When I hear Istanbul
mentioned it is Kadıköy that comes to mind first. All the sights and sensations that
greet you as you go pushing and shoving off of the ferry, through the streets of
the market, and up towards the calm of the coast in Moda. The view of Haydarpaşa station across the bay,
towering in its austere, Germanic manner as trains pull out Eastward.
The giant red and white balloon that used to take visitors up to see the Sea of Marmara but once escaped and is now tethered safely to the ground. The shouts of the gypsy women in
floral patterned şalvars trying to get
rid of their last flowers (bi liraya, bi
lirayaaa). The throngs of people jaywalking across Rıhtım, dodging an
endless army of minibuses.
I think of the streets of the çarsı full of lottery sellers and pastry shops and stationary stores. The paradise of the Akmar booksellers' passage. Narrow streets full of graffiti and cats. Delivery men on motorcycles cruising down the sidewalk. Butchers, fishmongers, pharmacists, and vegetable sellers. Restaurants selling hamsi and lahmacun and pilav and mantı. Fenerbahçe fans drinking Efes and watching soccer matches on outdoor TVs.The nargile cafes and the sound of dice being thrown on tavla boards over bad Turkish rock. Cats napping on books being sold in the street. Guitar shops, novelty shops, T-shirt shops, record shops. Barlar Sokağı, with its crowds of young people and dogs and 3:00 AM drunks drinking lentil soup at Kimyon. Karga and Hera and Sterogum and Arka Oda and Lâl and Dunia and Hayal and all the bars we loved and all the bars we hated and all the bars we never went to. All the time we spent drinking overpriced terrible beer and were happy.
And then there is the white house that serves Van breakfast and all the other cafes and restaurants of hostel street, each as charming and quaint as the next. The big church where the remaining Greeks attend Mass on Sundays and on the steps of which the young people drink beer most nights. Alex’s flower seller on the corner and Bahariye with its crowds of shoppers and the nostalgic trolley filled with refined old gentlemen and ladies. The inaptly named Moda Havuzu, where there was maybe once a pool but now is filled with teyzes watching toddlers play soccer and old men sitting on the benches of the square smoking cigarettes. The smell of cakes wafting from the bakery, grocery stores, Gülden’s street, more churches and high schools. Moda Caddesi with more refined old ladies and men. The usta of waffles, the usta of ice cream, and the best breakfast in town. The çay gardens lining the coast facing the Sea of Marmara, and the sprawling European shore, and old Haydarpaşa across the bay.
I think of the streets of the çarsı full of lottery sellers and pastry shops and stationary stores. The paradise of the Akmar booksellers' passage. Narrow streets full of graffiti and cats. Delivery men on motorcycles cruising down the sidewalk. Butchers, fishmongers, pharmacists, and vegetable sellers. Restaurants selling hamsi and lahmacun and pilav and mantı. Fenerbahçe fans drinking Efes and watching soccer matches on outdoor TVs.The nargile cafes and the sound of dice being thrown on tavla boards over bad Turkish rock. Cats napping on books being sold in the street. Guitar shops, novelty shops, T-shirt shops, record shops. Barlar Sokağı, with its crowds of young people and dogs and 3:00 AM drunks drinking lentil soup at Kimyon. Karga and Hera and Sterogum and Arka Oda and Lâl and Dunia and Hayal and all the bars we loved and all the bars we hated and all the bars we never went to. All the time we spent drinking overpriced terrible beer and were happy.
And then there is the white house that serves Van breakfast and all the other cafes and restaurants of hostel street, each as charming and quaint as the next. The big church where the remaining Greeks attend Mass on Sundays and on the steps of which the young people drink beer most nights. Alex’s flower seller on the corner and Bahariye with its crowds of shoppers and the nostalgic trolley filled with refined old gentlemen and ladies. The inaptly named Moda Havuzu, where there was maybe once a pool but now is filled with teyzes watching toddlers play soccer and old men sitting on the benches of the square smoking cigarettes. The smell of cakes wafting from the bakery, grocery stores, Gülden’s street, more churches and high schools. Moda Caddesi with more refined old ladies and men. The usta of waffles, the usta of ice cream, and the best breakfast in town. The çay gardens lining the coast facing the Sea of Marmara, and the sprawling European shore, and old Haydarpaşa across the bay.
And of course, down past Moda Caddesi, following the trolley
tracks back down through the crowds of Bahariye, there is the bull. The bull -
standing boldly at the meeting of six roads, generously waiting with you for
your friend or lover to arrive, braving sleet and heat waves, suffering the many
scarves and jerseys he is adorned with, letting children and drunks climb
on his back, posing for countless photographs, and keeping watch over Kadıköy
for us all- more than a statue he is a testament, a monument to constancy in a
city endlessly changing, and a symbol of the part of Istanbul I love best.
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