The Blue Mosque takes its English name from what covers its walls: more than twenty thousand İznik tiles in cobalt and sea-green, worked into tulips, carnations and cypresses. Some 260 windows, once glazed with coloured Venetian glass, spill light across them until the room seems to glow. Step inside and the domes rise in tiers, one lifting the eye to the next, until a painted crown floats far overhead. Outside, six minarets mark it out on the skyline.
Sultan Ahmed I was barely nineteen when he ordered it, and with no great conquest to pay the way he drew on the imperial treasury, breaking with custom. Sedefkâr Mehmed Ağa, a pupil of Sinan, finished it in 1616, and the site was chosen so the mosque would stand across a garden from the Byzantine church it was meant to match. It is still a working mosque: five times a day the carpets fill with people at prayer, and visitors cross barefoot between prayers, shoes in hand, under the same vast ceiling.