“I think that we all must know a Daniel. Someone who aches to fill all of the deep spaces in their heart with good vibes, train tickets, and filthy hostel sheets. They live between points on the map, pocket pennies from odd jobs – teaching English in China, maybe, or shoveling dirt on a farm in Argentina – until they’ve hidden away enough to hop to another point, and another. But they’re always a strange mix of happy and unhappy; yearning and fulfilled; itching and running. As if their soul shattered at birth, and all the little fragments scattered about the corners of the globe.” Kristen Hedges
If you are a passionate globe trotter like me, you have probably cracked a wide smile while reading this. That was exactly my 1st experience at World House Hostel in Istanbul, where I have met curious backpackers from the most unlikely places of the globe. In each one of them there was a “Daniel”, as contrasting, ancient and soulful as Istanbul itself.
Each day, I would sit for breakfast by the window, watching travelers, shop keepers and cigarette smokers all march in a natural fashion, protesters too. I was once told by a random stranger to “Look at life in the face”.
I woke up to the soul-piercing call of Adhan. I was baffled by the exuberant sunrise that welcomed
It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon in Istanbul. I run through the meandering lanes of the Spice Bazaar, seeking shelter. The smell, the soft tapping of the rain and humming sounds inside the bazaar as people halt their activities; all, made it a perfect Sunday afternoon.
After hours of walking in the bazaar, the bus took me through the sweeping water sceneries of Bebek neighborhood, only to find myself at a local fairy station in Karakoy. The Asian side was more than just a solace, whenever I wanted to escape the city’s frenetic pace. Alarmed by the sound of the engine, I followed the crowd of passengers as they rushed off the shore to the ferry.
The boat embarked, slowly leaving the shore and
touristy area behind. You observe Galata tower as it shrinks little by little until drowning . You watch seagulls trying to keep up with the boat, in the foam and cold water. The fresh air
awakens you senses and you get a little dreamy along the way. I felt my lungs
inflate with the fresh scent of the ocean. I still remember how liberating it
feels, just to be there on that specific time, in that peculiar space.I could take a ferry everyday. Literally. The engine screams. The anchor kicks the bottom.. The humming of passengers takes over again in some resonant language, signaling the end of your dreamy voyage. Buildings start to vaguely appear. You are officially back to the modern world.
I made my way through merchants and Simit sellers by the harbor. I sat in a café next an old German style Opera, where I could still see the floating shadows of Minarets in the water. Aoud melodies from the Opera were played, in some exquisite notes, as if probing the mysteries of your psyche like a detective. It has a strange sound, this instrument. It strikes your sorrow and lifts you up, gracefully.
I was caught in a protest in Istanbul. Although we were a couple of streets away, we couldn’t escape the effect of teargas. We were running and teargas kept spreading rapidly between tight streets and tall buildings. We kept running, having no clue which road led to which way. I was gasping for air and my eyes turned red. My allergy has worsened and I lost breath. I stopped. My friend handed me a small scarf to cover my mouth and nose. A group of people came running from the opposing street. There was no road left to go.
We thought it’s the end. One way there was tear gas and
the other there was police with batons. A
squeaky door has opened. A tall bearded guy took us inside the shop. We were
saved! We went to party in the same evening.
While I'm here in Tunis, I still feel that I am
missing out another life, with every subtle detail. I miss that minutia of
daily life, especially certain unique sounds; public transport, a woman in high
heels in a feeble attempt to catch the ship and boats horn by the Bosphorus.
Sounds are such an interesting way to relate to
a space, especially one with so much layers of history like Istanbul. It makes
me want to listen to Arvo Part's Spiegel Im Spiegel and think -in black and
white- about all these people from about a hundred years ago, who were in same
ferry I took not so long ago. With some imagination, it struck me how these
people are not so different from us. They are us, in a way. They are Humanity,
just as much as we are now, and those who will follow us.
Aren't old-fashioned means -be it a ferry,
an old train or a just a small package sent cross- culturally - as
fascinating as modern ones? To me, they are. They add to Istanbul’s
impalpable beauty and diversity, where the old and new interact in every facet
of life.
At the end of the day, we are all a “Daniel”, travelers
full of uncertainties, making our way through life but are not afraid to
experiment. It’s all about that elusive state. Freedom. But at the same time, we thrive to keep our
leeching roots to the pulse of this next great thing to come.
