{"id":996,"date":"2026-09-12T00:30:38","date_gmt":"2026-09-12T00:30:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/?p=996"},"modified":"2026-09-12T00:30:39","modified_gmt":"2026-09-12T00:30:39","slug":"reflecting-on-istanbul-and-life","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/2026\/09\/12\/reflecting-on-istanbul-and-life\/","title":{"rendered":"Reflecting on Istanbul. And Life."},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Istanbul is massive, almost overwhelmingly so. One of the world\u2019s megacities, it is a frenetic place, without a single center of gravity but instead, like an octopus and its ganglia, distributing its masses and throngs of people throughout its vast geography. Emulating the universe at large, it is constantly expanding. Areas that only a decade ago were untouched hinterland are now dense conurbations, inexorably absorbed by the city and its rhythms. Straddling Europe and Asia, Istanbul primarily lies along the Bosphorus, which separates the continents, but has over time stretched towards the seas connected by the strait. Settlement along the Marmara Sea has been long-standing, as the ancient center lies at the southern end of the strait, while the city has gradually inched ever closer to the Black Sea, called the Euxine (\u201cHospitable\u201d) by ancients to flatter what is in reality a dark and stormy and dangerous sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is also, like very few of the modern megacities, an old place. While settlement of the colony of Byzantion stretches back to around 500 BCE, the history of Istanbul as a place of cultural weight and geopolitical importance truly begins in the 3rd century CE when Constantine moved the capital of the Roman empire to the east. For most of the two millenia since, the city has been the capital of two massive empires: as Constantinople of the Byzantine Empire, the center of Greek culture and religion for over a thousand years; and as Istanbul of the Ottoman Empire, an Islamic state with a vast, multicultural population that stretched from the Balkans to the borders of Iran. It is impossible to visit the city, as built-up and dense as it is, without encountering relics and influences of this history.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"
Zooming in on part of Istanbul (map created using Carto<\/a>). For my guide to Istanbul, follow this link.<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

I have been to Istanbul many times but now on my annual trips to Turkey I now rarely spend more than a day or two there. It is both familiar and foreign, a skyline of cranes orchestrating the unceasing cacophony of construction. It also shares the affliction of any large city in the depths of summer, where the heat is exacerbated and amplified by the density of concrete and exhaust and humans. In the dog days of August, it is a place to escape, its heat too enervating, with scant opportunities of solace… though crossing the Bosphorus in a ferry, the breeze picking up the coolness of the deep waters below, is one of the ultimate must-do pleasures, an experience that never gets old, a marvelous daily commute for millions of people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On my most recent trip to Turkey, I spent only two and half days in the great city, with one full day set aside to being a tourist. It was enough time to reflect on the city and life itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

– – –<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I visited a hammam for the first time in a few years. The hammam is not an experience unique to Turkish culture. But, as \u201ccivilization\u201d has evolved and modern plumbing has become common, it is no longer a very common experience even in modern Turkey and has become more so the domain of tourists than the common citizen. The hammam, and really the art of public baths stretching back millennia to the Romans and beyond, reached its zenith of expression and sophistication in the Ottoman Empire. Among the legendary bath houses was my destination of choice, the K\u0131l\u0131\u00e7 Ali Pasha hammam, designed as part of a larger complex by the legendary Mimar Sinan in the 16th century. It is a refined space, elegant in its architecture, luxuriously austere but welcoming in its marble, a space that not only pampers but transports you to another era of history altogether.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"
The Tiled Kiosk Museum at the Istanbul Archaeological Museums displays the type of tilework common in Ottoman interiors and exteriors.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

A hammam experience is one that everyone should have at least once and you can read of its particulars elsewhere. My lingering memory is the denouement, relaxing in the inner courtyard, laying on a generously cushioned divan, sipping my tea. The door to the hammam was open to encourage a breeze. The complex itself is in a busy area (where in Istanbul is it not busy\u2026?) but the entrance is on a lightly trafficked back passage. Still, I could see people passing to and fro, with their shopping bags in tow, or glued to their telephones, with a singularity of purpose that for those few moments I happily shed. Instead it was relaxation and tranquility, an afterglow, my phone too far away in a changing room to be a distraction or temptation. I pitied these poor souls outside, scurrying about in the heat, knowing of course that I would soon enough join them but content for the time being.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

– – –<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time in years, probably decades, I visited the Grand Bazaar, celebrated for its size, its history, its crowds of visitors, the aggressive salesmanship and bartering of its shopkeepers, and its hidden passages where true treasures can be found. On a weekday afternoon, the place was not as busy as it could be so my wandering was pleasant and I activated my resting bitch face, Turkish mode, to dissuade over-enthusiastic touts. I purchased a few souvenirs and then toward one of its many exits, I entered a textile shop to get some peshtemals, those most practical and utilitarian of Turkish towels, and sparked a memory of years past. I asked the shopkeeper if they were in this location nearly twenty years ago as I was certain I had visited it before. His response: the shop has been in the same location, run by the same family, since the 19th century. There is a satisfaction, a concreteness, to the knowledge that as so many lives and callings and industries succumb to the flow of modernity, there are some traditions and families that persist and persevere. For how much longer, one can only wonder and hope.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"
One of many entrances to the Grand Bazaar, this one passes by the Nurosmaniye Mosque.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

I took my usual route down to the waterfront by passing through the Spice Bazaar and soon found myself regretting the decision. The streets between the two bazaars are wide enough (and thankfully downhill) and eventually closed to vehicles. Yet there is a point where the mass of people are so large, so dense, that you can move only shoulder-to-shoulder, bumper-to-bumper as it were, in constant threat of being jostled or bowled over. At the time it was a horrible experience, in retrospect exhilarating. Any language you can imagine was echoing on the streets. Families were navigating the crowd with young children and suitcases in tow. Porters were skimming through, somehow balancing meals and tea on trays held above the canopy of heads, delivering sustenance to shopkeepers. Motorbikes, ignoring the interdiction on motored vehicles, added further complexity, their engines and exhaust and recklessness just another obstacle. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was no organization to this chaos. It was raw and unfiltered and yet everyone got to where they were going. As did I, passing through the bazaar and the alluring displays of spices and dried fruits on offer, eventually resting in the lovely courtyard of the New Mosque (relatively new at least, it was completed in the mid-17th century) before walking across the Golden Horn to enjoy the famous bal\u0131k d\u00fcr\u00fcm in the backstreets of Karak\u00f6y.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"
The Yeni Cami and its courtyard provide respite from the crowds without.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

– – –<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The vast majority of tourism in Istanbul concentrates on the European side and understandably so. That is where ancient Constantinople with the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, and Topkap\u0131\u00a0Palace lies. Across the Golden Horn is Beyo\u011flu, the cosmopolitan heart of the city, starting at the waterfront with Karak\u00f6y and moving up past Galata to Taksim. A bit further north on the European shores is Be\u015fikta\u015f, where tree-lined avenues lead visitors and locals alike to newer Ottoman palaces and lovely waterfront areas like Ortak\u00f6y, sitting below the first of the three suspension bridges that traverse the Bosphorus. If a tourist makes their way to the Asian side, it is most likely to Kad\u0131k\u00f6y, another pocket of chaos and history in a city full of both. There, and towards the posh and cool neighborhood of Moda, the streets are narrow, unplanned, uphill and downhill, lined with shops and vendors and restaurants of all kinds.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"
Built in the early 1900s, the pier at Moda recently restarted ferry service after lying dormant for a decade or so<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

In one wider and busier thoroughfare, I joined a cousin and an aunt at a Fazil Bey, sitting in some rickety chairs and a rickety table jutting into the street, lingering in conversation over a Turkish coffee. My distaste of coffee is well-documented and widely known. I instead favor that most noble and elegant of leaves and drinks – tea – but I always make an exception for Turkish coffee, as long as it is in shared company and shared ritual. It is not something to be had quickly; the world slows down for Turkish coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And, oh, the people you can watch anywhere in Istanbul! Here there were locals doing their daily shopping or simply meeting with friends and families. Old men, bent by age and burden, carried heavy loads of window panes or other construction material to and fro, laboring however they can in hope of enough for their daily bread. Tourists, bright-eyed though confused by the chaos, strolled by with their backpacks and wandering gazes, trying to make sense of the maps on their phones and their applicability to the reality of the streets, mentally drafting their Trip Advisor reviews. It is an unending procession of the diversity of purposes and personalities, so similar and so different in their life experiences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

– – –<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For years and years, I hadn\u2019t been to the Istanbul Archaeological Museums and I was most excited about visiting, especially as I have grown more and more interested in archaeology. I am an avid subscriber of Archaeology Museum and in my list of priorities should I win the lottery is funding archaeological expeditions. (I usually buy a lottery ticket when I get gas and proceed to daydream for a few moments on what I would do if I were to actually win. My best idea so far is kind of like a modified Make-a-Wish: I will fund a bucket list item for you but I also have to be there. Want to be front row at a Taylor Swift concert? I will join you. Want to visit Antarctica? My parka is ready to go. Etc.). Had I a different personality type, I could imagine myself as an Indiana Jones albeit more respectful of the material culture. But I am just as content wandering the exhibitions of museums.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"
The Hittite version of the Treaty of the Kadesh<\/a>. So small but so monumental.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The Istanbul Archaeological Museums are three complexes: the main museum, a museum of the Near East, and an old pavilion with tiles and mosaics. There are shaded areas with trees to escape the heat and it\u2019s generally a pleasant place, not quite at world class level but with many important and fascinating artifacts. I nerded out over a copy of the Treaty of Kadesh, wondering at how physically small it is, contrasting with its outsized place in history as the oldest surviving peace treaty. Ancient Assyrian and Sumerian tablets covered diverse uses, from the oldest marriage certificate and school tablets to a recipe for poisoning and the oldest love poem. Interestingly it is written by a woman, most likely as part of a song sung by the bride of a king wedded on behalf of Inanna, goddess of fertility and love. I will let you, dear reader, judge its merits and ponder how and if expressions of love have evolved in the ensuing millennia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
\n

Groom, beloved of my heart
Your beauty is great, sweet as honey
Lion, precious one of my heart
Your beauty is great, sweet as honey<\/p>\n\n\n\n

– – –<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Groom, let me caress you
My previous caresses are sweeter than honey
In the bedchamber, honey filled
Let us take pleasure in your beauty
Lion, let me caress you
My precious caresses are sweeter than honey
Groom, take pleasure from me,
Tell my mother, she will give you beautiful things
My father will give you gifts<\/p>\n\n\n\n

– – –<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because you love me,
Please give me your caresses.
My lord, my god, my lord, my protector,
O Shu-sin, who pleases the heart of the god Enlil,
Please give me your caresses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Istanbul is massive, almost overwhelmingly so. One of the world\u2019s megacities, it is a frenetic place, without a single center of gravity but instead, like an octopus and its ganglia, distributing its masses and throngs of people throughout its vast geography. Emulating the universe at large, it is constantly expanding. Areas that only a decade […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[60],"class_list":["post-996","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-travel","tag-istanbul"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/996","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=996"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/996\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1036,"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/996\/revisions\/1036"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=996"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=996"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dorukakan.com\/doruk\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=996"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}