Freedom

And as I started thinking of a reason as to why I've been pushing back writing this entry, the reason becomes obvious: the subject itself makes it more than just an entry. If Beyoglu is the heart of Istanbul then Istiklal is its carotid: were it one day to fail, the heart and the body will also stop. Fortunately, that chance is far from ever becoming reality....
Istiklal is a mini mirror of Istanbul. In its streets you´ll find anything and everything Istanbul has to offer. Not only embassies, hotels, bars, discos, restaurants and clothing and souvenir shops but also family homes, student flats, executive flats, hostels, shoe makers, bag makers, tailors... the list can go on and on. There isn´t one time of the day in which Istiklal is empty. Maybe (just maybe) Tuesday at 6 am. maybe....

The crowd is an ocean in which all of us are but drops following the current. Try to go from one side of the street to the other one on a Saturday afternoon. Try and fight that current. It´ll be for certain the longest crossing you've ever made, as it will also be 15 minutes of pure excitement :)

It is rumored that Istanbul has 18 million people and that on a Friday night, at least 8 of them are somewhere in Beyoglu :)


I overheard a tourist yesterday making a comment to her loved one: "let´s be careful, look at all these people! there must be a demonstration or something!" I couldn´t help myself: "nah, Istiklal is like this, everyday. Hurry up and enjoy the view before it gets too crowded"....

And I say "enjoy it" because Istiklal is more than a meeting point: It´s a treat to the eye. Beautiful buildings adorned each flank and in between them, long gorgeous alleys take you from the central vein to its affluents.. whenever you come, take the time and look up :)

But it's my opinion, the beauty of Istiklal comes from it being a place that is alive:
6 o'clock in the morning marks the time for some people to start heading to work: shirt, shoes, and tie in hand, they make their way through the almost empty street, on their way crossing yet another group of people who are just coming into the street: jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers, getting ready to open their shops.

But to this crowd of comers and goers we must add our special characters who complete our Istiklal: our simitci; the dialy brakfast is never complete without this sesame round bread delicacy. Either pushing his red cart or balancing a big tray on his head, our simitcis stay busy all throught out the morning, even mid afternoon when another character comes in to replace him:the castagne guy. A strong perfum fills the air as he makes his way through our Istiklal.

And from midday on, a non-stop chain of characters will fill up our street: our mısır (corn) guy,the dondurma (ice cream) guy and our most lovable and cherisehed character after long dancing nights: our midye (mussels) guy.....















Funny how almost all of Istanbul can be experienced in just a few kilometers....

And because life in Turkey is about music, streets musicians are never absent in this our street.......

maybe a little show as well....

a few clowns advertising a new shop, some acrobats boucing around for an upcoming festival, a few protesters raising their voice, a few more thousand protesters making sure their cause is not forgotten.....

Anything that needs to be remembered, needs to pass by Istiklal....

and so I also passed....

White Istanbul

and to think I never experienced "blanco" back home ....

  The cold gets forgotten, the tingling in the fingers kind of goes away, the closing of the chest gets pushed aside, the view overpowers them all.
  An entire area, as far as the eye can see, covered in white, a white sheet with its thicker patches here and there has come down on the city. And I say a sheet as I remember being a child and watching with astonishment my mum making my bed: watching how that sheet suspended itself in the air, how did it flow, slowly, down, slowly and still going down, by parts, by waves, feeling the air, feeling the movement, seeing myself watching....

  About one o'clock and I'm in class today, right now, sorrounded by twelve 11-year-olds.Class cannot continue. One by one they start standing up, drawn by the white. I cannot nor I want to control them. The sight is magnificent, from sporadic cotton balls  we had to squint to see, to be able to see but white, not even the building in front of us. Just white.

The feeling I get from the kids takes me back to my childhood days. I'm not their teacher now. I'm no more than 11 at the moment....

Istanbul has been white, on and off, for little over a week now. Memories of other white cities where I used to stroll come to mind. Better not lose the opportunity to stroll down this city as well....

  Lucky I am as this time the stroll comes with a story, or better said, several. Stories of the neighbourhood and the people that lived, live, and will live here, the changes they've been through; stories of another stroll taken here years ago;


  stories that take shape in my head as I watch the people walking down these areas: kids throwing snowballs at their school, others ambushing one another, mothers coming back from the market holding onto their grown daughters not to slip on the icy road, a little girl selling "snow potatoes", beautiful stories....


  Walking and talking, we reach the final stairs, the end of the journey takes us through a cementery into a viewpoint, a viewpoint to truly appreciate the white cloak, or is it the a veil? doubt it, we aren't here to forget ;)