Istanbul: Walking no man’s land with no name

Istanbul: Walking no man’s land with no name

There is absolutely no doubt I am stuck and torn between my past and present  ,if you could cut me in half one half would be in Kent, England and the other here in Istanbul, Turkey and I could not tell you what was the better half. It is not about the cultural differences I have learnt and become accustom to them and accepted them, my concerns and voice won’t make a blind bit of difference to anything here so I take a walk and find the good things and appreciate them.

On the first part of the walk down into Tarabya I was looking at all the daily routines of life, there were Dolmus bus drivers and taxi drivers honking their horns for business, roadsweepers doing their work, people walking with their hands full of shopping up the steep climb. There were cats and dogs searching for food in the wastelands beside the roads, the first surprising thing that comes to mind and view is the sky with no clouds in this period of diverse weather one day cold the next warm .It felt pleasantly cool today after five days of snow, has it began to melt the thaw had begun, the hills in the streets now turning into a flowing stream, the feel of heat from the sun on my face suddenly made everything feel spring like for a day. Above me the ice began to fall from the houses the trees dripping icicles onto the footpaths, it felt good to be out in the sun today.

Reaching the busy Tarabya square everyone rushing around, the occasional nod or merhaba comes my way from those now familiar faces yet I do not know their names and they do not know mine I could be the man with no name today but familiarity reduces the curiosity .Still I feel I am in no man’s land stuck in two worlds, the local street stall holder comes up behind me and taps me on the back asking to see the photographs  I took of him in the snow a week before then the shoe shiner appears and suddenly I don’t feel out of place anymore but I am still the Englishman with no name perhaps I don’t need a name.

Strolling along the Bosphorus  the wind was bitter in the sunshine, the ice cold feeling on the fingertips was a reminder it is not quite spring yet, as the sun shines once again people and couples go strolling along the Bosphorus walk, elderly men in their long overcoats with their Efes cans of beer tucked inside discreetly sitting and chatting on the benches. The Bosphorus walk a place you can just forget your everyday worries or a place to come and ponder the past and present. Across the other side of the Bosphorus in Asia the high almost mountainous hills still covered in snow, the familiar freight ships pass by alongside their seemingly like smaller siblings of fishing boats bobbing and weaving. This all seems a far cry from the busy areas like the popular Istiklal Street  in Taksim or the Eminonu district where the pace of life seems to quad triple without time to think and or appreciate. No hassling shopkeepers here just the occasional Simit barrow passes by ,after two hours forgetting how far I had walked I realize I got to walk back or do I take a Dolmus but I decide to walk it could be raining tomorrow.

Getting back to my local steep climb near home the street dogs all taking an afternoon siesta  looking like a resting pack of lions without the fearsome look ,perhaps 15 to 20 all stretched out on the wasteland at the side of the roads aligned with the sunshine on their backs. The occasional dog opens one eye as I pass bye probably only interested in food, top of the hill one looks down at me with curiosity then scatters as I approach .Suddenly four dogs surround me I start to think this not so good, a black one with one eye completely black sniffs at my foot; oh I wish was somewhere else right now and as I take my hand out of my pocket they run like mad barking and looking behind them at me as they scatter. Like me they have no name and live today in no man’s land.

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