Ayvansaray is a hushed working neighbourhood on the Golden Horn, built over the palace where Byzantium's last emperors actually lived. Wooden houses, small mosques raised inside older churches and washing strung between Byzantine towers fill the slope. Terraces of vanished palace halls still climb it, honeycombed by the grim vaults of the Prison of Anemas. You can walk the base of the land walls where they run lowest, and duck into a courtyard where a sacred spring still trickles beneath a modern chapel.
The court left the old Great Palace by the sea for Blachernae, and the crusaders who sacked it in 1204 wrote down what the gold and mosaics looked like. Where the ground sinks toward the water the city's triple line — a moat, a low outer wall and the great inner wall — gave way to a single rampart. Little is signposted, and that is the pleasure: cats doze on Byzantine stone and the grandest chapter of the city's history is left to the people who live above it.