Istanbul style.

In response to a recent entry, I received the suggestion that I should move to Istanbul. Though my plan is to stay in Southeast Asia for the immediate future, the idea is pretty tempting. One of the things I liked most about Istanbul was the distinctive sense of style that seemed to permeate the entire city. It wasn't just in the ornate decor of the Topkapi palace's harem, however. It was present in the city's everyday objects and spaces....

... from the jade green interiors of the commuter trains...

.... to the retro public pay-phones...

... to delicately painted alley walls.

*For more Istanbul style, check out these glamorous shots over at 'From the Faraway, Nearby.' It'll have you buying a ticket to Ataturk International.

Autumn Lay-over.

In Autumn of 2005, I spent 5 hours in Munich. I was passing through on a half-day layover between Los Angeles and Istanbul, and though I was unsure of whether or not I would have time to make into town and back, the helpful man at the airport's onward travel desk assured me I would. I took the train into the city, passing through a suburban forest of pale-yellow trees before arriving in town. I knew nothing of Munich, and had no guidebooks or maps, so I just wandered around the city center blindly. It was chilly out, but I enjoyed the day; I had just enough time to wander around the Marienplatz, buy a huge pretzel, and enjoy coffee at a stylish cafe before heading back to the airport.

Autumn Destination: Istanbul

Since it was the pomegranate seeds that Persephone ate in the Underworld that doomed the ancient world to four months of cold, pomegranates have long been a symbol of the changing season. I photographed this pomegranate last November, at a fruit stand outside of Istanbul's Grand Bazaar. It was a cool morning and I was awake early; the only other people out were the merchants setting up their stands. I had come to Istanbul in early November almost as a whim, but I was amazed to see what a beautiful city it was in the autumn.

I know there are a number of classic autumn travel destinations, like Vermont, Japan, and the Napa Valley; but consider Istanbul as well. At this time of year, the air gets cooler, and the leaves on the trees of Sultanahmet turn gold, matching the gilt of the Topkapi palace. The pleasures of the city are as perfectly suited for autumn weather as the rich, dark coffee on offer in Istiklal Caddesi's cafes.

Istanbul is a magical combination of the exotic and the familiar, equal parts fairy tale charm and Oriental opulence. The city's landscape features astonishing mosques, a dazzling palace, and alluring bazaars selling lanterns and richly colored rugs. It is a city deeply connected to the waters of the Bosphorus: from the deck of a river ferry, the city looks as if it is all emerging from the icy water. When sunlight filters through the early morning fog, the domes and minarets of the city's mosques appear almost as silhouetted islands.

If the wind coming from the Bosphurus becomes too chilly, Istanbul's warm interiors will welcome you in. You could browse among glass lanterns and hookahs at the Grand Bazaar, page through a novel in one of Taksim's bookstore, or admire the lavish interiors of the harem at Topkapi Palace. Or, perhaps most fitting for a gray autumn morning, you could simply wait to be invited into a rug merchant's shop, where hopefully he'll off you a warm glass of apple tea.

Turkish Delights.

While editing some photos recently I came across a stash of pictures that I'd taken in Istanbul, but had never paid much attention to. Scanning over them, I was reminded of what an amazing city Istanbul is for street-food; in particular, how on crowded streets sweets and desserts seemed to be served out of every window, and sold from stands on every corner.
Walking around Taksim Square I saw a number of people eating tulumba tatlisi, but was too nervous to attempt buying one. When I finally made an attempt to buy one on my third day in Istanbul, I nervously held out some change to the seller, giving him my best 'I have no idea what I'm doing' expression and shrug, to indicate the I didn't know how much to pay. He took some coins, and after studying my face, took some more change from my hand. I realized I was probably being ripped off, but the amount was negligible, and well worth the treat: seeing the browned ridges of the fried dough I had been expecting something like a churro, but found that instead of a dry cinnamon dusting, tulumba tatlisi is infused with a sweet honey like syrup. I ordered another on my last day in Istanbul, this time attempting to look disintererested as I handed the vendor a smaller amount of change than I had given the first vendor. He handed me the tulumba, along with a handful of small change. Pausing in front of a cluster of aqua colored phonebooths, I managed to take a photo of it to commemorate my more successful purchase.
The area around Taksim became particularly beautiful at night; in part because the rubble lined alleys and bland concrete buildings faded into darkness, and in part because of the glowing lights of shops and streetfront restaurants. Ordinary confections like cotton-candy and lollipops seemed to stand out luridly, particularly when piled in heaps or gathered in generous bundles.
This principal seemed to have been taken to an extreme by one vendor I saw at the end of Istaklal Cadessi. He sat within a tiny space between two larger stores, almost hidden by the hundreds of foil-wrapped bars of chocolate stacked around him. He was taking a drag from a cigarette when I passed him, the smoke curling around his head. I liked the look, and asked to take his photo. He sat up in his seat, attempted a dashing smile, and, unfortunately, put his cigarette away.