istanbul felt like a bad decision but i’m still here

i woke up in a hostel that smelled like old coffee and regret. the room was tiny, the bed a rickety thing with a mattress that made noises when you moved. but here’s the thing-istanbul doesn’t care about your comfort. it just wants you to feel warm enough to forget you’re freezing. i just checked and it’s 5.82 degrees, which for istanbul feels like holding your breath while someone yells at you. not metaphorically. literally. a vendor outside was selling hot soup and just kept repeating, 'no, no, no, it’s not too hot.' i didn’t argue. just bought a tray and wondered why anyone would live here.

this place is a mess. literally. the streets are covered in graffiti that hasn’t been washed away since the 90s. a cat was napping on a dumpster and looked like it owned the place. i took a photo of it because i’m a freelance photographer who hasn’t made money in months. the picture’s probably useless, but at least it’s authentic. if you get bored, the european side is just a 20-minute ferry ride away, but only if you can stand the sea breeze. it’s colder than a yogurt in december, which is what i’ve heard from a homeless man who was also a surprisingly good storyteller.

someone told me that the tram here closes at midnight but only if you ask right. i didn’t ask. i just stayed up until 2 a.m. watching a group of teenagers try to start a fire with a lighter and a bag of marshmallows. they failed. badly. but it was kind of beautiful? or at least it looked like it was supposed to be. i don’t know. maybe that’s the point. istanbul doesn’t believe in logic. it wants you to feel things. even if those feelings are confusion and hunger.

the weather here is relentless. it’s not just cold-it’s damp. the kind of damp that seeps into your socks and makes you question all life choices. i heard that the locals call it ‘the istanbul hug.’ i’m not sure if that’s a compliment. the humidity is 81%, which means everything smells like mildew. including the coffee. i drank a cup that tasted like regret and hope. i can’t tell which.

reviews here are all over the place. i overheard a group of tourists complaining that the breakfast wasn’t included in their package. a local vendor muttered something about ‘american tourists always expecting free stuff.’ i agreed silently. then a middle-aged man yelled that the Historicстяamber is ‘just a bunch of concrete boxes.’ i wanted to argue, but he had a point. at least the soup was good.

i stopped by a café and asked for recommendations. the barista, who looked like he’d been judging me since the moment i entered, handed me a map and said, ‘if you want to survive, go to żelebeyen street. but don’t expect anything nice. it’s where the real istanbul lives.’ yeah. and also where the real rats live. i walked down that street and found a bakery that sold pastries for 2 euros. the smell was incredible. i bought three. one for breakfast, one for lunch, and one to throw at someone who annoyed me later.

the people here are fascinating. or maybe exhausting. a neighbor invites me to a cricket match at midnight. another neighbor plays traditional instruments in his backyard every morning. i’m not sure if it’s art or a cry for help. either way, it’s loud. and that’s how you know you’re in istanbul.

i tried to use the metro once. it was a disaster. the thing kept breaking down, and when it finally worked, it smelled like old soap and death. i saw a man sleeping on a bench with a suitcase. he didn’t look like he owned it. i almost asked if he needed help, but i chickened out. maybe next time.

this city is full of contradictions. it’s ancient and chaotic. it’s beautiful and broken. i took a photo of the blue mosque at sunrise. the light was gold, which is great, but the people in the background were all just standing there like they were part of a history lesson. i didn’t mind. i wanted to believe in that kind of stillness.

i’m supposed to leave tomorrow. but i’ll probably extend my stay. istanbul has a way of holding onto you. it gives you a passport stamp and a feeling of having seen something real. even if that something is a man selling shoes made of scrap metal. or a woman singing a old folk song while selling apples.

links you might find useful: istanbul food guide bosphorus ferry schedule local gossip board

i realized i forgot to mention the weather again. i just checked and it’s still 5.82. i hope you like that kind of thing. it’s cold, damp, and relentless. like istanbul itself.

i’ll end with a photo of the skyline. it’s not pretty, but it’s honest.

and another of a street vendor with a counter full of random stuff.

and one last of me, looking at the horizon like i understand what’s happening.