Istanbul: Damp Socks & Questionable Tea (A Dispatch)
okay, so istanbul. it’s…a lot. i’m currently fueled by something that might be coffee and a deep-seated regret about packing only one pair of decent socks. the numbers 6947640 and 1792504666 keep popping into my head, which is probably a sign i need more sleep. or less. honestly, i’ve lost track.
i’m a freelance photographer, and i usually chase light, but here? it’s just…grey. consistently. the weather report said 7.28°C, but it feels like 2.66°C, which is a lie, frankly. the humidity is 76%, meaning everything is perpetually slightly damp, including my spirit. pressure’s at 1010, which feels about right for the weight of existential dread i’m carrying. i swear, the sea level is mocking me.
i’ve been wandering around *Sultanahmet, trying to capture something beyond the tourist hordes. it’s tough. everyone’s got their phone out, angling for the perfect shot of the Hagia Sophia. i overheard someone complaining on TripAdvisor that the queues are “criminal.” criminal! like, seriously? it’s a beautiful building, just…expect a wait.
i’m staying in a tiny Airbnb in Beyoğlu. the walls are thin, and my neighbor seems to be practicing the tuba at 3 am. if you get restless, Bursa is just a quick ferry ride away, apparently. someone told me the iskender kebab there is legendary. i’m skeptical, but also hungry.
“Don’t drink the tea from the little glass things unless you want to question all your life choices.”
that’s what a guy with a very impressive mustache told me at a spice market. he also claimed to be a retired spy, so…grain of salt. the tea is weirdly strong. and sweet. and unsettling. i’ve been sticking to Turkish coffee, which at least feels familiar.
i spent yesterday getting lost in the Grand Bazaar. it’s a labyrinth of carpets, ceramics, and aggressive salespeople. i managed to haggle for a slightly chipped ceramic bowl, which i’m convinced i overpaid for. but it’s pretty! i also found a tiny shop selling vintage cameras. i almost bought a Zenith rangefinder, but my bank account staged a silent protest.
i heard that the best simit (sesame bread rings) are sold near the Galata Bridge early in the morning. i haven’t managed to wake up early enough to verify this, but it’s on the list. i also saw a post on a local Facebook group about a hidden rooftop bar with amazing views. apparently, you need to know the secret password, which is “efes.” i’m definitely going to try that.
someone warned me about pickpockets around Taksim Square. apparently, they’re very skilled. i’m keeping my camera bag glued to my side. i also read a Yelp review that said a restaurant near my Airbnb serves the worst lahmacun in the city. i’m avoiding it like the plague.
“The cats here run the city. Don’t even try to argue.”
that was a woman feeding a small army of felines in a park. she wasn’t wrong. there are cats everywhere*. majestic, aloof, judging you silently. i respect it.
i just checked and it’s…raining sideways right now, hope you like that kind of thing. i’m going to go find that rooftop bar and drink my sorrows away. or maybe just drink some more questionable tea. who knows? this city is chaos, and i’m here for it. (mostly).
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