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There are cities that belong to the present, and then there is Istanbul. Where a sixth-century cathedral shares a skyline with contemporary art galleries; where ferries zigzag between continents as casually as commuters crossing town; where the scent of roasting chestnuts drifts past Roman columns and Ottoman fountains.
It is a place perpetually suspended between eras, refusing to settle on a single identity. Which is perhaps why I felt so at home here. Most luxury hotels attempt to…
