[This article was original published in The Green Travel Guide – subscribe for weekly slow travel stories, destination guides and recommendations. See The Green Travel Guide for access to the full article (including slow itineraries, stays, eats & more).]
“Istanbul is a book that is never finished; it is a novel that keeps writing itself, with every step you take in it.”
– Turkish author, Selim İleri
This time, I travel from Asia to Europe, crossing the Bosphorus from Kadıköy to Eminönü. It is late afternoon and the sun glints off the waves, seagulls circle overhead as the city stretches out before me. Its iconic landmarks – the minarets and domes of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia sparkle in the sea-reflected light, and behind them the cupolas of Topkapi Palace rise up on the skyline ahead, as the boat passes by Galata Tower.
Along the waterfront men patiently cast fishing lines into the water, and as I step onto the jetty the smell of saltwater and grilled mackerel blends with scents of lemon, cinnamon and Turkish coffee. Tourists wheel suitcases, street sellers hawk their wares, car horns beep furiously in a background symphony, while tempting stands of sticky tulumba and baklava line the route to the spice market.
Once known as Byzantion, briefly Nova Roma, then famously Constantinopolis (Constantinople), now Istanbul, the city has always been at the crossing point of cultures and continents, with its mix of Greek, Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman influenced architecture and history, its narrow streets leading down to the water, and brightly painted timber-framed houses in old neighbourhoods like Fener-Balat. There’s a palpable sense of possibility – stories lie in wait around every corner, inspiring ancient Byzantine poets, Ottoman writers and modern storytellers alike.
I have been learning Turkish for several months now – mostly by letting hours of long-running soap operas play in the background. I learn evet, yok, lütfen, merhaba, Allah Allah, tamam. Each scene is full of effusive greetings, courtesy, gentle humour.
The language is soft, melodic, and – for this I am grateful – phonetic.
Alongside the soap operas I have bought several books in Turkish, with their respective translations, and work through them diligently (simultaneously reading Ferzan Özpetek’s writing in Turkish and Italian, doubles up the language learning as I go). Kind Turkish friends humour my attempts at communication. I am making progress, soaking up the conversations around me, picking out familiar phrases and words.
Home to over 16 million people, Istanbul is both modern metropolis with plenty of thrusting skyscrapers, built in amongst living ancient history. There are of course many Istanbuls. The Istanbul for tourists – visiting the palaces, mosques, gardens, the Grand Bazaar, taking their photographs outside the colourful Fener houses. The Istanbul of young Turkish Istanbullu, discussing life at outdoor cafés and tea houses, or older life-long residents chatting in shaded doorways or stopping in local shops to talk about latest family news. There’s an Istanbul of immigrants, of taxi drivers, of street-sellers. An Istanbul of nostalgia and historical glory. As well as the striving urban city, forward-looking, shiny and ambitious.
But, I’m mostly intrigued to discover the many Istanbuls as written by its writers.
I wander up to the Spice Bazaar – also known as Misir Çarşısı (Egyptian Bazaar). For travel writer Jan Morris, this place was:
“A sensory overload in the best way possible, where every turn offers new textures and flavours, as if the city’s history is ground into every grain of spice.”
The 17th century building with its arches and labyrinth rows of stalls, is exactly that – an overload of cinnamon, cardamom, rose, mint. There are stalls with deep trays full of nuts, dried fruits, jars of honey or olives, piles of dried herbs, of saffron and sumac. The air is full of the scent of coffee, and stacks of lokum (sweet Turkish Delight) – its jewel-like colours of ruby red, orange, pale pink rose, pistachio green, all sugar-dusted and to be found in many of the narrow market aisles, next to endless scented teas.
The spice bazaar is like a miniature of the city’s energy – chaotic, welcoming, overwhelming, seductive. It’s a timeless place, where you feel the Byzantium, the Ottoman pasts, and the modern life of the city all weaved together.
Orhan Pamuk, Istanbul’s Nobel laureate, has described the Spice Bazaar as:
“A vibrant mosaic of history and daily life, where the city’s soul reveals itself in colours and smells.”
I buy small bags of nuts, sweet sticky treats, some rose water, lokum wrapped in paper, and leave the bazaar to the west walking uphill to Cağaloğlu Yokuşu. This neighbourhood is full of second-hand bookshops, historic printing houses, and sahaflar (book dealers).
Istanbul has always been a city of writers.
Another five or so minutes along, and it doesn’t take long to reach Beyazıt Square. Here, behind the mosque is an open-air passage, Sahaflar Çarşısı, full of second-hand book stalls and antiquarian dealers selling their wares. It’s a pleasure to just browse the stalls full of old maps, vintage postcards, old Turkish novels, posters, books. The sellers are happy to chat, I practice my Turkish. We swap stories and laughter. The atmosphere is calmer than that of the spice market.
Wandering on to Gülhane Park, I am curious to visit the Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar Library, a Turkish literature library set within a restored polygonal-shaped Ottoman building built into the walls of the park itself. Walls are lined with thousands of books, downstairs is home to a Writer’s Cafe and upstairs houses exhibitions on various Turkish writers, plays home to literary events, and pulses with literary history. The library’s polished wood floors, the quiet reading areas, the bright chandeliers and beautiful stained-glass windows, create a rarified atmosphere.
I pause in the gardens, and take out the book I’m reading. It’s a quiet haven here in the heart of the city, and I rest while listening to children playing nearby, their shouts ringing out as they call to each other.
Turkish poet and playwright, Nazım Hikmet, pictured the city as a poem onto itself:
“Istanbul is the place where the sky is still the colour of the sea, the colour of the Bosphorus, and the city becomes a museum for the heart.”
Literary life here however isn’t lived in museums. It’s found in many of the city’s cafes, in its streets and vibrant neighbourhoods where conversations run on long into the night.
It’s a short walk to cross Galata Bridge, over to FiL Books in Karaköy — part bookshop, cafe, publishing house, a low-key place to soak up Karaköy life.
Sitting outside at one of the little tables, I taste the lokum I bought earlier with a coffee. The contrast of bitter and sweet tastes evokes what I feel about Istanbul – a beautiful, soulful city caught between its desire for freedom and its rootedness in tradition.
For Turkish writer, Refik Halit Karay:
“Istanbul, with its breeze, its sea, its noise, its people, is a place where anyone who comes, becomes one with it.”
I feel that as I walk along the waterfront, making my way back to the ferry, crossing once more from west to east.
[For the full slow travel itinerary – bookshops, green spaces, reading list, what do do, where to explore, stay, eat – see The Green Travel Guide].
Laura McVeigh is an internationally bestselling Northern Irish novelist and travel writer. Her writing has been widely translated. She has written for Lonely Planet, DK Travel, with bylines in the Irish Times and Irish Independent, her writing has been featured by the BBC, Newsweek, New Internationalist and many more. A former CEO, she is founder of Travel-Writing.Com and Green Travel Guides — a green travel platform for mindful travellers. Alongside her fiction, travel writing and journalism, Laura writes about storytelling, travel writing and green travel on Substack.