Istanbul_ The Collected Traveler_ An Inspired Companion Guide - Barrie Kerper [75]
It is now evening in Kagan Gürsel’s wooden palace on the Bosporus. The veranda offers a view of the bridge across the Bosporus, on which drivers heading west are greeted by a sign that reads: “Welcome to Europe.” There is also a view of the fortress of Rumeli Hisarı, from which Mehmet the Conqueror launched his attack on Istanbul in 1453.
Gürsel, the hotelier, studied in the United States and always wanted his country to be part of Europe. But now he is disappointed. “Why should I run after someone who doesn’t want me?” he asks irritably.
Just as the Gürsels are making themselves comfortable in the library, where they like to pore over thick volumes on Ottoman history, their house is suddenly plunged into darkness. The power is out once again, another feature of life in Istanbul. And, like most residents, the Gürsels have candles at the ready.
Five minutes later, the bridge and the fortress are brightly lit up once again. Ships glide by on the Bosporus like giant shadows. The beauty of the Bosporus turns satiny black at night, and Kagan Gürsel says that he would not want to live anywhere else but in the center of Istanbul.
—Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan
Celebration Istanbul
JOHN ASH
NOT LONG ago I bought a used book at a garage sale, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness Cries: Travels in Turkey, by R. P. Lister, published in England. The title borrows from Omar Al-Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, and the book is rather dated. A few passages, though, stand out, like this one, about the author’s approach to Istanbul: “It had been bright blue weather all through the Mediterranean; now it was overcast and somber, and a drop or two of rain fell. The great city rose out of the water and loomed, where in other kinds of weather it sparkles, or shimmers. In all climatic circumstances it is magnificent.” The piece below, by John Ash, devoted to the mood, the food, and the style of Istanbul, exemplifies the city’s sparkle, shimmer, and magnificence.
JOHN ASH is a poet and writer who moved to Istanbul in 1996 and now teaches at Kadir Has University. In addition to his collections of poetry—including The Burnt Pages (Random House, 1991), Disbelief (Carcanet, 1987), Parthian Stations (Carcanet, 2007), and To the City (Talisman House, 2004)—he is the author of A Byzantine Journey (Random House, 1995) and Turkey: The Other Guide: Western and Southern Anatolia (Milet Publishing, 2001), which has somewhat of a cult following and has been described as going “beyond any guide ever written on Turkey.” In a profile of Ash in The Economist, Hugh Pope referred to him as the “leading light in a new ‘Istanbul School’ of English-speaking poets taking their inspiration from the city.” Ash has also written for The New Yorker, The Paris Review, The Washington Post, and The New York Times, where this piece originally appeared.
NO ONE knows just how many people live in Istanbul, since migrants arrive daily, but everyone agrees that the figure must be at least twelve million. It dwarfs most Western European cities, and is probably older than any of them. At its back lie the lowlands of Thrace, on which Istanbul closes its gates. Instead it looks east to the hills and mountains of Asia, whose snows gleam invitingly on winter days.
THE MOOD
Istanbul is a city absorbed in constant contemplation of an enigma, so much so that sometimes it doesn’t know itself. Is it Oriental or Occidental, secular or Muslim, ugly or beautiful, rich or poor? Here the arrogant certainty of New York or London is lacking. Its inhabitants regard their city with an appealing ambiguity and perplexity, yet it surely has as much to offer as any other