My Ottoman Legacy: Istanbul
I grew up in different countries around the world with American mother and a German father, mostly in West Europe and North America, and thought I was incredibly open-minded and cosmopolitan. That is until I moved to Istanbul for work. I was working at the Goethe-Institute and what’s in charge of a large EU project. For it, we toured across Turkey and brought various European artists to twenty-four cities in Anatolia for readings, concerts and exhibitions. At first, my husband and I lived on the European side of Istanbul, later we moved to Kadıköy, more specifically to Moda, possibly the city’s most beautiful district.
Across from our apartment what our “bakery, a few houses down a small supermarket and a barber shop where my husband often enjoyed a shave. We loved our district with its beautiful streets. On the weekends we saunter past old wooden houses, student cafes, antiquarian bookshops, churches and synagogues. There is a fish market, the old ferry dock, even a Marxist cafe with tasty home cooking. We gave the street dogs names like Ronaldo and Zeytin. Most importantly, we had Ahmet, who ran a small restaurant on our street together with his wife. The first time we saw our flat at Moda Caddesi we landed at his place by chance. “Love goes through the stomach” (ed.), Ahmet said to us in German. Hey, we were in the district and it was the best decision we could have made.
From that day on, we ate at his place almost every day. Whenever we were wiped out in the evenings after work, we left the stress on the other side of the Bosphorus and came to Ahmet. And he brought us the most delicious appetizers, salads, main courses, desserts and tea. Every time we ask for the bill, he said for a moment, and said “He … seven”. Seven Lira! At that time it was about 3.50 Euros. It went on like that for months. , Despite his loud protests, paid an appropriate amount. Ahmet’s restaurant became our second home. We even spent New Year‘s, which he stubbornly called “Christmas,” with him and his wife. But that’s not my story, it’s actually Günter’s.
Günter is my father-in-law. He is from Leipzig and could not leave the country for half of his life. At best, the family drove to the Baltic Sea, or occasionally to Czechoslovakia. When the Wall fell, they could go to North Italy by car. Later, Günter even flew to Paris for a weekend. Günter is a very organized person. His daily routines between work and garden are timed to the minute. Somehow, Günter has come to Istanbul, which is, putting it mildly, not a very orderly city. We racked up our brains, planned a program for him and his partners, and started sharing a book while we were sitting in the office. Would Günter have the city and curse us? The dirt, the noise, the traffic! And foreign people everywhere. On the contrary, Günter fell deeply in love with the city. He really loved it! He has been animated though the streets, sat down for a beer at a men’s cafe where he was welcomed with a handshake at once. Rumeli Hisarı with its marvelous view of the Bosphorus.
One evening he picked us up from the ferry. Flower sellers often stood there, yelling “bir milyon” – a million, meaning one Lira per flower. Günter in the middle of all the hustle and bustle, yelling, “bir milyon! bir milyon! “grinning from ear to ear. That’s how it feels at home. The chewing sunflower seeds and the beads of his prayer beads are at some point. Gleaming, that he wanted to buy a house in Istanbul if he ever won the lottery. On his final night, we went with Günter to eat at Ahmet’s. In the meantime, he had changed locations. There is now a giant Ocakbaşı grill and a lot more room. Ahmet prepared the best fish for us and placed the finest delicacies on the table. Rakı and Efes were flowing, louder, and at some point Ahmet jumped up and taught Turkish men’s dance. At the end of the evening, Günter ends up in the kitchen, smoking a nargile pipe with Ahmet and his employees. Günter! A hookah! I never want to forget his cheerful smile. Günter received a small nargile as a present from a friend when he left. It now sits in his home in Leipzig-Stötteritz on the sideboard, and who knows or not smokes it once in a while.
I, too, learned a lot and experienced a lot in Turkey. I saw cities like Trabzon, Kars, Urfa and Antakya, got ripped off in Istanbul, what was on my taxi driver’s note, and what was cheating out of my security deposit. My heart almost stands still in a handyman place climbed out of the window. But the two years in Istanbul shaped me for the rest of my life and left me with wonderful friendships. Through the warmth and hospitality of the people there, I learned to invite friends and acquaintances for a coffee or meal as often as possible, and no matter where I am in the world, whether in a minimart in London or a taxi in Berlin, I always have splendid conversations about my time in Turkey.
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