vintage vibes in istanbul and why i’m buying a faded coat for the ferry crossings
i woke up to the sound of a creaky door in my apartment. it belongs to a neighbor who’s clearly trying to wake me up before 8 a.m. to sell me olive oil or something. istanbul buses honk like they’re arguing with each other. i checked the weather once and it was 17.03 right there. that’s pretty much perfect for sitting outside with a half-eaten döner and wondering why my bag of scratchy vintage jeans is smelling like old memories.
check out the
. this part of istanbul is a mix of pigeon poop and ancient stone. today, i wandered around looking for a place to wear my faded work coat-something that looks like it belonged to a 1970s taxi driver. i found a vendor with a cart of coats so faded they seem alive. i bought one. it itches. i don’t care.
someone told me the best way to blend in here is to dress like you’re mourning something. like, literally. i overheard a tourist whispering that to another tourist at a café. it’s probably not true, but it worked for me
. i’m not mourning. i just like the idea of being lost, even when i’m not.
neighbors here are either trying to sell you tea or judging your life choices. one old man kept handing me batteries and then said, ‘you need light someday.’ i don’t. i have a flashlight. but maybe i do. who knows?
i heard that the Bosphorus Bridge is crowded at night, but that’s okay. i don’t care. i walked. i got lost. i found a street artist painting a cat on a wall. the cat looked judgmental. i gave him a bottle of water. he didn’t take it. maybe he was waiting for a better moment.
buying local coffee was a disaster. i asked for a ‘frape chestnut’ and got a facial from a barista who screamed in turkish. the smell of coffee and regret lingered. a yelp review said, ‘game-changer, but bring antiseptic.’
i heard that the local food market at 6 pm becomes a night club. i didn’t go. i’m too lazy. but i saw a toddler on a skateboard near the entrance. he was doing wheelies. don’t let that kid catch you. he hates adults
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yesterday, i tried to find a bookshop. there are few. the one i found had a dog that kept barking at my vintage stripes. i offered it a biscuit. it bit. i lost a cookie. it’s still getting over it.
the weather here is that weird in-between thing where the breeze is just… there. not cold, not warm. i think it’s because istanbul is confused about the season. i hope you like that kind of thing. there’s a place called ‘the scotty bro train’ where people drink gin and talk about nothing. i went. i didn’t talk about nothing. i talked about wanting to wear my coat in public and cried a little. it was good.
a drunk older woman told me that the old bridge has hidden spots where you can kiss without being seen. i’m not sure if that’s true, but i’m keeping it as a possibility
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i recommendfor reviews that sound like someone passed out on their phone. also, but don’t read the reviews from 2015. they talk about wifi like it’s a luxury.
i bought a cat from a street vendor. it’s now named ‘drunk’ because it looks like it’s been drinking espresso. i put it in my vintage coat. it’s warm. it meows every time i walk. that’s the best part.
if you get bored, istanbul proper is just a short drive away. or you could stay and listen to your coat whispering about past lives. i don’t know if it’s doing that. i haven’t asked. probably not.
i heard that the best way to lose someone here is to lose your keys. they vanish. ghosts take them. i lost mine last week. still looking
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i took one photo of the coat. one photo of the cat. one photo of me crying in a bakery.
i’m not sure this post makes sense. it’s probably wrong. i wrote it while listening to a mixtape of bakery music and my own thoughts. it’s messy. it’s istanbul. it’s real. if you’re here, you’re probably lost too. or maybe you’re just really into vintage coats. either way, buy one. sell it later. don’t care.
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