment was short-lived as he decided to head off with the guests with more stamina to a nightclub.

I now have a box of Turkish Delight on standby to give as thanks.

Republic Day today, Turkey is on holiday and coach loads of tourists, Turkish and otherwise, are disgorging themselves into the area of the Blue Mosque. Accompanied by Sim, a friend from England who arrived yesterday, I headed to the underground cisterns, an eerie length of ancient subterranean waterways with heads of Medusa as the main attractions. Tonight, if we have the energy, we plan to head to the waterfront to watch the celebratory fireworks, organised by pyromaniacs from Australia. But first I need to rest and avoid Dude for at least a little while in case he wants to party again.