The Little Village of İstanbul
I’m sure at one-point, maybe a few thousand years ago, İstanbul was a small village by the sea, that however was many moons ago. It was the first place I ever visited in Turkey.
“I’m going to İstanbul.” I might well have said the dark side of the moon, as for western eyes the word İstanbul conjures up mystery, other worldliness. Well, in my head it was just just pure excitement for no reason I could think of.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” my colleagues were saying, waving me off like a child on his first day of senior school.
It was more than fine. A heady mix of the old and new, with something to see and experience on every street corner from folk dancing to luxury jewellery shops and the man with a rabbit who predicts your future, not the former but the latter doing it with their nose.
The main tourist attractions are breathtaking from the awe-inspiring Blue Mosque to the Hagia Sophia, a then celebration of two faiths. A lesser known one to Europeans, however, is situated in an unassuming building just off the beaten track, “The Cistern.”
You enter the building and then are submerged in a subterranean world which appears untouched since Roman times. The ancient water reservoir for the city’s residents. Majestic columns and the Medusa’s head on one of them further increases the mystery and beauty. It truly is like stepping back in time.
Whilst İstanbul brims with people and noise and cancer like high rise buildings multiply at a rapid rate, shadowing the historic skyline, you can still escape to the old wooden ferry boats that crisscross the Bosphorus like an ant’s trail.
On the old rickety seats, you sit back and soak in the history. Ancient Ottoman buildings, battles for independence and for the city itself. But like my beloved Mersey River, you have no real idea just why this water way seeps through your soul and the memory of it fills you with joy and wonder, as it does to everyone.
On one such trip to the European side we stumbled upon İstanbul’s Pride celebrations which in many countries across the globe in a harmonious and joyous affair, except in Turkey.
We initially observed people singing and chanting in colorful outfits and joined in the festivities. I then noticed, thanks to my height, the police massing at the end of the street. I pushed my girlfriend in a nearby shop just as the police stormed the demonstration, with batons waving. They turned to me, my face was ashen. “Excuse me sir, would you mind staying in the shop,” in the calmest manner. “Yes, of course,” I said , crying inside please don’t hurt me.
We then took refuge in a nearby Catholic church as the fighting was intensifying. A service was taking place drowned out by the screams of fear and pain of the demonstrators. The pastor said nothing turning the other cheek as if nothing was happening. I’m sure Jesus would have flung open the doors to protect them. I was ashamed of my Christian faith.
When the noise outside started to subside, we ventured out, slipped down one of the many side streets and into a bar; the relief on my face palpable, but I was still shacking with fear and sadness. From our table we observed what looked like an old cop and robber’s movie, groups of demonstrators chased all over the city by baton wielding police officers. It was an embarrassed relief that we were not one of them or to put it another way, not gay in İstanbul.