There are many things that make Istanbul, Istanbul.

The imperial splendour of its Constantinople-era mosques and palaces come to mind at once. Then there is the old city of Sultanahmet, where some of the world’s most historical heavyweights and architectural bellwethers reside. And of course, who can forget the bustling labyrinth of a life-altering experience that is the half-century-old Grand Bazaar, a certified Ottoman grandeur that serves proudly as the quintessential tourist initiating rite into the chaotic whirl of Turkish commerce culture?

Life explodes every second when you’re in Istanbul.

Everywhere, neverending currents of people meet and mingle from sunrise to sunset; at every bend, the Bosphorous sends out a fresh gust of urban soundtracks that is equal parts Euro and Arabesque. In Eminonou, the traffic is so thick seven days a week that you can scarcely cross the road without risking a certain death. Sirens wail, metals clang, pedestrians weave through a frenetic ballet of darting trams and honking taxis – all moving in a seemingly choreographed chaos that is at once reckless and mesmerizing – and for many, this cacophonic display is an utter, multi-sensory delight.

And yet, for others, all this can prove a little too much to bear.

The world was fresh out of a post-pandemic haze the first time I met Turkey. It was the beginning of the end of an interim, a time where daily buzzwords like isolation and quarantine were slowly becoming a vestige of the past – and if I were being completely honest, my heart was far from ready for new-world normalcy. Somewhere between isolation and full recovery, I had gotten used to travelling as if travel were a private affair, and I hadn’t expect full recovery to come so quick. I’d come to thoroughly relish the luxury of emptiness as I travelled through spaces typically notorious for its tourist crowds. I savoured the remarkable absence of queues and badly behaved tour groups. I was so deeply enjoying airlines deliberately leaving seats between you and the next person that I was almost affronted to discover my flight to Turkey full (the year before, I’d flown to Germany with my entire row- yes, all nine seats of it- empty).

And when I finally got off a boisterous eleven-hour flight from Singapore to Istanbul that, in retrospect, feels like a precursor to what I should have expected; it was like stepping into a whole new world that never knew Covid existed. It was a Saturday afternoon, my hotel was right in the heart of Sultanahmet behind the Blue Mosque; and everywhere I turned, it was rammed end-to-end with people and traffic.

Where is the Covid? I remember screaming silently in my head.

I was barely an hour into Turkey – and already I was exhausted. And as if I had a clear death wish, I thought a good way to self-soothe would be to dive headfirst into Istanbul’s legendary Grand Bazaar.

Marketplaces of all kinds have always been known to restore my spirits with high efficacy, whether home or away. There’s just something about poking around labyrinths and pathways and discovering an unexpected blend of food and wares that makes every step you take echo with all kinds of possibilities. Naturally, I made the mistake of assuming that this Goliath of a marketplace would feed my soul exactly the same as all the other bazaars had – and it did, except it didn’t. Because for a moment, I’d completely forgotten where I was. This isn’t just some bazaar. It is the Istanbul Grand Bazaar – and the Istanbul Grand Bazaar is no garden variety bazaar.

It is a theatre of life.

The entrance, an ornate gateway adorned with more than five hundred years of history, beckons you into a world that exists beyond the constraints of time; and as you step inside, you’re immediately enveloped by a kaleidoscope of sensations where every vendor, each the main character in his own narrative, heartily weaves tales of splendour with their wares. They charm you with charismatic smiles, offer you a taste, a touch, a glimpse, a story. Here, he who hesitates is fleeced, and you soon learn not to make eye contact with anyone if you aren’t particularly serious about buying anything. These master sellers have powers of persuasion that rival Han Dynasty caravans on the Silk Road, and no ploy is left unturned to get your attention.

I was so profoundly knackered by day’s end that even my bones had a leaden weariness to them- but, it was an elusive fatigue that had no solid reason why. After all, I’d only managed to strike a couple of places off the “List” – and between the numbers of places I had earmarked to go and the amount of time I had left, I actually felt like I was not travelling fast enough.

And so for the next couple of days, I continued to pile on my plate in what felt like a seemingly neverending quest, clocking an excess of thirty thousand steps a day, hopping from mosque to palace to church back to mosque again- all in a desperate attempt to grasp the fleeting essence of this ancient city through sampled glimpses.

What eluded my grasp back then, was that Istanbul is not a place anyone should come to with a “List”. This is a land of just too many must-sees and must-dos; and to be blinded by the pursuit of an arbitrary finish line- especially set in five to six days tops- will almost always end up with us seeing and doing, quite regretably, nothing.

EMBRACING LOSTNESS

It is not easy to be Istanbul. It is a city that is not quite clear whether it joins or separates two continents, whether it separates or joins two seas – but interestingly enough, the answer to these questions do not lie with geography – but with us humans; and that is why Istanbul appears so remarkably different to every eye that looks upon it. To some she smiles, to others she frowns. Such is Istanbul with its diverse faces that I am almost inclined to answer – whenever anyone asks if Istanbul is worth a visit – that it depends entirely on your person.

My last three days in Istanbul were so spectacularly different from the first three that I could not believe I was in the same city. The only thing that differentiated both legs was, I suppose, how I chose to engage with her. In the beginning, I was so engulfed by the madness of every corner of the city wanting my attention that I could barely catch my breath. Each day left me more tired than the one before; and when I finally snapped on the third and decided to ditch my “List” altogether for the search of real local life – once which, I suspected, was very likely untouched by the chaos of the city centre; suddenly, it was like a whole new private Istanbul opened up for me.

Cobbled lanes; blooming bougainvilleas; quaint yalis with elaborate wooden intricacies aged by sea salt and centuries. Like a hidden world, the quiet of Istanbul slowly unfurled before me like an age-old Ottoman odyssey. Coloured laundry flapped on lines across narrow streets that I could meander without hassle (or being hassled). Eccentric enclaves with pockets of intrigue, shaded street stands with artistic eccentricities spilling out to the cobbled streets, secret courtyards that danced to their own whim.

Here, even the Bosphorus flows calmer.

When I finally stopped trying to find my way through Istanbul and sought to lose my way instead- one thing became immediately clear to me: Istanbul is not built for a tourist’s dalliance; it is an expedition made for posterity.

This is a place that can be as quiet as it can be loud; as contemplative as it can be crazy. And indeed, what makes losing one’s way in a place like Istanbul even more so attractive is the fact that, it is actually impossible to do so. No matter how its roads twist and turn, you will, inevitably, always find yourself back by the Bosphorus, a nature-appointed guardian that cradles both the city’s European and Asian ends and keeps her safe while ensuring that her dwellers- both permanent and transient- will always find their way back no matter how far they are from the beaten path.

EXPLORING THE JOY OF MISSING OUT

If someone came to Istanbul and only had a few hours of time in their luggage, I would put them on one of those weathered public ferries along the Bosphorus Straits and sail them off to the furthest end, far away from everything they think they should see.

Miss it, I’d say. Miss it all. Miss the Blue Mosque and Haga Sophia and the Galata Tower and all that’s in between. Go where the human footprints are – not necessarily low- but lower; and feel the real cadence of this age-old city before plunging into its frenzied city currents. Build a two-way relationship, interact on a more personal level, and give your full attention to all the littlest things along the way, like the vibrant spices piled high at Karaköy’s markets; or the aroma of freshly baked simit wafting from the best bakeries along Arnavutkoy; or even the rhythmic clinking of glasses from Balat’s teashops… here, the roads are pedestrianed and paths are narrow, but neither humans nor traffic jostle for space; and life flows so much wider here.

FOLLOWING YOUR CURIOSITY

“We wait, starving for moments of high magic to inspire us but life is full of common enchantment waiting for our alchemist eyes to notice.”

– Jacob Nordby

It’s in these pauses that Istanbul truly does the talking – and the second you find her hilly labyrinthine streets a voyage in its own right rather than pain you have to ‘endure’ in order to get to all those places you need to tick off a list, you will know that you have succeded in seeing Istanbul for who she really is – with or without her ‘Top 10’.

Forget your fear of missing out, I’d say. Forget your fear of missing out, and discover the joy of missing out instead.

Oh – and also, drop that list.

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Enjoy Istanbul. I know that, at the end of it all, I truly did.