Final Echoes of Istanbul: A Journey in Sketches

2nd September: Walkabout in the Shopping District

By 7 am, I was already awake, craving a quiet moment before the city stirred. I slipped into Pit Noir, the café just outside the DeCamondo Pera Hotel, a perfect sanctuary for some solitude. My sketchbook opened before me, I started doodling, capturing thoughts in quick strokes. The barista, a young art student, noticed my work. We exchanged a few words, and I handed her a postcard, encouraging her to draw every day.

By noon, we found ourselves at Osmanbey station, wandering through a maze of fashion shops. The area was a treasure trove of local brands—not the designer labels but something more authentic, where locals shop for bridal gowns and evening wear. Women’s fashion dominated, with clusters of stores devoted to gowns that whispered of weddings and grand events. There was even a section for high fashion for kids—an amusing contrast to the more modest men’s section nearby.

Yet, despite the array of shops, nothing held our interest. We weren’t in the market for anything grand, so we returned to the hotel for a bit of rest.

Yit Peng had arranged dinner at Aheste, a restaurant conveniently located in the same building as our hotel. The meal was as delightful as the day had been, a fitting end to our exploration.

3rd September: Spice Bazaar to Grand Bazaar Walkabout

The day began early for me, as usual. While Shiqin and Yit Peng slept, I ventured back to Pit Noir for my morning ritual—coffee, a croissant, and some time with my journal. The familiarity of it all was comforting.

After delivering a takeaway cappuccino to Yit Peng, we set off towards the Spice Bazaar. The bazaar itself held little interest, but the area surrounding it was far more engaging. Trinkets, textiles, and other goods lined the streets, though the sheer volume of counterfeit luxury items was a bit off-putting—Hermès, LVMH, Gucci, and the like, some more convincing than others.

An unexpected highlight was a small shop specializing in yarns, needles, and all things knitting. I struck up a conversation with the shopkeeper, discussing the challenges they face competing with cheaper Chinese manufacturers.

Lunch found us just outside the Grand Bazaar, where we paid the predictable tourist prices. Despite that, the experience was enjoyable. The waiter, donning a traditional Turkish turban, was chatty, and I even managed to sketch the chef, communicating through gestures alone—no Turkish from me, no English from him.

We made our way back to the hotel, deciding to unwind with a beer at the Pera Palace Hotel, a place steeped in literary history. We had visited on a previous trip and were drawn back by its ambiance. The only place serving beer was the garden café, so we settled there.

As I colored in my sketch, an Englishwoman, judging by her accent, approached. She said my sketching inspired her. A watercolorist herself, she confessed that she didn’t sketch often. I encouraged her to do so every day and handed her a postcard as a memento.

Back in the hotel room, I decided to paint from one of my photos—a large mosque, the Nuruosmaniye. I’m considering a series on Istanbul when I return to Singapore.

By 8 pm, we were ready for our last night out in the city. After a failed attempt to reach the waterfront, we eventually found ourselves walking along the Golden Horn, stumbling upon a restaurant, Super Mario. The food was good, though the waiter was insistent on pushing the expensive items. Later, I read online that this was a common complaint. We didn’t indulge too much but enjoyed the evening nonetheless. The walk back was pleasant, the night air cool and inviting.

4th September: Solo Walk to the Art Materials District

I woke at 7:30 am, falling into my now-familiar routine. After a quick change, I headed back to Pit Noir. The barista recognized me, a brief nod acknowledging my regular visits. I grabbed a takeaway cappuccino for Yit Peng and, after delivering it, set off alone towards Galata Bridge.

My destination was the Sirkeci area, where I had purchased art supplies during my last trip in 2022. I rediscovered Hakikat Kırtasiye, the shop where I’d bought some Russian watercolor pans—seven, to be exact. I’m eager to review them later. I also picked up a few gel pens in colors I didn’t yet have.

After my shopping, I returned to the hotel to pack. Yit Peng and Shiqin had already gone out on their own walkabout.

By 2 pm, our airport transfer arrived, signaling the end of our Turkish adventure.

Our flight home to Singapore on TK208 was delayed by 50 minutes—not a bad delay, considering. We spent the time purchasing more Turkish wine, savoring one last taste of the country. Finally, we headed to the gate, ready for the journey home.

So there, the end of this Turkish chapter… touched down in Singapore 10:20AM September 5th, 2024.

Istanbul’s Echoes

Breakfast with the Woodburns unfolded under the soft light of morning, as we gathered in the hotel’s quiet rooftop restaurant. The promise of a day in Istanbul beckoned.

After a leisurely meal, we ventured out, taking the historic Tünel, the world’s second oldest underground funicular, its gentle hum carrying us through the heart of a city steeped in time.

We paused to capture photos of the street food, savoring the vibrant scenes with our cameras. Istanbul offers such delights on many corners—grilled meats rich with spices and breads that speak of ancient grains. Then, our steps took us to the Istanbul Archaeological Museums, where history breathes and the past and present intertwine.

Among the relics, I found myself drawn to a modest sculpture, the name of its creator etched clearly at the base—unlike today’s artists, who often leave only a trace, a squiggle.

There, too, was the tale of how Alexander Hellenized Anatolia, a story carved in stone, ancient yet resonant.

But it was the panels on Homer that struck the deepest chord. At last, the epic tales of the *Iliad* and the *Odyssey* became clear. The myth of Eris, the goddess of discord, excluded from a divine wedding, had set everything in motion. Her golden apple, inscribed "to the fairest," led three goddesses—Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite—to seek Paris’s judgment. This small act, seemingly trivial, spiraled into the Trojan War. And as Paris gave the apple to Aphrodite, choosing love over power and wisdom, the ancient world cracked in a tectonic shift.

For the first time, after many failed attempts, I felt the pull to read Homer, truly read him, and understand the foundation of these stories.

We wandered through the museum’s halls until exhaustion overtook us. Among the displays, the origins of coin minting in Sardis caught my eye. Here was where the first coins were struck—symbols of wealth and power from a bygone era. The Lydians, with their electrum, transformed the economy of the ancient world, and in their meticulous methods, the seeds of modern currency were sown.

After hours immersed in antiquity, we stepped back into the present, craving something sweet. Tea and baklava seemed perfect, though the ants that accompanied the dish were less welcome. Still, we persisted, dismissing the insects and savoring the honeyed pastry.

The streets, cobbled and uneven, guided us back, with street sellers and locals sipping tea adding to the city’s rhythm. The mosques rose like sentinels, and Turkish flags fluttered proudly, remnants of Victory Day celebrations. 

Crossing the Golden Horn, the evening light softened, casting the city in hues of gold. We hurried back to the hotel, rushing to prepare for dinner. The tramway shaved minutes off our journey, sparing us from tardiness.

Moise Karakoy welcomed us with its rooftop view, the skyline alive with the glow of mosques and the glitter of the Golden Horn. Seven of us sat, five bottles deep, conversation flowing as easily as the wine.

(Credit: Desmond)

I drifted in and out of sleep, lulled by the warmth of alcohol and the comfort of friends.

We lingered over dinner, reluctant to end the night, before finally strolling back to the hotel. The streets, now quieter, allowed us to ignore the bustle of tourists, walking at our own pace, savoring the city that had hosted our day.