Fatih Mosque stands on the fourth hill of the old city, yet the domes you see are not the ones Mehmed II raised in 1470. His original mosque — the first great imperial complex built after the Byzantine capital became Ottoman — was shattered by the earthquake of 1766 and rebuilt within a few years in a wholly different plan. It rose on the ruins of the Church of the Holy Apostles, once the burial place of Byzantine emperors, and around it spread the Sahn-ı Seman: eight madrasas that formed the empire's first great school of higher learning.
Today the mosque anchors a working religious quarter rather than a tourist circuit. You climb toward a wide walled courtyard, its central fountain shaded, and step into a bright interior of grey stone and stencilled arches. Behind the mosque lies the tomb of the conqueror himself, its cloth-draped cenotaph rarely without visitors. The surrounding streets keep an older rhythm — Quran schools, prayer-bead sellers, the Wednesday market a few lanes away. Come at prayer time and the whole hill seems to lean toward the same call.