It is a Saturday. In approximately 20 minutes, at precisely 12.00, the Turkish Maritime Lines ferryboat, the Sarayburnu, will set off on its run down the Bosphorus. We are in the open section of the upper deck. Everyone is carrying a bottle of water. Although we are dressed in shorts, miniskirts, and straw hats, it is no use. The heat is overpowering. Spaniards, Britishers, Germans, and Turks, of course, have come in search of a bit of cool breeze, a bit of blue sea, and plenty of beautiful Bosphorus views.

A middle-aged tourist has captured the seething crowds of Eminonu in the lens of his video camera and is doing some trial filming. The Spanish group diagonally opposite him are conversing loudly, while the Turkmen couple next to them is like a pair of lovebirds. The man has his arm over the shoulder of the woman, who is wearing a long dress and rests her head on the man's chest as she murmurs sweet words. An Indian woman in a blue sari walks elegantly along and seats herself in space. While some of the tourists enjoy this experience more, some prefer to do a private tour on Bosphorus along with the other sites.

The dark-skinned man beside her is presumably her husband. Children of diverse nationalities are running cheerfully around the boat. Twenty minutes pass quickly, and then the engines come to life with a roar, telling us that it is time for the ferryboat, alias the Tramp Steamer, to begin its wanderings. The passengers start to look around them with an air of expectancy. All is ready, and the voyage can begin. But still, there seems to be something missing. There are no Japanese tourists! How come? At the last minute, a man with almond-shaped eyes and a camera around his neck rushes up the gangplank. So he has made it. Now the passenger quota is complete.

The ferry leaves Eminonu and Karakoy behind for a few hours and churns ahead through the water. This is a scene that should not be missed! Almost everyone grabs their camera and points them at Galata Tower with its head in the skies, at the ferries chugging incessantly up to and away from the piers in Sirkeci and Eminonu. The anglers lined up along Galata Bridge.

While everyone is still preoccupied with the scenery, the delightful sound of Turkish music being played on a kanun - a type of zither - fills the air. Before we can wonder where the sound is coming from, it is joined by the voices of a clarinet and darbuka drum. It is the song which goes, 'On the way to Uskudar the rain began to fall / My clerk's coattails were muddied.' A group of Turkish youngsters is playing and singing. Heads nod in time to the music and those who know the words join in. Those unfamiliar with the terms make do with applauding.

Just then, we are passing Dolmabahce Mosque, a 19th-century edifice with a strongly geometrical design. Then comes the celebrated Dolmabahce Palace with its rooms decorated with Lyons silks, Sevres vases,

It is a Saturday. In approximately 20 minutes, at precisely 12.00, the Turkish Maritime Lines ferryboat, the Sarayburnu, will set off on its run down the Bosphorus. We are in the open section of the upper deck. Everyone is carrying a bottle of water. Although we are dressed in shorts, miniskirts, and straw hats, it is no use. The heat is overpowering. Spaniards, Britishers, Germans, and Turks, of course, have come in search of a bit of cool breeze, a bit of blue sea, and plenty of beautiful Bosphorus views.

A middle-aged tourist has captured the seething crowds of Eminonu in the lens of his video camera and is doing some trial filming. The Spanish group diagonally opposite him are conversing loudly, while the Turkmen couple next to them is like a pair of lovebirds. The man has his arm over the shoulder of the woman, who is wearing a long dress and rests her head on the man's chest as she murmurs sweet words. An Indian woman in a blue sari walks elegantly along and seats herself in space. While some of the tourists enjoy this experience more, some prefer to do a private tour on Bosphorus along with the other sites.

The dark-skinned man beside her is presumably her husband. Children of diverse nationalities are running cheerfully around the boat. Twenty minutes pass quickly, and then the engines come to life with a roar, telling us that it is time for the ferryboat, alias the Tramp Steamer, to begin its wanderings. The passengers start to look around them with an air of expectancy. All is ready, and the voyage can begin. But still, there seems to be something missing. There are no Japanese tourists! How come? At the last minute, a man with almond-shaped eyes and a camera around his neck rushes up the gangplank. So he has made it. Now the passenger quota is complete.

The ferry leaves Eminonu and Karakoy behind for a few hours and churns ahead through the water. This is a scene that should not be missed! Almost everyone grabs their camera and points them at Galata Tower with its head in the skies, at the ferries chugging incessantly up to and away from the piers in Sirkeci and Eminonu. The anglers lined up along Galata Bridge.

While everyone is still preoccupied with the scenery, the delightful sound of Turkish music being played on a kanun - a type of zither - fills the air. Before we can wonder where the sound is coming from, it is joined by the voices of a clarinet and darbuka drum. It is the song which goes, 'On the way to Uskudar the rain began to fall / My clerk's coattails were muddied.' A group of Turkish youngsters is playing and singing. Heads nod in time to the music and those who know the words join in. Those unfamiliar with the terms make do with applauding.

Just then, we are passing Dolmabahce Mosque, a 19th-century edifice with a strongly geometrical design. Then comes the celebrated Dolmabahce Palace with its rooms decorated with Lyons silks, Sevres vases, Venetian glass, and other fashionable furnishings and accessories of the mid-19th century.

Amidst the music, dancing, and delightful views, we arrive at Besiktas. As soon as the boat has collected its new guests from Barbaros Hayrettinpasa Pier, it is out into the strait again. It has no desire to waste a moment because there are still so many ports of call. Glancing backward, we see Kiz Kulesi - the Maiden's Tower -and Topkapi Palace become steadily smaller as they recede into the distance. Just a few wispy clouds sail through the sky, and another song can be heard: 'She has tied a scarf on her tinseled head / Her curls fall onto her crescent-shaped eyebrows.' The young people are still singing. A 5-year-old girl runs up to her father and drags him by the hand over to the boy playing the kanun. First, she wants her father to crouch down so that his blonde daughter in her red dress can sit on his knee. The little German girl looks at the kanun player in rapture. Now we are passing by the famous Ortakoy Mosque, which stands on a tiny headland pointing into the Bosphorus.

Then the boat changes course and heads for the Asian shore, where the palace and district of Beylerbeyi - favorite with the sultans - come into sight, almost beneath the great pillars of the suspension bridge. Past the village of Cengelkoy, the boat salutes the empire style Kuleli Military College. Traditional brick red, milk-white, and pink waterfront houses still stand along the Bosphorus. We are so close to them that if we look hard, we might see the occupants through the curtains lightly blown by the breeze as they sip their coffee and read the newspapers.

Now we are nearing the pier at Kanlica, famed for its yogurt. On the opposite shore stands Rumelihisari fortress in all its splendor. On the banks, young boys are seeking relief from the heat by diving like Io into the cool waters of the Bosphorus. According to mythology, Io was the beautiful daughter of the god Inahos. She was turned into an ox by the jealous Hera, wife of Zeus, and to rid herself of a maddening gadfly plunged into the waters of the Bosphorus and fled into Egypt. The ancient name Bosphorus, or Passage of the Ox, derives from this story.

'The heart which loves not Istanbul cannot understand love' are the words which ring out as we pull up at Kanlica. The little girl in the red dress is still watching the kanun player as intently as ever. On the opposite shore, Emirgan can be seen.

We cannot stay long in Kanlica. Soon we are off again, and longing for a bowl of Kanlica yogurt. But before the wish is even spoken out, loud, waiters come around with just that, and the passengers enjoy a refreshing pot of yogurt each.

This is a tramp steamer, which means that we wander as the fancy takes us from port to port, staying as long as we like.

Our fancies are swift-flowing, however, and we do not stay long anywhere. Now we are past the Fatih Sultan Mehmed Bridge, and our next stop is Yenikoy. Hereabouts the Bosphorus shores are thickly wooded and along the shore are delicately ornate old houses with hydrangeas in their gardens and people sunbathing beside their pools. The great evil eye beads fixed on the facades of the houses attract our attention. Well, of course, such lovely houses need all the protection they can get. The air suddenly cools down.

All trace of the earlier heat has gone. A Bosphorus breeze is blowing up. If only we had thought to put a cardigan in our bags or tie one around our waist. Perhaps the breeze comes from the Black Sea, now in close proximity. The ensemble is on to another song already. Now the tiny girl with the sweet smile is on the lap of the clarinet player. The kanun player is next to them, and they are playing: 'My beloved's hair is in curls / My beloved resembles a white rose / That rose is my life / I would die rather than forsake it.'

To applause from their audience, the young musicians are dancing now. After stopping at Rumelikavagi, our boat steers towards Anadolukavagi, the last stop of the one and a half hour outward journey. Here all the passengers disembark for a meal of fried fish in a hunk of bread and mussels fried in batter. There is plenty of time to relax over lunch because the boat does not set off again for an hour and a half.