Istanbul, to me, is a city that could conduct a lecture on un-photographable moments. Maybe if I were a more experienced photographer, the snapshot images that I have in my head of Istanbul would exist as tangible photographs. But since pictures can only convey a certain percentage of emotion, I don’t think even the best photographer in the world could accurately capture Istanbul’s soul. It’s a city that demands engagement: a loud laugh, open affection, public arguments. If you just glance at Istanbul with neutrality, the city itself will reject you. 

Istanbul, at its heart, is paradoxical. It’s where East meets West, and where two continents collide. I spent some mornings drinking coffee in Europe, and by dinner-time I was a few kilometers across the water eating seafood in Asia. It’s where chaos and harmony peacefully coexist. The adhan – Muslim call to prayer – echoes over the city’s speakers five times a day, the metro M2 arrives at Taksim Station every seven minutes, and the Bosphorus ferries creep across the water hundreds of times daily no matter the weather. The city is basically clockwork, among the mayhem of endless traffic, honking horns, constant construction, and cats that are so easy to nearly trip over.

I experienced my own Istanbul paradox: it was often claimed to me that the people of Istanbul were rude and angry, but I was met with nothing but kindness and hospitality from the locals. I volunteered for one month at an English-speaking academy. The students were adults of all speaking levels who committed themselves to practicing their English after work once or twice a week. I was nervous, because although I am a native speaker, I didn’t feel equipped to (informally) teach English. But by the end of my first session, I felt right at home. 

I always know a place is for me when the synchronicities start happening. Within my first few days in Istanbul, I quickly noticed that the number 444 is everywhere – it’s the nationwide code for call centers in Turkey (like 1-800 in the States). 444 is a number so lucky for me that I have it tattooed on my left shoulder. When I see it, I know I’m doing the right thing. Secondly, a few days after starting my work at the academy, I’d been walking around a neighborhood in Istanbul called Karaköy with one of my housemates. I was window shopping at a bookstore, when my housemates said Emma! Look! and I locked eyes with Mehmet, from the academy, and behind him were Qulben and Ahmet. These three live very far from where we found them, so the odds of running into them in a city of 15 million residents are slim at best. They called us over, and we enjoyed coffee and chocolates together.

Before becoming close enough to calling the academy students my friends, I spent a lot of time exploring Istanbul alone. One day, after walking for hours up and down hills, I approached an older man sitting at a small table in an alley and asked if I could sit with him for a few minutes. He said of course, and offered me Turkish tea. I tried to pay him for the tea, and he refused – I soon learned that free çay is customary in Turkey, from restaurants after a meal, from friends in their home, and from strangers on the street.  

Another day, I decided I ought to explore a neighborhood outside of Şişli, where I was staying. Google Maps told me to take the 66 bus from a station that was a nine minute walk away. The problem is, Google Maps is not always accurate regarding Istanbul public transportation times and locations. I arrived at the bus stop, and I’m waiting. Five minutes after the bus was supposed to get there, I’m waiting. Ten minutes. Waiting. A man walked towards me while speaking Turkish. I registered that he was talking to me, and I told him I don’t speak Turkish. He could’ve just walked away, but he was kind enough to use the ol’ Google Translate to inform me that the bus would not be arriving there today due to construction, but that he would walk me to the bus stop that the 66 would be arriving at. Thanks to him, I made it on time!

Over the course of my days and weeks exploring the city and getting to know those at the academy, I learned to love Istanbul and to love its people on a deeper level. I learned the true meaning of an “un-photographable moment” – a memory so inexplicably dear that I wish I could’ve captured it on camera, but no picture would have said it all anyways. Wouldn’t looking through a camera lens prevent me from enjoying these important moments to the fullest, though? Would I have laughed as much if I was trying to take pictures as while sitting outside with my friends on tiny plastic chairs eating street köfte? Would I have been able to capture the cultural tenderness of a man feeding a stray cat small fish he just caught off of the Galata Bridge?

I don’t know. What I do know is: no photographer could’ve captured the feeling of my last day in Istanbul – coincidentally, also my 23rd birthday. I was feeling a bit sad about spending another birthday away from my friends and family at home. I was even sadder that I’d be leaving this city the next day. But the friends I made over the month – they showed up for me. Over 20 people came to my birthday celebration, after the academy sessions were over. Mücahit, who rarely goes out, came bearing a beautiful gift. There was Yiğit, who that day had gotten back from a trip abroad and was undoubtedly exhausted. Even Gürkan surprised me, when he was busy with another event and told me he likely couldn’t be there. 

That night, surrounded by laughter, music, and the warmth of people who had been strangers just weeks before, I realized how much I would miss Istanbul – and its paradoxes; I would miss these friends. Istanbul gave me so much more than beautiful views and stories to tell; it reminded me that some moments are meant to simply be lived, not recorded on a phone or photographed through a digital. Sometimes, it is all too alive to be confined in a frame. 

The next day, I teared up as I hopped on the M2 for the last time, to the airport. I was a paradox: so grateful for the experience, and so heartbroken to see it end. 

Until next time, Istanbul – thank you.

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