1001 stories: A city tells its tale

Constantinople, Byzantium, Kallipolis, people have given me various different names. Today I am widely known as Istanbul. I have been around for thousands of years and seen many come and go. From mighty emperors like Constantine the Great and Sultan Mehmed to the countless merchants who used to cross the border between Europe and Asia with caravans. Nowadays, they come by bus, ship, or plane, and some of them don't even want to make business deals, they just want to travel for the sake of traveling. Thus, I have hosted people from the farthest corners of the world. With so many people, I can barely pay attention to every traveler. However, sometimes there is someone who catches my attention.

I cannot say what exactly made me notice the two sleepy creatures stumbling out of the bus at 4:32 in the morning at the main bus station. As usual, I had dozed off during this time, as the hours from 3 to 6 are the only quiet ones, and suddenly I woke up with a slight feeling of restlessness.

The two strangers, with the smaller one carrying a green bag that amusingly had a pixelated picture of herself on it, seemed completely disoriented. I wondered if this was some innovative marketing strategy. Believe me, I know all about it. My name and image have adorned countless mugs, bags, and postcards. I even have to admit, embarrassingly, that they have been seen on underwear from time to time.

After a while of confused searching, the two decided to book one of those vehicles they call taxis nowadays. I was curious to see if they were clever enough to pay a fair price or if the driver would take advantage of them. In the maze of streets, I lost sight of them and turned my attention to the many fish in the Bosporus, unaware that I would soon see the couple again.

It was probably early afternoon, and I was listening to the calls to prayer that simultaneously echoed from the minarets of the city. In the past, they did it without speakers and actually stood on top of the towers. I also admired my Sophia, one of my most beautiful buildings, and contemplated how people would argue about which religion it should belong to. One moment it was a church, the next a mosque, then a museum, and once again a mosque. Who could keep up? Oh, and there I saw the couple again. They walked in and looked around. They seemed to enjoy the atmosphere and observed the children running around. They even sat down to admire the architecture.

Afterwards, they walked through the narrow streets to the Grand Bazaar and were persuaded to buy baklava and drink çay, which is what the locals call black tea. They seemed to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the streets and even haggled with a spice merchant. In their faces, I could see the fascination of the unknown and the determination to absorb all the new impressions.

Over the next few days, I saw the couple from time to time. They made friends with a carpet seller and patiently listened to his explanations about the ancient tradition of carpet weaving and how some of them were used as saddlebags for horses. They also played chess in one of the many tea houses. During a morning walk to the Bosporus, the man learned more about photography and they took pictures of me in the glow of the rising sun.

Gradually, I lost sight of the couple. They probably continued their journey and discovered other places. Perhaps the distant sea or the mountains that I have heard so much about...

1001 stories: A city tells its tale

Constantinople, Byzantium, Kallipolis, people have given me various different names. Today I am widely known as Istanbul. I have been around for thousands of years and seen many come and go. From mighty emperors like Constantine the Great and Sultan Mehmed to the countless merchants. Once they arrived on foot or camel in large caravans, nowadays they have reverted to using ships, busses, and planes. I have always harboured citizens from the most remote places and thus my streets are bustling with humans of various religions, skin colour, and cultural background.

With so many lives present at every moment in my bounds I can hardly keep track of everyone entering and leaving. However, sometimes humans manage raising my interest.

I cannot say what exactly drew my attention to the two slightly ragged looking figures staggering sleepily out of the bus this morning at 4:32 at the Otogar (one the bus stations). I had, as usual, dosed off, as the hours between 3 and 6am are the only that permit some sort of rest, when I had a tinkling feeling and awoke. The two strangers, one taller than the other, seemed completely disoriented. The smaller of the two was carrying a green bag with, and I perceived that in mild surprise, a pixelated image of herself imprinted on it. Was this some new way of marketing? (I know much about these things, you must know, as my name and image decorate manifold bags, posters, postcards and I must admit even underpants.)

After a while of confused search, they decided to use one of the small vehicles they call taxis nowadays. Would they be clever enough to pay a reasonable price and not be outwitted by the taxi driver? No, they fell for it, as so many others before them. Disappointed I averted my attention to the fish lurking in Bosporus, not knowing that the couple would soon catch my eye again.

It was mid morning and I listened to the many muezzins calling at the same time. Years ago they did it without speakers standing on the minarets. I was looking at my Sophia, one of my most precious buildings, contemplating how much fuss humans make about which religion it should belong to. One moment it’s a museum, then a mosque, though originally Christians built it. Oh, and here these two people were again... entering and taking in the atmosphere. They observed children running around merrily and even sat down for a while to marvel at the architecture.

Afterwards they made their way through the narrow streets to the Grand Bazar and were talked into buying Baklava and have Çay. They looked as if they enjoyed the busy commotion and even attempted to haggle with a spice merchant. In their faces I could see the fascination of the unknown, the expectant glow and the will to take it all in.

During the next days they occasionally catch my eye again. For example they befriend a carpet merchant and listen attentively to his explanation about the ancient tradition of handmade carpets and rugs and how they were used as saddle bags for horses. The male learns more about photography during an early walk to the Bosporus to capture the sunrise in pictures.

Eventually I lose track of them and imagine they have traveled further, maybe to the faraway sea or the mountains I have heard so much about...