I’m not going to pretend I was pumped about returning to Europe, but my reasons are sound. It was high time I spent some time with my family, and there was a swathe of weddings I would rather not miss. It’s finally time for cousins and friends to start getting hitched, for the first time.

However, I was, and still am, determined to make the most of my time here, while avoiding the UK as much as possible. There is little there for me, bar the people, and of course, the cider. Europe has a lot to offer, and while skirting the new Brexit Schengen visa limitations, I think I can spend the next year living a life I enjoy.

Some Istanbulshit

Turkey was the first stop, with the idea that it may still have a modicum of warmth. Landing in Istanbul quickly put dreams of a tan top up to rest. I could barely feel the difference between the rainy autumnal England I had just left, and the bitter air of the new city.

It seemed I would have to bite the bullet and finally buy myself a jacket. The poncho, as warm and cosy as it is, does get a little too much attention, although not all of it particularly bad, as I found out. It still took me a while in the cold city to finally go shopping. It was the forecast of almost a week of solid rain that made me change my mind. That, and the freezing cold hostel I was staying in.

So, it turned out I wasn’t going to be warm in Turkey. Even in the south, in Anatolia, it was only getting to about 23 degrees. Basically Baltic. It was time to lock in and get ready for the chill. At least Istanbul had a lot to offer, I’d just have to go about it wrapped up.

Baklava Ain’t Cheap

What really took me by surprise was how much everything cost, right off the bat. I came to Istanbul purely on the recommendations of friends I valued the opinions of. Many of them had heralded the city as a cheap, rich, busy, and cultural place. On almost all counts, they were spot on, but on finances, things had changed.

Several of the people who recommended Istanbul to me had been there only a year or so before, which is no time really. However, since they had visited, prices had more than doubled. I was amazed to see that traditional street food, like durum, rivaled London prices, and was often more expensive. Thankfully, on the whole, the most important things were still cheap. Public transport was pennies, and cigarettes and beer could still be had for a few quid. However, I looked at a few gyms around the city and found that even the most shithole, tetanus-ridden, garage gyms were charging £75 a month.

So this city was not going to be kind to my suffering bank account. I hadn’t had solid work for over a month, and my funds were dwindling. It was also going to be cold, wet, and grey. The grim season was coming, and I didn’t have a gym to keep the winter blues at bay. I was trying not to think about it, but the Big Sad Gremlin was rubbing his hands, looking forward to the prospect of riding around on my back for a few months.

Pint Sized Pick Me Ups

Istanbul doesn’t get down like that, though. It doesn’t give you time to wallow or lament. The Turkish people are also suffering under an oppressive government, ballistic inflation, and cold weather. I was not alone, and the Istanbul folk are much better at not being self-pitying flannels than I am. All it took was a few nights out, a lucky turn of events, and I was swept up by Istanbul, and my worries were washed away.

With two friends I had met through the hostel I was staying in, I hit the town one weekday night. We began at a rooftop bar, overlooking the city, across the Bosphorous, and into the Asian side of Istanbul. The night was full of light, and the many Mosques lit up on both sides. We had a few beers, exchanged travel stories, and enjoyed the view.

The beers did their thing, and we decided it was time for more, but this time with a little more entertainment. Traditional Turkish music had been mentioned, so I took a look for a live music bar close to where we were. What I found is known as a Türkü and it is usually reserved for gangsters and do badders. We didn’t know this, so took ourselves a table in a dark corner, and ordered a bottle of Rakia.

The music was blisteringly loud. It filled the narrow, old stone building, and left little space for conversation. It didn’t matter, the classical Turkish Baglama sound was fantastic, and for me, it was a new experience. The use of quartertones in the music adds a whole new element, which is still fascinating to my ears. Everything from the call to prayer to the classical Turkish music we were listening to in the packed, smokey bar, sounds exciting.

A few more bottles of Rakia went down. We watched the dancing and listened to the music before deciding it was time to stumble onto the next place. Stumble we did, and we ended up in another bar, just around the corner, completely fucked eyed and definitely not in need of another drink. This is where I found my introduction to just what Istanbul can be if you know where to look.

I Love Your Every Part

I met Eda in the bar, although she will insist that we met one bar later, four floors up in a gay techno club situated in an old Istanbul building. Her memory recalls buying two beers at a bar and turning round to find me beside her, wearing a poncho and a shit-eating grin, probably swaying. Why she chose to give me the beer and start what she thought was our first conversation is beyond me.

Either way, this wasn’t our last meeting, and we arranged a second, initially more sober, second. From here, Eda showed me her city, introduced me to her friends, and taught me how the Turkish keep their heads up. It involved a lot of music, endless conversations about everything, doom spending, and more pints than I cared to count.

Through the cold and rain of November Istanbul, I was shown not only the best parts but also the ways they should be enjoyed. Eda is a journalist, editing Hürriyet, and writing the music section of Aposto. Her connections around the city are countless, and it made for some interesting days out. Rarely did hours go by that she wasn’t bumping into some musician or industry head she knew, or pointing out some Turkish Ultra-Celebrity trying to sneak an unobserved pint in a bar.

She took me to record debuts, the nicest Turkish bars and restaurants, showed me the various neighborhoods, and did all my talking for me. I have never been so lazy with a language before. I think it took me until the last week to learn how to say thank you.

Throughout my entire stay in Istanbul, Eda showed me what living there as a local was like. I learned to love Istanbul through her eyes, even if she was tired of the place herself. She gave me a warmth to the city that would never have been present had I been alone.

Istanbul would have been a much bleaker, colder, lonelier place without her and her wonderful friends. Lucky doesn’t cover just how fortunate I was to meet her, and it won’t be the last time we do.

Istanbul: It’s Just Bread, Nothing More

Well, it’s a little more. It’s also cheese, rakia, Efe’s, kebab, islak hamburger, yogurt, ayran, pickles, spices, lokum, and yes, a million types of delicious bread and bread-style foods. I ate my way around Istanbul, and it was worth every penny. My body has transformed from bronzed and muscular to the visual equivalent of a sandwich bag full of wallpaper paste, and every step of the process was delicious.

The sheer amount of food I consumed while living in Istanbul was excellent. When I first arrived, I was doing a one-meal-a-day diet, not eating until after six, and making sure I got my entire day’s worth of calories in about three hours. I was trying to burn off the weight I had gained with the ultra-processed sewage I ate in the UK and the half a pig and barrel of pilsner I consumed daily in Prague.

This meant that, as soon as the sun went down, I would pick two restaurants, and eat two massive meals within the space of about an hour of each other. It sounds gross, but it’s the life of a sultan. By the time I tucked into my first meal, I was famished, and the second one I could take my time over. Istanbul provided a wealth of food.

Meats, and pickles, and yogurts, and rice. Soft breads, and crispy vegetables. Spices and herbs that brought every flavor into unknown dimensions. Every mouthful was a joy as I worked my way through menus of food I had never seen before. Turkish food in the UK is fine, but it can’t shine a candlelight on the real deal. We just don’t have the ingredients.

Everything from the quick bites, like the light and flavorsome Lahmacun, to the long, hours-long meals in Mayhanes was an experience. The Turkish, like the Latinos, take time over the things that matter. This could be a coffee or tea, or a meal with loved ones, time is dedicated. The finer things aren’t rushed, and long meals are common, as they should be. Eda taught me the many traditions and practices that should be observed with food. All of them involve drinking and conversation.

Every day would involve multiple coffees and teas. The short Turkish-style coffee isn’t so intense that four of them in a day would give you the jitters. The tea, which is handed out for free more often than not, is a point of pride for everyone who serves it. Time is taken over the brewing, and there are a million variations. Whether it is sweet or not, the coffee and the tea taken throughout the day is the perfect oasis in the sound and speed of Istanbul to sit, take just fifteen minutes to yourself, or enjoy a conversation.

A Tale Of Two Cities

Istanbul is technically one city, but it is far more than that. Even geographically it is split by the Bosphorus, making one side Asian, and the other European. But, this is just the surface of what I only just began to understand about just how rich and varied the districts of the city really are.

Like any big city, be it London or CDMX, the sheer size of the metropolis is sure to have its own pockets of personality. However, I’ve seen few with such contrasting faces as Istanbul. The sides of the sea split one world from another. I lived in both, and they could have been different countries, let alone cities.

Kadiköy, the neighborhood I stayed in for the second half of my time is comparable to Camden in London, or Botafogo in Rio de Janeiro. It is full of independent cafes and restaurants, small galleries, and boutiques tucked away down cute streets. It has a buzzing nightlife of a few bustling bars, and everyone is wearing ill-fitting, vintage clothing, straight from their parent’s old wardrobes.

However, get your teeth into the Taxim area of the European side and you have the complete opposite. The streets are packed with people. Shopfronts flood the streets with bright glaring lights. The streets never seem to empty, with shopping available until midnight and the neon glows of restaurants, bars, and chain stores illuminate every corner. Istanbul is a loud city, and Taxim is the heart of it. It’s fun and noisy, full of energy and smells, there is something new to find down every winding street, and you can see the money of the country in everything.

This is just two of the thousands of districts that make up the city of almost 16 million. Hopping on a bus to anywhere will kick you out in a new world. I feel like I could live in Istanbul for a decade and barely scratch the surface of what it’s all about. I feel like it’s going to take more than one post.