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An Istanbul Sketch

At Eminonu, when the dying rays of the Western sun settle over the bridges, and the ferries and tugboats bob, the mercantile past and present of Istanbul stand out. Grizzled rogues from the Caucasus and Kazakhstan tilt the orbit of commerce eastward, while from the bridge amateurs cast their lines for the tiny fish that congregate in the oily depths of the Golden Horn. Galata opposite, once the Italian quarter, shimmers in its dereliction and smog. Behind it, up over the Taksim hill, stands the largest shopping mall in Europe, and the affluent neighborhoods of Etiler and Sariyer. It is a mark of status to live in one of the penthouses on top of the mall; a closer proximity to consumption could not possibly be imagined. Perhaps the stinking fish markets of Karakoy, on Galata’s waterfront, once offered the same enticements for the wealthy Genoese and Venetians who built their mansions nearby.

 Somewhere behind and upwards, through the gold stores and the currency traders and the tables of alcohol next to those sporting dusty drills and tools in the open-closed market, the September sun drops on the backs of boys groaning under the weight of mysterious packages. Through the congested streets of Aksaray down to Laleli scramble these human pack animals, negotiating dips in the curb, gesticulating salesmen, and old ladies in heavy overcoats and shawls. Russian lettering, sad underground shoe stores with never-expect-it expensive models from Italy- the whole acrid scene somehow necessary in its randomness.

Far back down, where the tram line droops into the sea, continent-crossers jostle to get through the gates and onto the ferries leading home. The water shines dark, cold with waves and swarming with translucent jellyfish, while the tea-drinking passengers never see these things but look at the worn wood underfoot. Where they’re going- to the “new” city- is the equally garrulous Asia side, flush with dolmuses and fish markets. Istanbul continued sprawls under stealthy mountains, in more sedate and manageable neighborhoods where life is uninterrupted by tourists and the drivers are a little less crazy. Disembarking from the ferry at Kadikoy, one finds chestnut vendors, bread-ring vendors and a cozy neighborhood of vegetable markets, remaindered textbooks, even a honey store. Here the sad-eyed owner plucks the strings of the eeb, and proudly showcases the fine Erzurum honey- blended from 22 types of flower, $45 a kilo. Most people settle for the cheaper stuff. He tells me of his flying lessons; he dreams of being a commercial pilot. “You fly with me sometime,” he says. “Only $130 dollars. I take you anywhere- Antalya, Ankara, Bodrum, I even take you to Greece.”

Outside, the sun has fled for the west, down past Greece precisely. Huge bloated purple clouds stretch across the darkening sky. People come and go, hastening with their purchases down to the ferry, or the bus, or the minibus back home. The lights are starting to come on now, over rows of peppers and fish and tomatoes in the stalls. After dark, the city begins to make more sense- to become more united- in the fluid light of traffic on the bridges, of ferries, of all the houses and landmarks and bars that teem with life. After dark, Istanbul’s cohesion is restored, becoming one pulsing, shimmering jewel. The demarcations of continents disappear, and the city flows into itself, together, one.
 

Istanbul is evoked in magical detail by Philip Mansell’s highly recommended Constantinople, city of the world’s desires.

Planning to visit Turkey? You’ll want to bring along Lonely Planet’s guide to Turkey and Tom Brosnahan’s guide to Istanbul!