Istanbul

Istanbul. The arrival during the night, the station that doesn’t speak English, the transport that takes me to God knows where and leaves me in God knows not, that someone who points the way, the tram that brings me there, the arrival to my new home, the swift departure to the streets.

Istanbul. The first postcard sight under the colorfully lit night, the kebab in that restaurant serving just two dishes, a first baklava with tea, a first glimpse over a dormant Asia before I go to bed.

Istanbul. The morning rising over the Bosphorus, the cobblestone street I walk down running, a first Turkish coffee I drink, the cobblestone street I walk up slowly, the enchantment of Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque peaking in front, a first walk through the bazar, the street that leads down to the water, the steaming fish sandwich I eat, the time passing by over the bridge, the getting lost again amongst the multitude.

Istanbul. The infinite bazar where I enter once and again, the streets covered from the sun, the shops selling carpets, the shops selling spices, the streets covered by the sky, the shops selling handbags, ‘the shops selling AK47’s next to the one selling greens?’, the immense infinite shop selling everything possible, day and night, nonstop.

Istanbul. The boat rocking in the Bosphorus, the sight of its margins so near, the people running along them, the bridges passing over my head, the houses hanging from the hills, the blue sky above my head, the return to the dock of departure, the intense orange sun that falls in between the mosques, in the distance.

Istanbul. The imam calling for prayer, the shoes I take off my feet, the stepping on the soft carpet, the people prostrated on it, the place where I sit contemplative, the moment in which time stops while the others pray besides me and I let myself be, by their side, in silence.

Istanbul. The return to the occident, the avenue I walk up slowly, the many that climb it with me, indifferent, the avenue I stroll down without haste, the tower I see in the distance, the city I observe from its top, the occident intertwined with the orient, the streets to which I go back to get lost again, the lit up bazar to where I return one last time, the night spent partying with sounds I never heard before, the week that passed by running, swiftly, unnoticed.

Istanbul. The cobblestone street I climb down with my backpack, the ferry where I finally enter, the foot that leaves Europe, ten minutes over the water, the foot that reaches Asia, the farewell glimpse to the occident I send until my return home.

Istanbul. The orient at last, the stroll I take by the sea, the people who smile past me, the fishermen sitting on the rocks, the children running around them, the moment in which I sit down and behold the other side as if I was part of this one, the moment in which the Turkish bath cleans me and makes me feel part of this side, definitely.

Istanbul. The time to go that arrives, one last coffee on the run, one nostalgic look of farewell, the departure of this city with the immense desire to come back soon.

Istanbul.

Istanbul, Turkey, February 2013