Packed up and ready to hit the road, but something was still missing. Last time we left, while being driven to the airport, we bounced with excitement, happily chatting everyones ears off about the adventure we were about to embark on. This time, we were just calm, we could’ve been taken to the local bus stop for the amount of enthusiasm we were giving off. Maybe, as seasoned travellers, it’s only the first adventure that is truly unknown, or maybe after having our plans so drastically altered back in 2020 we were just a bit more cautious with our expectations and we’d find the excitement along the way.
All in all, the journey went smoothly, no traffic on the motorway and the flight arrived in Istanbul on time. What was a little less smooth was picking up our uber. How was we supposed to know it’s illegal for uber drivers to pick up passengers at the airport? No-one warned us, the uber was already booked and we couldn’t find a way to cancel it without losing our money. The only thing to was to go with it. A message was sent “I’m at departures” well thank you Mr. Uber-Driver, that wasn’t cryptic at all. First step, figure out where that was. Second step, how to get there, I’m making things sound dramatic, it was just upstairs but after a long day travelling things don’t always seem as simple.
So, we found him, he popped open his boot, we were about to throw in our bags when the on-duty manager of the airport monopoly on taxis appeared, thwarting our plans. The Uber driver spooked, racing off into the distance. Once again, we donned our backpacks - that seemed to get heavier with every time we took them off and on again - and trekked down to the other end of drop off area. This time, finally, success. We threw in our bags followed by ourselves and off we sped to begin our adventure in Istanbul.
We chose to stay Balat, an area of Istanbul known for it’s colourful houses and inclusive history.
Back in the 15th century Balat was primarily a Jewish neighbourhood, as Sultan Bayezid II was offering citizenship to those fleeing the inquisition in Spain and Africa. Once, eighteen synagogs could be found in Balat, although there are only two in use today. Throughout the years, Balat became a place for minorities, with Armenian and Orthodox Greek families moving into this area too. Now, although the population is mostly Muslim, echos from the past can be found in the architecture and places of worship.
They say don’t judge a book by it’s cover. I’d say don’t judge an area when it’s dark outside and you’ve just finished travelling. When we first arrived, things seemed rather run-down, not just the airbnb we’d decided to stay in but the area as a whole. It was badly lit, overwhelming, intimidating and we were hungry, which didn’t help matters. It seemed, as we walked back and forth, trying to find food we both could eat, that the area wasn’t the quaint up-and-coming area that we’d been promised but somewhere scary and uninviting.
We were wrong, of course. When we set out to explore the area the next morning we found it was quirky, arty, and friendly. It was rundown in places, with the rubble of knocked down building left in the plots, houses sat condemned and empty. I liked it more for not being perfect, it helped to balance all the touristy restaurants and cafes that took some of the neighbourhood-y vibes away. While wandering about, trying to get a feel for where we was staying, we came across Kiremit Street, a street made famous for its colourful houses and the Instagram photos taken of them. To be honest, we wasn’t that impressed, it wasn’t as if the whole street had been made picture perfect, just four houses sat in a row. I think we’re in the minority on this, as plenty of tourists were already there trying to get the perfect shot.
We found much prettier streets as we explored the north most part of the neighbourhood, all with colourfully painted houses, just with the people that live there chatting with their neighbours, rather than tourists posing in doorways and in the street. I won’t say exactly where theses streets sit but if you’re ever in the area go hunt them down yourselves. My favourite sort of houses weren’t the newly rendered and perfectly painted at all, they were the wooden buildings, seemingly randomly thrown together and yet still holding true throughout the years, for the most part. Even the condemned wooden houses were beautiful in my eyes, with windows pushed out from the trees and plants reclaiming that plot of land. It was a day well spent, seeing what lay around each corner with no real destination in mind, and even after hours wandering around Balat, there was still secret places to find during the rest of our stay.
With feet starting to drag, it was decided it was time for dinner. After much dithering, indecision and a spat of martial bickering, we finally settled on a restaurant called Pier. They quickly seated us upstairs by ourselves and promptly forgot about us, this actually worked to our favour. When they remembered we existed, about three minutes before the deadline we’d decided to hold them to, they could’ve have been more attentive. Free drinks, free “Sigara Boregi” and free baklava to boot. We did buy some food too, I had a Hallomi salad, needing something fresher after a heavy dinner of Pide the night before, and Ben had the Ali Nazik Kebab. Much to our surprise it was all delicious. We’d had to get ourselves over a bit of culture difference, you see… the menu had pictures. The shock! The horror! I know Turkish cuisine is delightful, we’ve visited a few times now, but every time I get caught out on the pictures. Back home, if a menu has pictures it’s either a fish and chip shop… or its bad. It was a hard thing to twist our mind around, but this restaurant definitely helped.
Now, not every day while traveling will be blue skies, and our third day of travel began with a thunderstorm. As our schedule was in no way tight, we thought we’d wait it out rather than to brave the weather, and where better to do that than at a beautiful cafe while eating a traditional Turkish breakfast. Tucked down a little side street, sits the Velvet Cafe. It’s decor rides the line between classy and “Turkish grandma”, but it could have been decorated as a pig sty and people would still come back, simply, the food was phenomenal. There are certain things you expect on a Turkish breakfast; baked or boiled eggs, a selection of local cheeses, honey, jam, bread, tomatoes, cucumber and olives; that was all there and obviously delicious but it was the special additions that made it. A tahini and molasses dip - it sounds weird, it was wonderful, a naughty sweet fried dough and a spicy tomato and pepper tapenade. Everything on it’s own was beautiful, the quality of the food was undoubtably high, but adding the sweet, salty, earthy and bitter all together made something special. Every mouthful was different and everyone was a treat. As much as we enjoyed it, we didn’t return to the Velvet Cafe, mainly for fear we’d have to be rolled to our next plane if we ate like that everyday.
A few hours later, once the skies cleared, we decided to walk off our breakfast with a brisk one hour saunter down to Galata Bridge so we could try another famous Istanbul treat, Balik Ekmek. Don’t judge us, we’re on holiday. Directly translating to fish bread, the clue is in the name. A freshly fried fillet of some unknown (to us) fish, is placed in a half a Turkish loaf with some salad and voila, lunch! It is so simple and popular that lining the bottom of the bridge must be about 20 restaurants all selling the same thing, as well as some boats, frying up the treat next to the square right by it too. Once again, a bit too full to be comfortable we set off for our real destination that afternoon, Taksim Square.
Said to be the modern heart of the European side of Istanbul, the area surrounding Taksim square is filled with high street shops, boutiques, little cafes, large restaurants and nightclubs. If you know where to look the traditional can be found too, with the small winding roads that lead to the historic Galata tower, traditional bath houses tucked away down side streets and traditional tea houses tucked in between. I have only one word for Taksim. Overwhelming.
Maybe I could have dealt with the crowds, maybe I could have dealt with insane number of shops, maybe I could have dealt with the random traffic that was still allowed to push it's way through the throngs of pedestrians. But all three, not for me thanks. I felt lost in the crowd and making it down the busy street to Taksim square at the end seemed like a Herculean task. We made it though, found a quiet place to sit amongst the greenery and let out a sigh of relief. There was some playful street kittens there too and that helped the most. We never ended up buying anything, which defeated the whole point in going in the first place.
Once again shunning public transport (I wish I could tell you why), we laced up our boots and set off, this time heading for the Grand Bazaar. Taking a slightly different route down towards the Sultanahmet area of Istanbul, took us through a neighbourhood was a vastly different feel. Modesty was the name of the game, if I'd have known that the streets at the top of the hill belonged to a much more religious area I would have made sure that I wasn't sporting my shortest shorts, but it was too late by then.
As expected the Grand Bazaar was organised chaos, hundreds of shops all filled with things we didn't want to buy, tourist trinkets, fake designer clothing and jewellery, all of course in their own large section of the sprawling covered market. It was impressive and pointless all at once. Well pointless for us, I'm sure they do a brisk trade otherwise I don't see how they could continue. What I was surprised about, was the vendors themselves. Long gone are the shouts calling for tourists to "come look in my shop", no longer is the shops inventory yelled out as we passed. There were a few who stuck to the old ways, but most were content with a relaxed hello and a wave, I'm not sure if I missed it or not. There was always a sense of accomplishment to walk through a bazaar without being hoodwinked inside a shop and that's gone now.
Without walking a ridiculous distance, the only way over to Kadikoy on the Asia side of Istanbul was via public boat. At a small confusing machine down by the Galata Bridge we managed to pick up travel cards with credit on for about £5 each. Boats seem to be the smoothest and simplest mode of public transport, the ferry stops have clear signage, keeping confusion to a minimum. After scanning our cards at the turnstile, all we had to do was wait on the pier for the ferry. I'm not entirely sure how much the boat cost, but at the end of our trip, after two boat rides across the Bosphorus and three goes on the tramway we still had credit on the cards.
Kadikoy itself had a much more modern feel to it. The streets were wide allowing for two way traffic, a vast difference from the small lanes of Balat that all seem to have cars parked to the side, still blocking the whole road from use. It wasn't just the city planning that was different, here the restaurants sold beer and the clothing of the locals was more vibrant and varied. It felt open and younger somehow. Still, we did as we always do and had a wander about, this time succeeding in shopping, landing me a fetching pair of rich blue cotton trousers. After yet another frustrating search for a public loo, seriously Turkey, up your public WC game! Off we went in search of Kumpir, a traditional Turkish street food which is basically a jacket potato. A buttery, cheesy, potato-y filling, topped with our choice pickled vegetables and salads. It was simple and oh so good. We rounded this off with Berliner doughnut, not at all traditional but wonderful all the same.
As I've waffled on for long enough, I'm going to cut this off here... part 2 coming soon.
Trip date: October 2022
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