We arrived in Istanbul after a 40 hour boat ride from Odessa; the Black Sea's rough in February. After an exhausting journey, we decided that the best way to see the city was to walk from the ferry terminal to our hostel in the Sultanahmet district. We got a bit lost and ended up at the Grand Bazaar, but the shopkeepers, known for being gregarious, were more than willing to help with directions. It was definitely the best way to see such a bustling city: minarets, cobbled streets, fountains, food vendors, carpet shops, trams, mosques and more.
“I’ll pay for the taxi,” I plead. No, my escort insists. We go by subway, though not many people like to use it, he says. Earthquakes. People are afraid. I think of that on the long way down the escalators. Scientists say the safest place in Istanbul is in the poor section, he explains. We walked there earlier ... dwellings patched together by stone, brick, wood, and mud; a puppy rooting in the dirt; chicken pens; graying lace over cracked windows; smoke rising through rusted vents. What will happen to the people who live there when the developers move in?