From the pine-shaded crown of Büyük Çamlıca, the highest hill standing directly over the Bosphorus, you can hold two continents in a single glance. The name means roughly "place of pines," and for generations of Ottoman Istanbul this slope was the city's favourite excursion ground, where families spread carpets, musicians played, and poets came for the air and the long view. In the 1980s the summit was relaid with terraced gardens, marble fountains and an Ottoman-style tea garden, and more recently a vast mosque rose on the hill's lower shoulder, giving the ridge one of the city's most recognisable silhouettes.
From the rail you look down on the whole city. The Bosphorus runs between its two shores, and ships leave long white wakes behind them. Beyond the strait, the domes and minarets of the old peninsula fade into the haze, and the Sea of Marmara opens to the south. Gulls ride the updraft at eye level. At sunset the water turns copper, and the call to prayer rises from mosques on both shores at once, each one starting a moment after the last. Families settle under the pines with tea and simit, and most of them stay until the lights come on across the city.