Roaming the cobblestones of Istanbul

Some cities doesn’t even try to get your attention. They know you will come anyway. Istanbul is a fever dream wrapped in layers of marble, minarets, diesel fumes, and strong tea. You cannot escape its gravitational pull.

There are cities that whisper their secrets. Istanbul tell its history by the sharp taunts from vendors in the bazaar, loud prayer calls from the minarets and relentless shrieks from sea gulls in the Bosporus strait.

Maiden’s Tower in the Bosphorus.

I am currently sitting in a room in Sultanahmet, the old part of Istanbul. The Bosporus strait is within sight and the air is filled with magic, wonder and diesel fumes.

Last time I was in Turkey the lira was at a very low point due to inflation. It was even noted in the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s least valuable currency. I remember buying a cup of Turkish coffee for approximately one million lira. It was a strange feeling to give away a six-digit note in exchange for a bucket of brown liquid.

Today Turkey seems to feel a bit better, but there is a melancholy over Istanbul that never fades. They call it “hüzün”, inevitable but yet central to culture, music and writing for several decades. It reminds me of the Portuguese “saudade”. It supposedly began after the fall of the Ottoman Empire, as the citizens of modern Istanbul are surrounded by displays of former power and glory. A poignant reminder of the passing of time.

Constantinople itself was the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire, once the largest European city of the Middle Ages. But today the country struggles even to get accepted into the European Union. No wonder that such a twist of fate may give a bit of hüzün.

Looking for tea in Üsküdar on the Asian side.

Istanbul has one foot standing in Europe, the other in Asia, and both are firmly planted in contradiction. They don’t argue. They coexist. Uneasily, but honestly. I’m not quite sure whether I’m in the past, present, or some parallel Ottoman-flavored dimension.

The Grand Bazaar is a maze of commerce and chaos, where every shouted price is a performance, every sale a dance. Don’t come here looking for serenity. Come to get lost, overcharged, and slightly high on the scent of leather, sweat and saffron. In every corner there is an abundance of shiny trinkets you never knew you needed.

The impressive Hagia Sophia.

I wander along the old cobblestones and soak up their wisdom through the soles. Istanbul is like an open-air museum, but unlike Rome, the buildings are far from ruins. Hagia Sophia looms over everyone like an ancient godess with identity issues. It’s been a church, mosque, museum, and now, again, a mosque. Its walls hum with centuries of whispered prayers in Greek, Latin, Arabic. Faraway visitors have stood inside, filled with awe, for more than a millennium. There are still traces of rune inscriptions made during the Viking age by the Varangians, an elite guard of Scandinavian immigrant warriors.

On the Theodosian Wall.

I enter the Topkapi Palace, built by Sultan Mehmed II in 1459 on the very hill which once held the old Byzantine acropolis of Constantinople. Topkapi contains Muhammad’s sword, the world’s fifth-largest diamond and other cool stuff.

But I’m not here for trinkets. I dodge into a smelly establishment filled with kebab, grilled over open flame by a guy who looks like he wrestles bears for fun. It’s the kind of place where you don’t question the origin of the mystery meat, just drench it in garlic sauce.

Trinkets in the Grand Bazaar.

At night, the city softens. Fishermen cast lines from the Galata Bridge, boat lanterns bobbing in rhythm with the Bosphorus. The call to prayer drifts across the water like an incantation, grounding me in something bigger than simple travel plans.

Istanbul is a contradiction that works. A love letter written in many hands. A perfect place to get lost in and swept away by the winds of time.