A City Worth Dying For

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Istanbul, elinden öper

- Duman, “Istanbul”

I once asked a student of mine how he felt about about Istanbul. He told me that he’s been here his entire life and that he never plans on leaving. You must really love it then,’ I asked. ‘No,’ he explained, ‘it’s not a matter of love. It’s more of an addiction. Istanbul is like a drug – the more you get of it, the more you want. But it kills you slowly, the longer you’re here.’

The foreigner who comes to Istanbul for the first time feels the incredible rush of this city, but remains basically clueless about the effects of long-term usage. It’s hard to deny that there’s something compelling about this place, something that gets into your bloodstream and is hard to shake. We’re all familiar with the cliché about Istanbul being the bridge between Asia and Europe, between East and West. Like most clichés, this is both reductive and undeniably true. With the Bosphorus Strait cutting the city in half, Istanbul is literally spread across two continents. Culturally, too, it is a city of contradiction, simultaneously European, Middle-Eastern, Balkan, and Asian, with a population (at least historically) just as diverse. There is also a tension between a deeply rooted, rich cultural tradition and the intoxicating, lively, churning spirit of a city undergoing constant transformation and reinvention. All of this is evident in the innumerable mosques and churches, a skyline of minarets and skyscrapers, the sound of the seagulls blending with the call to prayer, the old men playing backgammon in teahouses and the youth drinking beer by the sea, the peerless nightlife surrounding Istiklal Caddesi, and the many aqueducts, palaces, catacombs, statues, bazaars and fountains Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman. This is the Istanbul we’ve seen thousands of times, gracing the pages of brochures and travel guides. It is the Istanbul that has stolen the heart of many a tourist, including myself.

photograph credit: katie fassbinder

photograph credit: timur tusiray

photograph credit: courtney alemdar

photograph credit: timur tusiray

photograph credit:courtney alemdar

photograph credit: timur tusiray

Yet the city that greets you as a visitor is quite different from the one you get to know as a resident. In fact, the favorite pastime of those who live in Istanbul is complaining. They complain about the traffic and the terrible crowds. They bemoan the poor city planning and the lack of parking and the absurdly tall apartment buildings. They curse the constant honking, the barking packs of dogs, and the busted mosque speakers blasting the ezan into their living rooms. The old families wax nostalgic about the days when there were still forests and fields of flowers in Istanbul, when everyone was polite and genteel, the days before massive rural migration from the East brought sprawling concrete slums and a more than ten-fold increase in population. These same families lament the growing conservatism: the head scarves, the rising taxes on alcohol, and their “backward” neighbors. Other families criticize increasing social freedoms and the deterioration of tradition. And everybody, rich and poor, religious and secular, complains about the traffic. The crowds and the terrible, terrible traffic.

 

  

Yet with all its drawbacks, few people are sincere enough in their complaints to actually leave. People complain, they let off steam, they truly despise the city sometimes, but they won’t move away. Which is not to give the impression that everyone in Istanbul is living a life of luxury and stays out of some romantic attachment, though that affective addiction does permeate class lines. Hordes of people come and are trapped here simply because of work.  People move to Istanbul with the hope of finding jobs. For them Istanbul symbolizes opportunity and the chance of a better life, though for many that better life is either slow in coming or never comes at all. Poor immigrants from the East leave their lives and their villages looking for whatever jobs they can find. The lucky ones find work as a kapacıs, a live-in doormen in a fancy apartments. White-collar workers also need to be in the city.  People seeking a life in business, banking, engineering, fashion or film also work and stay in Istanbul. There are many incredible places in Turkey, but the country's pulse beats loudest in Istanbul. Trade, business, culture, history: they're all here. Possibility and poverty are here in equal measure, too. People hate Istanbul, but they need it. So they adore it like only an unrequited lover can. The beloved both promising, and withholding, bliss.

In the metrobus I once witnessed something that perfectly crystallized for me people’s relationship with this city. The metrobus is a fast-track commuter bus that, successful in its aim of bypassing traffic, is always, always packed. This, too, despite the fact that buses come constantly. One day I got on the metrobus and I was incredibly pleased because I had been able to elbow my way into a seat - a rare occasion. From my seat I was watching everybody squirming and squeezing as people continued shoving their way onto the already full bus. Finally - mercifully - the doors managed to shut and as the bus began to move everybody held on, thankful that at least there was still air to breathe. You can imagine how completely miserable everybody looked, brooding with downcast eyes. Some passengers were voicing the collective misery and even cursing the city aloud. The bus passed stop after stop - Fikirtepe, Uzunçayır, Acıbadem, Altunizade, Burhaniye - somehow taking on even more passengers as it went. And then it hit Boğaziçi Köprüsü and as it reached the bridge to the European side we all raised our heads and looked out the window for that thirty second glimpse of the Bosphorus curving down toward the sea, and the ships passing below, and the beautiful blue water, and again it’s “Ah, güzel Istanbul…” before the view was swallowed up by the highway and we all resumed our silent cursing. 

A textbook example of addiction: the longer you’re here, the more you want to stay here. And the longer you stay, the more it kills you.