Like arrestees getting one phone call, everybody who goes abroad is entitled to one swooning, romantic paean to his or her experience. For most trips—i.e. vacations—this ode waits until after the traveler has returned home and either hears “how was it,” or senses a chance in normal conversation to pounce with newly-acquired wisdom (“you know, in Belgium they don’t even refrigerate their eggs!”).
But I’m living in Istanbul for three months, and I don’t want to risk the honeymoon period ending before I wax poetic about just how cool the street cats really are. So here I am—the cats truly are a national treasure, and I’ll talk more about them in a later post.
For context, I moved here to work with an Indonesian-based startup called Shipper. As you might expect, they ship stuff—specifically, they help streamline the massively fragmented and inefficient Indonesian shipping industry. Sending packages across the largest island nation in the world is every bit the logistical headache you’d think it’d be. The Indonesian archipelago has over 17,000 total islands—although even that figure is still debated seventy years into the satellite age—of which somewhere between 600 and 900 are populated. I’ll talk more about Shipper in a different post, but suffice to say for now that the reason I’m not in Indonesia is that tourist visas are impossible to get.
Turkey has not shut down visas. I’m in Istanbul 1) because of that fact and 2) because the nonprofit-turned-VC firm that runs my fellowship program told us to come here. Having always wanted to see Byzantium/Constantinople/Istanbul, I didn’t complain.
I don’t really want this blog to devolve into a “look at me abroad in a time of Covid, aren’t you jealous” indulgence; I also don’t want it to slide into mawkish generalizations about “the intersection of cultural ideas” or some such. But in this post I’ll be romantic about the parts of Istanbul that deserve some romance.
What follows are my brief first impressions of the city. I jotted these down about two weeks into living here.
1) On Covid
Turkey has lifted exactly zero fingers to keep me from coming here. I’d say 45% of people wear masks correctly when out, 35% wear the mask as chin jewelry, and the rest don’t wear masks. Most restaurants and shops ask you to cover up, and some will even take your temperature, but they don’t really restrict capacity. Gyms and bars are open, and the light rail is packed to sardine levels. My fear coming to Istanbul during Covid was that I’d miss out on the vivacity of the restaurant and bar scene, but now my fear profile, as I watch the barista make my Turkish coffee without a mask, has shifted a bit.
2) On Hammams
Disappointingly expensive compared to Morocco. But not expensive enough to keep me out. For a later post.
3) On the cats
As I write this, a cat fell 12 feet through the knotted ivy above my head and landed on its feet beside me. A cafegoer then pspspsed and the cat jumped in his lap, purring. I’ll dedicate a whole post to cats, but that’s the image I want to leave you with for now.
4) On the neighborhood
Istanbul is the meeting point of Europe and Asia, split by the Bosphorus Strait. I live in Beyoğlu, specifically the couple of blocks called Tomtom, which sits on the European side. Beyoğlu, like a lot of the city, is marked by winding, at-times-extremely-steep streets. I’ve gotten lost maybe a half dozen times, but each time yields a new café-marked intersection, or lovely vegan doner spot, or ivy-covered teahouse replete with divebombing cats. If I were living here for just one month, I’d feel acutely stressed to find the best little undiscovered nook. As it stands, I feel three times that stress, and I’ve spent nearly every afternoon simply meandering for hours. I’ve never urban-meandered before, and I recommend it highly.
5) On the sounds and smells
There is something distinctly relaxing about sitting at a café with a book in your hand, black-brown Turkish coffee steaming in front of you, the smell of shisha and kebab wafting down the street, and the phrygian-dominant tremolos of the Muslim call to prayer mixing with the piano jazz lilting from the café.
6) On the sights
There is also something overpowering about seeing the Hagia Sophia and Suleymaniye Mosque across the Bosphorus during golden hour, sun reflecting off the great domes as dozens of fishermen pull their catches from the roiling water, attended by laughing gulls and laughing children.
7) On the sweet tastes
I’ve slept on baclava my whole life. I repent now in dust and sweet flaky crust.
8) On the savory tastes
Around the corner from my apartment sits Tomtom Kebab. You can take the palaces, the mosques, the bazaars, the thousands of years of rich transcontinental history; give me Tomtom. Tomtom Kebab is my little sibling and I am its protective older brother. Tomtom Kebab is the secret nook you treasured as a child, the haven that felt ten times larger than it is, the place you put your favorite rocks. Tomtom Kebab is run by a pair—perhaps on earth called a “husband” and “wife,” but here we must respect the mystical theological distance between us and them. She smiles with crinkly eyes and offers endless Turkish teas “from the house.” He looks like salt bae in twenty years. Although I order the exact same dish every time, I always get some masterful variation on the theme of lamb kebab, adorned by an ever-changing assortment of side dishes. She brings me napkins as soon as I need them, or doesn’t; who am I to question? And after the ritual is done, I lay back in the afternoon Turkish sun, pspspsing lazily to cats that saunter by, spiritually content.
9) On the people
I was disturbed to learn that although the Turks are friendly, caring people, whose love for the city’s stray animals warms my heart and whose clean English generally prevents me from attempting their language, not a single person in my age cohort has a mustache. Not one in the whole Republic, perhaps not one within the former borders of the Ottoman Empire. I choose to believe that this sole fact, and not my Lion King graphic tee, is what triggers the Turks to speak English with me from the get-go. But when walking with my roommates along the coast near Sultanahmet, we came across a group of forty or so men spread out over a hundred yards. All tanned, many in speedos, most with pot bellies. Almost every one had a glorious mustache. I smiled at them, trying to make eye contact as they yelled in Turkish at each other over the smoke of makeshift kebab grills. I wanted to share with at least one of them that nod of honorable, mutual recognition; that communion of soldiers, of men. Nobody looked at me. I realized a minute later I still had my mask on.
End paean. Istanbul is lovely and I’d appreciate any recommendations. I feel very lucky to be abroad right now. Next week I’ll talk more about the work I’m doing with Alter and what it was like to watch the US election from half a world away.
Definitely waxed poetic. It sounds fun, and I'm excited to see what else you write! Thanks for sharing.