Istanbul is buzzing. On popular pedestrians-only Istiklal Street, ice-cream salesmen are playing to the crowds and clowning around, flicking sticky Turkish ice-cream cones upside down or twirling them like propellers, tantalisingly just out of reach of their customers’ eager outstretched hands.
Inside the confectionery stores, pastry chefs in starched white tops and red fezzes sculpt mouthwatering pyramids of baklava and other delights. There’s plenty of eye candy outside too – squads of police dressed in resplendent black. “Their uniforms hug the body much better than the Australian ones, don’t they,” observes my travel companion, Zora, speaking with the authority of someone who has a degree in design and fine arts.
The police are out in force because election day is imminent and the campaigning
