Istanbul (Assignment 3)

I often heard "melancholy" as the term used to convey the soul of Istanbul.


From the looks of the colorful buildings and beautiful mosques that stand proudly on Istanbul’s many hillsides, sewn together by the brilliant jade-blue Bosphorous Sea, ‘melancholy’ would seem almost insulting to describe such a vibrant place.

However, at a closer glimpse, one will take notice of the crumbling stones from these graying mosques, the gradual decay of the colorful buildings seemingly built on an unstable infrastructure (and definitely not earth-quake ready, as we are later told by Orhan), and the blatant struggle of a culture stuck in a tug-of-war between a traditional way of life and the imminent expansion of globalization.


One image that my mind constantly flashes back to is Orhan taking us to Kanyon Mall. While many of us were quick to whip out our cameras and began to snap away in awe of the meticulous architectural design of the mall, I found myself slumped against the railing, feeling sick to my stomach. As I stood there, I was overwhelmed at the sight of high-end brand named stores that went on endlessly as the mall curved into an unknown horizon. Air conditioner on full blast to relieve shoppers from the unbearable sun outside, pianist playing beautiful classical tunes to humor the mindless passerby next to an indoor fountain. All of these as indicators of class, wealth and of course, the ability to excessively splurge. The mall was its own world. After a quick walk through (for which I am grateful), Orhan lead us out of the mall and down a hill. When we reached mid-hill, he made us stop and turn around. “I just want you guys to acknowledge this view right here.” We turn to face the direction from which we came. I was utterly dumbfounded at the sheer height and size of the mall that seemingly glared down at us. Like a school yard bully, this mall was adamant with its steel structure and dark glass windows. The biggest shock? Realizing that we were standing in a dilapidated neighborhood made up of slouching buildings struggling to stand up on uneven grounds. What an extreme contrast from where we were just a few minutes ago. From Gucci to grimy in a matter of a few steps. No more Prada and Dolce, just a few local shops selling cheap plastic children toy and used auto parts scattered throughout the street front, with a few Turkish faces peering out at this group of Americans wandering through their neighborhood.

We pace a few blocks when Orhan stops in the middle of an intersection and begins to tell us the history behind the establishment of these types of neighborhoods. The concrete slabs of these buildings were plagued with cracks running throughout its surface, the bright colors were mixed with a heavy gray from years of dirt and exhaust breathing unto its façade. We learn about squatters and their “illegal, yet legitimate” establishment, along with how gentrification has played a role in not only impacting local businesses but also where and how these people live.
While Orhan was lecturing, a crowd of the local neighborhood boys began to congregate in front of us, looking upon us with curious stares and attention-craving smiles. When it was time to leave, one of the boys that Orhan talked to asked in bewilderment when he found out that we were American students, “Why would you want to come here? There is nothing to see!”

An innocent question enough, but the response is burdened with so much to say. I defended myself by biting my lip and continuing down the road. In my sheepish head, I thought up of numerous of responses, none of which I found could be summed up in a few words, none that I knew to say aloud in Turkish.

But an honest question at that, also. After all, tourists come to see the readily available Istanbul, one that offers smiling faces, ice cream men in costumes, and cheap deals on jewelry and clothes, not the Istanbul these local boys were familiar with. This version, their version of Istanbul has to be pushed into unnoticeable corners, shielded by decked out malls.

“Because your neighborhood shows the real Istanbul, a city of paradoxes, where a new western-cultivated world is juxtaposed to the opposite, a world stuck in traditional roots of self-labor and the working class.”
“Because this neighborhood, amidst shack, shambles, and renewed, holds more beauty than an overcrowded strip mall that offers cheap bargains for tourists and generic Turkish
Souvenirs”
“Because this is the Turkey I’ve been wanting to find, the one that hasn’t been overtaken by grand European/American brand; an authentic display of its people striving to survive and preserving the Turkish way of doing things and living.”
“Because this is a huge wake up call to a bunch of American University students who need to witness the spread of gentrification right before their eyes in order to possibly comprehend the issue of social inequality.”

Et cetera, et cetera…

Or simply, “Because there is plenty to see here.”

Perhaps this is where melancholy can be found. It is the feeling of seeing just how incredible, yet, tragic a place is. The understanding that culture is important, and yet succumbing to its disappearance as the western movement continuously makes its way through the streets of Istanbul. A place where polar ends meet just a step away. Melancholy. A sobering state of being. Istanbul.