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.