The Pursuit of Happiness in the ‘Bul

In this megacity, which delivers stress in seemingly increasing dosages year by year, I’m realizing that it is essential to wear a different pair of glasses, so to speak, or to come up with strategies to avoid getting sucked into the mutsuzluk (unhappiness) that is visible on so many faces. (If you need any validation of this statement, or somehow see it as overly pessimistic, I have three words for you: rush hour and metrobus.)

I met an Istanbul native last week who went to the States for her education at the age of seventeen, and then enjoyed a career with the U.S. Foreign Service and proudly became an American citizen. She said that she marveled at the U.S. Constitution and its rights and principles, particularly the inherent right of the “pursuit of happiness.” As a young girl raised in Turkey, it was such a precious and amazing concept to her, and one that made her proud to become an American citizen at the expense of her Turkish citizenship. After 39 years outside of Turkey, she moved back to Istanbul upon the death of her husband and has been attempting to readjust to a city that has grown from just over two million to over fifteen million in her absence. As we chatted at the Nazım Hikmet culture center in Kadıköy, I heard from her the same complaint that I hear from so many Istanbul natives: The real Istanbul is gone; now Istanbul is just a sprawling city of villagers.

While we could debate what is meant by the “real Istanbul” and the use of the term “villagers,” there is no doubt that the population of Istanbul has exploded in recent years. Urban migrants both from within and outside of Turkey continue to flood into the city year after year; only 28% of the city’s residents are originally from Istanbul and the city’s average population growth is 3.45%–the highest among all OECD cities.

Although I’m a foreigner, I find myself sympathizing with this nostalgia for the good old days even just comparing my first experience of Istanbul in 1996 with the Istanbul of today. I hear myself sounding like my grandmother when I say, “back in those days…” Beyoğlu had not yet been invaded by Starbucks, Simit Sarays or fancy cafes offering coffees for double the price of a meal; it retained more of a uniquely Turkish character (i.e., abounding with tea houses and tables of tavla players). In fact the strip between Galatasaray High School and Tünel was not a place you wanted to walk alone at night! Not that this is something to be nostalgic about… but we can acknowledge how the population explosion has led to the crumbling and fading of reference points; people and places have become almost interchangeable. Not only has the city’s exterior undergone a rapid, and at times severe, transformation, which has resulted in endless construction projects and unbearable traffic jams, but values have shifted as well.

So the grumbling that I hear is not just about the “livability” factor in Istanbul — e.g., the high cost of living, the increasing population, inadequate planning for infrastructure, lack of green areas, etc. — but also about how these overwhelming changes can manifest inwardly. People pine for the days when neighbors knew each other, and exchanged tea and kurabiye, when the Bosphorus was clean enough to swim in, and there were gardens to play in. There is a degree of mourning involved when the familiar has been rendered so unfamiliar and the reference points of “home” or “memleket” have faded rapidly away, whether those references be neighbors, local landmarks, or traditional values. From the perspective of many, it seems that the name of the game of life in Istanbul has become the pursuit of money and the pursuit of self; the pursuit of happiness is perhaps just a lofty dream.

Since my return to Turkey two and a half years ago, I too have fallen prey to the “ain’t it bad” syndrome. Especially given the high cost of living and daily ordeal of commuting from the Asian to the European side, with its regular episodes of getting jabbed in the ribs by those attempting to seize the last empty seats on the metrobus. Or the moments of waking up to the daily construction opposite my building; the near misses by dolmuş drivers and food-delivery mopeds as I navigate my way around blocked or dug-up sidewalks. And this list goes on.

As 2014 came to a close, I realized that I had begun to focus on all the challenges of living in Istanbul; while listening to all the complaints by so many inhabitants of the city, I found myself losing touch with the love of Istanbul that had brought me here in the first place. What happened to the love affair I used to have with this city and its people? After all, it was not a relationship, or a job opportunity that brought me to Istanbul. It truly was only my deep affinity for Istanbul and the Turkish people that motivated me to move here. So how had this love affair faded? I feared I was beginning to resemble the disgruntled faces of those I observed around me.

I realized that the time had come to rekindle my passion, to embark on my own pursuit of happiness in Istanbul. I wanted to remember the things that had drawn me here in the first place. And the first step towards this goal happened quite incidentally. A Turkish friend I hadn’t seen in 12 years invited me to spend my birthday with her in Malatya, where she had been married and working for 10 years. Since my birthday was on December 29th, she insisted that I ring in the New Year with her. I must admit, I wasn’t so thrilled about the idea of celebrating New Year’s Eve in Malatya — especially in the middle of winter. But there was no way to refuse without offending my friend. So I ended up spending nearly five days in Malatya. And if truth be told, it was the best thing I could do to heal my relationship with Istanbul. As I boarded my Pegasus flight back to Istanbul, I enjoyed the eagerness I felt about returning to Istanbul. I had missed my daily sightings of the Bosphorus; the experience of being near the sea, and the feeling of openness and expansion that gives me; frequenting my favorite cafe and walking around the fish market in Kadıköy. I missed the variety and the cosmopolitan flavor of Istanbul. (I joked with a friend upon my return that I had inadvertently discovered a new game plan to better appreciate Istanbul: leave more frequently, opting for less exciting destinations.)

And now, in the spirit of a new year and a desire to rekindle my love affair with Istanbul, in spite of its changes and challenges in the last years, I am dedicating myself to the healing of my relationship. Thus I am launching my own “Pursuit of Happiness” campaign — a campaign bent on the pursuit of happiness in Istanbul. 2015 will be my year of searching out all the things that I love about this city and its people — from the sacred to the profane and mundane. So if your relationship also needs some rekindling, stay tuned!

Marci Laughlin is a contributor to Yabangee.