Galata Bridge, Istanbul / Turkey · 2015   fishing antennas

  

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   Bir döner lütfen. That phrase was the only tool of survival I had brought with me to Turkey, and it fed me all the way through space and time from Istanbul to Troy to Cappadocia to Ankara and back. Bir döner lütfen. One kebap please.

Turkey has always been a bridge. Entire empires have crossed it to empty their worlds on the other side. Now the bridge is getting skinny. Few get through. Turkey as Europe’s doorman is an ugly deal that brings out the worst of both worlds and legitimizes the semi-official dictator who too many love for too few, flacid reasons. But Turkey’s wings are bigger than that, and the day it lifts them, they will shake up the air.

Istanbul was the tip of that winged bridge between Asia and Europe, half the former, half the latter, nothing but a bit of ocean-blue Bosporus water in-between.

For me, it was a two-week layover – an appetizer on my way to Asia – and I thought it was hardly enough time to bite into Istanbul. But I got hungry for elsewheres after some days and so I went to Troy – surprised it still somewhat exists – and then I crawled into those extraterrestrial Cappadocian landscapes before hopping into Ankara real quick to see a friend. I found her neighborhood just fine, but the house numbers were neither ascending nor descending. They were arbitrary as lottery numbers and I played that lottery for two hours straight without any luck. If there was a system to them, the locals I asked didn’t know it either. Finally, after combing that 500 m radius up and down and left and right, dragged down by mounting disbelief, a most kind man invited me to his house, introduced me to his wife and son, offered me dinner and enough internet to organize my rescue mission. That is that grand, hospitable Turkey with the big wings I was telling you about.

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a glimpse

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