[Istanbul is a city of minarets, a riot of colors, a true crossroads of humanity. Alucard can pick out so many languages as they walk. He wants to just stare at the architecture, for what's here? It's a mad mix of the Byzantines and their golden mosaics, the stately ruins of ancient Rome, the wild organic intricacies of the Ottoman understanding of art and how it combines with their faith.

But they've eaten poorly on the journey, and that seems the best place to start.]

Something more substantial than baklava, I think.

[He's shed his coat for the day, opting for a simple tunic and his trousers, blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.]

And yes, I can enter churches and mosques. If we're permitted in is another question entirely though. [But also:] Perhaps we'd be wise to see if any of the ḥammāms permit westerners as well. I'm developing a fine patina of sea salt.