Before I left for Istanbul, I had many friends promise that they would come and visit me. Unfortunately – since life gets in the way and I was only there for a short time – no one did. But I am in no way bitter about it; life got in the way for me, too. I’m not sad that they didn’t come to see me; what I am sad about is that they didn’t get to experience the city, which is definitely an experience in itself.
Istanbul is an attack on the senses. Every day for five months I was baffled by what I saw, heard, smelled, tasted and felt.
So, I thought that by writing this post I’d bring a bit of Istanbul to them, perhaps to allow them to try and imagine what life there is like. I really wish I could have bottled up all of these sights, sounds, smells, tastes and feelings and taken them back with me, as if I’d purchased them from the Grand Bazaar – the perfect souvenir! Perhaps then the home-sickness I feel for the place would be alleviated a little…
Sight
The varying yet equally dazzling shades of blue of the Bosphorus strait, sparkling like shattered diamonds in the sunshine.
The vivid and resounding red of the Turkish flag, billowing in the wind and displayed in places high above the people and the city, demanding your attention.
Hoards of men congregated in cafés, wearing caps and long-sleeved shirts (no matter how humid the weather), whiling away the days playing board and card games.
Historical sights; fortresses, mosques, churches, ruins, neighbourhoods with winding side streets, local businesses and corner stores…
Iznik designs; spiky tulip patterns of red and blue, maroon and turquoise, green and azure, displayed larger than life on Metro station walls and as part of the delicate details of small handcrafted bowls and plates in shops and bazaars.
Sound
The distinctively long, emotionally-charged cry of the call to prayer. Heard throughout the city (and the Muslim world) five times a day. Can be overwhelming and sometimes eerie to the untrained ear, but beautiful, reassuring and almost supernatural to others (mine included).
The *check crick creck* of people eating pumpkin or sunflower seeds, sitting on an outdoor bench, before throwing the empty shells onto the ground. The sound resonates more when multiple people share a bag that rustles as they dive their hands into it.
The *chingle chingle* of the little spoon spinning around inside a delicate tea glass as its owner stirs the little lump of crystallized sugar into his bright red tea.
The obnoxiously loud *CAW CAW!* of colonies of seagulls on the hunt for a scrap or a crumb from a boat passenger’s snack. Circling, swooping, diving.
The *dee-daw* or the *doo-dit* (why are they interchangeable?!) ding of the electronic gates at the Metro stations as you swiped your metro card. Deafening during rush hour!
Smell
Salty fish, caught minutes ago by fishermen on the Galata bridge or by the waters of Bebek, and sold in markets in Beşiktaş. It’s hard to escape their strong scent of fresh water mixed with brine as you walk past the rows of shiny silver fish in bloody buckets that line the streets.
Warm, fresh simit; the smell of the toasted golden sesame seeds wafts from simit carts on every street corner. Irresistible – especially first thing in the morning – whether you’re hungry or not.
The hot, choking grey exhaust fumes coming from the millions of cars at a standstill on the busy, busy roads.
The fruity and sweet clouds of shisha smoke coming from outdoor bars and cafés.
The chalky, aromatic rose-petals of the spice markets, their pungency seemingly heightened under the glaring yellow lights of the Egyptian Bazaar.
Taste
Syrupy and acidic pomegranate juice swimming at the bottom of a bowl of chopped cucumbers and tomatoes, later to be mopped up with a slice of crusty village bread.
That first sip of steaming hot and freshly brewed çay. Worth the burnt tongue.
The salty, frothy, creamy yogurt drink that is Ayran, typically drank alongside…
…Tender and deliciously greasy köfte (meatballs), dusted with vibrant cumin and speckled with spicy red pepper flakes.
Bitter-sweet and gritty Turkish coffee; the last few mouthfuls are like drinking succulent mud.
Touch
Standing shoulder to shoulder with your fellow Metro commuters, accidentally brushing against someone’s sweaty back or reaching for the same overhanging rail as the woman next to you holding on.
The soft, fluffy hair of a street cat inviting itself to snuggle up on your lap.
Teyzes with their slightly wet and slimy hands from having worked in the kitchen all day grabbing your shoulders and kissing each side of your face.
The rush of wind in your hair and on your face as you sail across the Bosphorus.
The course, spongy carpet of the mosque under your socked feet.
I hope these short descriptions allowed you to picture yourself in Istanbul for as long as it took you to read them. Although, it is without saying that I strongly urge you to go and experience them for yourself in real life if you can, since I have merely described what your senses will go through. What you will feel when you are in the city, however, is something personal and indescribable…
This article was originally published on December 1, 2020, by Melisa Korkut.
