istanbul

Istanbul. A city, in a country, where you can't speak Hindi. Despite the sweeping attempts my cerebral cortex has made to assume this possible, it's just really not that feasible that it would be even remotely effective.


Istanbul. Constantinople. Byzantium.


Where in the above geographical-historical references was there even a vague allusion to Devengari script, or Indo-Aryan language umbrellas?

Türkey. Language: Türkish (predominant). Hero: Atatürk. Street that runs at least once through every mid-sized urban center: Atatürk Caddesi.

Sleep now, Mahatma. For awhile.


I got into Sabiha Gokçen Airport just after 3 am, and hypothesized that gettıng to a dwelling in which I could comfortably (amicably) sleep would straddle somewhere between arrivıng in Singapore and Delhi (another comparison, to India)?

I hoped for the former, as in such dead-of-night flight arrivals, energy reaks of low reserve and requests a (generally self-instigated) face punch to get you on board for the commute.


But conclusively, getting to Sultanahmet choose to be whimsically seamless:

[Singapore - - - - - - Istanbul - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Delhi]

I fell asleep at 6 am and awoke at 2 pm. An hour later I found myself watching fisherman on the Bhosphorous, having consumed my first meal of chick peas and rice dısplayed for sale in an aquarium.


I wondered the city by day and found myself by night at a tea and nargileh (sheesah) house hidden behind a graveyard.

I have no pictures of being scrubbed (naked) at a Hamam by a middle-aged Turkish woman (also naked), whom I presume wears a headscarf in the street, though this was grand.

Taksim Square

I do have pictures of. This is where the commercial avenue of Istiklal Cadessi (metropolitan, cosmopolitan, east-meets-west, et al) gives way to a square of nationalism and circling bus routes.


I sat here, drank tea, and thought of nargileh.


Turkish flags are ubiquitous, this triad of trees and pots I saw just once.