DAY 1: BER to IST
We made it to our gate at letzte Anruf. Our daughter was running around, getting out her energy before the 2 hour and 45 minute flight from Berlin to Istanbul. Just boarding Pegasus Airlines, a budget Turkish airline, felt we had already crossed the border. Upon noticing the first 6 rows were all empty, my Iranian (and honorary Turkish) husband gave me a look and softly says, “lets just sit HERE!” In that moment, I knew we were already far from German orderliness and deep into the flexible mindset of the eastern Mediterranean/middle east. And he was right– it worked. We each had a whole row on our flight. The captain signed my daughter’s flight log (almost full now with every flight since birth), and the stewardess and steward, both with stunning green eyes. and they gave her a dubai chocolate candy bar. No one checked our seats. On the plane I colored with my daugher and she informed me, “Mama, Lina (a friend at her kita) does not like chocolate!” We were happy. We had been happy since purchasing our tickets three weeks before. Something about trip anticipation– there is nothing like it. To know you will be transported somewhere else in the near future, for me, is my quiet joy. I could also detect a slight change in my husband’s entire being after we bought our tickets. No matter how hard our days were, we still had that excited feeling in each moment, the knowledge we were on brink of physically stepping foot in Istanbul.
Somewhere over Bulgaria I checked the state of some of my delicate jewelry I had packed in my carry-on, pulling out a pair of giant Turcomans from my favorite shop in the Grand Bazaar last summer. “Shall we tell Ismet we’re coming?” I joked with my husband about the store owner, who we have tea and coffee with every time I go there for years, but he answered with a laugh, “Sure, why not?”
Who else Whatsapps with their favorite Grand Bazaar shopkeeper?
Us! We do.
(“Ismet, we’re on our way! See you soon” “Welcome, brother”)
We love Istanbul and more succintly, I love who we are in Istanbul. I live- we live- for these moments – genuine interactions. At every moment is the possibility something hilarious will happen. Or something delicious or ridiculous or fun. It is liberating. A loosening of structure, a release of the German and western routines and predictability into something more spontaneous and alive that we come by naturally.
We are our real selves here.
And of all my travels, there is nothing like the approach and descent into sprawling, massive Istanbul. Magnanimous. Thrilling. Nothing but water until small lights suddenly reveal themselves like sprawling pindrops. A major metropolis of 17 million, four times larger than Berlin. In the daytime, a sea of red roofs and pointed minarets adjacent to domed white mosques, just as inspiring as the first day I arrived, evoking that familiar feeling that you are now entering a real city. And at night, ships dotting the Bosphorus followed by bright lights for as far as the eye can see. Istanbul, sprawling, unending, with life. My heart flutters each time.
After landing we walked to a bus on the tarmac, packed with Turks. At this precise moment my daughter chooses to randomly belt out “Dreidel dreidel dreidel, I MADE IT OUT OF CLAY, AND WHEN ITS DRY AND READY, THEN DREIDEL I SHALL PLAY, OH DREIDEL DREIDEL DREIDEL…!” As it played on on repeat as we touched down in this Islamic country I peered around genuinely wondering if anyone would recognize the tune. Inside Sabiha Gökçen we were greeted by the familiar reek of cigarette smoke as we walked to immigration. My husband glances quickly at the two lines and, as always, promptly steers (the stroller) away from Other Nationalities to the Türk Vatandaşları / Turkish Citizens line, which always makes me burst out laughing. Husband’s logic: “Isn’t it shorter?” Without as much of a care we joined the head-scarved clad teyzes and ablas and bearded men in either leather or worn suit jackets. “Biz kalbimizde Türküz,” (we are Turkish in our hearts, my husbands line in different situations daily here), he told the attractive female immigration official who gave us a quizzical look after we handed over three German passports and inquired “Siz Türk müsünüz?”
Embarrassed but not exactly ashamed, we laughed and proceeded to the smoky baggage claim under giant signs saying SİGARA İÇİLMEZ and Shaquille O’Neal ads.
After a miserably packed bus over one hour to Taksim Square, with no air or windows or wifi (old habits don’t die, even with a four-year-old) I told my husband maybe we should consider taking a taxi. I think he secretly likes being shoulder to shoulder with Turkish people and living among the people, the way we did in the summer of 2014, when we met. More on that later!
On this trip I realized that spending time in Istanbul is also something of a reset button for our marriage. We met here, got engaged, and eventually married on the shores and waters of the Bosphorus. We talk to everyone, constantly reminisce about everywhere, we know the neighborhoods, streets, and restaurants, the waiters and shopkeepers, we notice changes, particularly inflation and currency devaluation, the difference in value of the lira with every visit, the multiple entrances to the Grand Bazaar, and the maze of alleys within it, leading to Bazaaris who are now old friends. The city, as far as we are concerned, belongs to us.
Only now, we are returning each time with our child, instilling the love of this city in her. From witnessing our joy, I know she feels it too.
DAY 2: EMINÖNÜ
Ubiquitous Istanbul twirly staircases are wildly dangerous but fun. Our 3-star hotel even manages to make each stair a different height to make your way up and down from the fourth floor extra memorable.
The adventure had begun. Because in Istanbul, just leaving your residence is an adventure, even in Medcidiyeköy, which is both loud and nowhere special. We walked to the lokanta my mother-in-law has been eating nohut at every day for nearly two months she’s been stuck in Istanbul since the U.S.-Iran war started February 28. The Hakkıoğlu lokanta is on an otherwise ordinary street wıth gold shops and cats, bright and clean inside, with waiters behind the counter just waiting to take our order and fill our plates. We are greeted like family by an older man. I feel happy with the mood of the place and drool at the sight of all the dishes, traditional square trays piled with beautiful food and men living to serve it – moussaka, kuru fasulye, nohut yemeği, yoğurtlu patlıcan, potatoes with meat (tas kebap), 6 types of soup including mercimek (lentil), yayla (yougurt), and more desserts than I could count. Before sliding your tray to pay, confronted with several side salads, including a yoğurtlu semizotu, which I had almost every day, additional yogurt options of kamaklı and kaymaksız, ayran, bottled drinks and piles of fresh bread and pide, still warm.
We had arrived.
Happily tucking into our brunch, I wished every day could be like this. No matter how bad your day is going, your year, your life, no matter how worrying things might get with Turkish inflation, unemployment, or whatever misery life might bring, you could always have a delicious lunch for two to five dollars.
Someplace Else. 
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