Photo: Cgreb

Last Sunday, I felt like having fish at one of the restaurants under the Galata Bridge and strolled down the cobble stoned Yuksek Kaldirim onto the Karaköy pier. It was a crisp and beautiful afternoon and the sun shone gleefully on the turquoise waters of the Golden Horn. I love to stand just before the foot of the bridge to listen to the clink and rustle of thousands of reels released from atop the bridge by the weekend fishers of Galata.

Photo: Birasuegi

Fishing on the Galata bridge seem to be a men only affair, so Galata fishers, unlike their counterparts in Emirgan or Istinye who park their station wagons by the water, set up a barbeque and play cards while their rods rest against a fold up chair, reaffirm their fraternity by jigging their bait in perfect harmony.

The customers of the Galata bridge fish restaurants stare at the curtain of plastic lines wondering when the band of fishermen will applaud and jeer another successful catch. So, I sat down over beer and grilled fish in Galatea Restaurant and joined the group of ’watchers’.

Just as I had taken my first bite, the waiter who served me and his friend, with a mischievous grin, jerked down one of the lines hanging from the bridge. The line bounced off his hands and got tangled in someone else’s line. Instantly, from upstairs a man yelled. Both waiters broke into a cheeky giggle and the restaurant staff and managers joined in the rumble.

Photo: Urbanlegend

It was interesting to witness the two waiters’ fascination with the sea and the fraternal awe shared by all the frequenters of the Galata bridge; these men of whom many have come to Istanbul from remote parts of Turkey, where they have grown up without ever hearing the seagulls sing in tune to the ferryboats baritone horn. Once there, the dark, mystical bosom of the Bosphorus that is the Golden Horn has lured these men to its banks and bridges.

This rumbustious city is an incredibly attractive spot for internal and external migrants who, upon entry into Istanbul, are engulfed by its rundown shantytowns and ghettos.

Tarlabasi, a shantytown located in the heart of Istanbul just a few minutes walk from Taksim Square, is considered to be a no-go area among many Istanbullus and tourists alike because it is believed to house the most discontent of the migrant communities in Istanbul.

It’s amusing to watch many a backpacker dive randomly from Tarlabasi Avenue into one of the side streets only to come out looking petrified minutes later. I, on the other hand, consider myself a local in Istanbul and I confidently venture into the core of Tarlabasi, passing smiles and nods at voluptuous Roma women perched on the sidewalk washing the sooth off their carpets into the street and at dozens of loquacious youths playing football.

Although the ethnic composition of each wave of migration that Tarlabasi received since the 1990s is disputed, the prevalence of Kurdish and Roma residents is quite obvious. Passing by barbershops and bakkals, small grocery stores selling mostly outdated goods, I also hear what I assume to be Nigerian and Arabic blending into the beat of the Arabesque music whizzing out of the butchers.

In fact, this dainty and piquant neighborhood in the Beyoglu district is traditionally home to Istanbul’s Greek Orthodox community and has for long been a proud, affluent area known for its beautiful apartments, breezy alleys, and the city’s largest Syriac church.

I usually stop in front of large, ornate buildings to read the engravings over the gate or on the façade. Most buildings are dated around 1800s and look tired, grim and hung-over.

There and then I wonder: Is Tarlabasi, once a lively, throbbing neighborhood accommodating Greeks, Armenians, Syriacs, and Muslims, now nearing its poor and destitute death? Then again, I gaze at the jazzy collection of wigs, boas, and funky underwear lining the windows of Tarlabasi Avenue shops, and listen to the jeer of countless children playing hopscotch on its streets and think: “Tarlabasi will outlive us all”.

I found a place in Istanbul that perfectly resembles the allegedly-wilting generation of white, secular Turk, whose gaze is affixed on the West and whose heart is set on finding a new, luminiscent country out of the ashes of the Ottoman empire: Moda.

The teahouse

The name of this waterside town on Istanbul’s Asian side translates directly as 'fashion' – perhaps a cheeky reference to the days when Moda was unquestionably fashionable. Between mid-fifties and late seventies, come summertime, the Istanbullus would move to their summer houses in Moda, to join the Armenian and Greek residents of the town, and fill up the beach cafes. The night scene would enliven and young men and women would frolick around the waterbend, mimicking Farrow and Redford in The Great Gatsby.

Today, only a few of the beautiful houses by the water remain but the small, gridlined streets covered almost entirely by oak, pine and chestnut trees and the magnificient Moda pier, now converted into a piquant teahouse, are still intact.

Moda Deniz Kulübü

In the belly of the crescent that Moda is lies a private tennis club. Its middle-aged regulars with their matching tennis clothes have remained loyal to their oldies role models. Past the tennis club comes Moda Deniz Kulübü, another members-only venue with a terrific view of the sea, traditionally hosting Rotary Club charity nights or Lions Club high teas.

Wardrobe in restaurant Moda Park Lokantasi

A modest walk up from the Moda Deniz Klubu takes me over to a street filled with Greek taverns and ’gazinos’, restaurants that feature live music. Some of them look decent while others seem slightly more run down.

Nostalgic tram in Moda

To its residents, Moda must be a diamond in the rough – a safe haven from the impending city that Istanbul has become. Based on a romantic ideal of Turkey modeled on ’the West’, they shaped their surroundings to accommodate what in their view constitutes a ’Western lifestyle’: Tennis on Sundays, a walk in the park with children and a stop at Ali Usta’s famous ice-cream parlour, followed by dinner and a few drinks at a Greek tavern. And to a ’Westerner’, Moda is a nice break from the hussle of the old Istanbul.

Offering a handsome brunch over jazz in its prime garden on Sundays, Sakıp Sabancı Museum (SSM) stands out as a museum with a twist. Like most contemporary museums of art in Istanbul, SSM is supported by the Sabancı family, a regular of the Fortune 500 listings.

As the famous Atlı Kösk (Horse Mansion), housing two horse sculptures from as early as 1200s, was converted into the SSM after Hacı Ömer Sabancı’s death, the family’s collection of calligraphy and paintings have been transferred to the permanent collection.

I have visited SSM several times and found its permanent and temporary collections quite modest. Just upon leaving SSM, the breathtaking view of the Bosphorus from Emirgan, one of Istanbul’s oldest towns – a view depicted restlessly by the countless artists resting in SSM only a breath away from their muse – strikes its visitors.

After a tour of the museum, I have made a habit of walking over to Emirgan bazaar just around the corner. Walking past the Emirgan café, whose pergola has kept many an aspiring poet out of the sun, I always browse through their embarrassingly large display of puddings, desserts and borek.

Then, I pay the green grocer a visit and tell him unabashedly how fresh his produce looks. Amused and cheerful, he jokes around with the fish monger, whose ’fresh’ fish look more mortal than their counterparts in the still life paintings in SSM. During winters, chestnut vendors and bagel sellers seek refuge in the cosy warmth of the Emirgan bazaar while in the summer, the area is flooded with amateur fishermen, children with baloons and young mothers taking their buggies out for a bit of fresh Bosphorus air.

In Emirgan, one can smell, breathe and almost touch nostalgia. And, for a dose of nostalgia on canvases that you absolutely must not touch, SSM, with its luxurious summer brunches, its marbled floors and its five-star Changa restaurant is worth visiting. 

SAKIP SABANCI MUSEUM; Sakıp Sabancı Cad. No:42, Emirgan 34467, Istanbul

It’s beyond me what has happened to Turkish architecture over the last 100 years. Until the end of Ottoman empire Turkish-Ottoman architects build fabulous palaces, houses and mosques, but for the last century all but a few new constructions have only been build for their purpose and not for their beauty.

So even the most die hard visitor to Istanbul stands a chance of getting tired of all the ugly concrete and dirty, broken streets that happen to fill Istanbul.

When the fatigue hits me, I head out to Kanyon Mall, an architectural pearl a few metro stops from Taksim Square. Together with other Istanbullus craving for calm, coolness, soft curves and place to spend their buck, I window shop at the very pricey designer stores and then spend my lira at Wagamama or The Kitchenette restaurant, along side the westernised bankers and insurance brokers working in the vicinity.

Kanyon is the hyper modern Turkey that is just as much a part of the country as the sunny beaches and the sultan palace, but much less recognised.