Day Two: Living Like an Istanbulite

I woke early to find Galata Tower, so striking after dark, unusually still in the morning light as the city slowly stirred. We had only two days in Istanbul, and after spending yesterday on the move, today was really our only chance to explore. We had planned to visit quite a few places—the Basilica Cistern, the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, the Ottoman palaces—but in the end, we went to none of them.

For us, travel is not about how many sights we can check off a list. It is about briefly becoming part of an unfamiliar city: living like a local for a day. We wander through a food market, sit at a pavement café, idle in a park, or watch people come and go across a square, feeling the city breathe and sensing its rhythm. If we miss the famous landmarks, countless photographs and pages have already recorded them for us. What cannot be replicated is the moment we place ourselves within the flow of local life. These seemingly ordinary fragments are precisely what allow travel to quietly enlarge the boundaries of our lives.

The Theodosian Walls

Viking offers a complimentary shore excursion at every port of call, giving passengers a quick introduction to the destination. Participation is optional; excursions that venture farther afield or include meals and more in-depth experiences cost extra. Rather than chasing Istanbul’s most popular landmarks, we chose a gentler itinerary: the city walls, the Spice Bazaar, and the Rüstem Pasha Mosque.

The stretch of fortifications before us formed part of one of Istanbul’s most important—and most easily overlooked—historic monuments: the Theodosian Walls. Begun in the fifth century, they extend for some 6.5 kilometres along the city’s western edge. This was not simply one high wall, but a defence system built in depth, comprising a moat, an outer wall, and the main wall. For nearly a thousand years, these fortifications withstood siege after siege, bearing witness to the rise and fall of Byzantium and the transfer of power within the city.

In 1453, the Ottoman Empire deployed heavy artillery on a large scale for the first time, breached the walls, and captured Constantinople. The Eastern Roman Empire fell, in an event often regarded as one of the defining markers of the end of the Middle Ages.

Unlike ruins confined to a museum, these walls remain part of the city’s everyday life. Their courses of stone bear the marks of time, reminding us that the life before our eyes rests upon the accumulated weight of a very long history.

The Spice Bazaar

Leaving the walls behind, we soon entered the Spice Bazaar. Built in the seventeenth century, its vaults and domes enclose what feels like an indoor street. Light falls from above as crowds stream through below. Beside the New Mosque and close to the waterfront, it has long been one of the city’s liveliest—and most fragrant—places.

The Spice Bazaar owes its prosperity to centuries of trade. Spices and dried goods from the Middle East, the Mediterranean, India, and even the Far East converged here by sea and caravan, gradually making it an important centre of commerce in the Ottoman era.

The Spice Bazaar remains bustling today, its scents, colours, and voices mingling in the air. It caters to tourists but still conducts the ordinary trade of local life. Yet as visitor numbers have grown, it has come to feel more like a tourist market. We wandered around for a while, then left.

Emerging from the Spice Bazaar, we arrived at the New Mosque, or Yeni Cami. This Ottoman imperial mosque at the entrance to the Golden Horn had a troubled construction history. Work began in the late sixteenth century, halted several times, and was not completed until the middle of the seventeenth.

While we waited for our guide, the slow flow of people at the Golden Horn ferry terminal passed before us. An elderly man carrying shopping bags crossed in front of the mosque steps. Pigeons rested on the stone, and the rain-wet ground held a faint sheen. The architecture remained solemn while life moved naturally through it.

Nearby, a mother adjusted her child’s clothes beside the mosque steps. The damp stone, the passing crowds, and the ancient walls came together in one of those utterly ordinary—and utterly authentic—scenes by the harbour.

The Rüstem Pasha Mosque

Once our guide had finished counting heads, we walked together to the Rüstem Pasha Mosque, or Rüstem Paşa Camii, only about 150 metres from the Spice Bazaar. Shoes must be removed before entering, and women are required to cover their hair out of respect for the prayer space. Our guide had prepared shopping bags for everyone’s shoes. Carrying them with us kept everything orderly and gave the visit an unhurried quiet.

Designed by Mimar Sinan and built for Rüstem Pasha in the mid-sixteenth century, the mosque is modest in scale. Yet its central dome and tiered arches draw in the light, lending the interior a luminous solemnity.

The mosque’s most distinctive and celebrated feature is its lavish use of İznik tiles. Repeating patterns of blue, white, and green unfold in lucid order, displaying extraordinary craftsmanship. It is often regarded as one of the finest showcases of Ottoman-era İznik tilework.

The mosque stands above the streets and market. Climb the steps to enter, and the clamour falls away behind you. Though the space is small, the arches, window frames, and details across its walls reveal the assurance and maturity of Ottoman architecture. Beside the great imperial mosques, it feels more like a treasure hidden within the fabric of everyday city life.

Leaving the mosque, our feet returned to the stone steps and the street. A bicycle leaned against a colonnade; behind us lingered the blue of the tiles, while ahead life had already resumed. The quiet of prayer met the clamour of the market as naturally as could be, and we followed the crowd back into the streets.

As we walked away from the mosque, the hush of prayer gradually gave way to smells and voices, and the vivid bustle of the city rushed up to meet us. At a corner stall, hot chestnuts tumbled across an iron griddle, the vendor’s quick hands releasing one of winter’s most irresistible aromas.

A warm yellow light glowed from a pastry shop by the street, where the cook worked intently in a cramped space. Hair-thin strands of kadayıf pastry were wrapped around soft cheese and slowly cooked until golden, then drenched in syrup before serving. Sweetness drifted through the window, drawing in passers-by—the quintessential Istanbul künefe moment.

Before the richness of the dessert had faded, a pomegranate juice stand farther along the street was already calling to passers-by. Pomegranate juice is practically standard issue on the streets of Istanbul: freshly pressed on the spot, deep red in colour, and forthrightly tart and sweet. Locals believe it is good for the health and lifts the spirits, and often pick up a cup while browsing the markets or wandering the streets. We tried it too. Pressed by hand rather than blended, the juice had less pulp, a cleaner taste, and was easier to keep drinking.

By noon, the morning excursion was over. Our guide reminded us that anyone wishing to remain in the old city and visit Hagia Sophia or the Blue Mosque was free to leave the group. We had set aside the afternoon for the modern European quarter, so we returned with the others to Galataport, where lunch brought our walk through the old city to a gentle close.

Galata Tower

After lunch, we left Galataport and entered the modern European quarter, where the outlines of mosques seemed to appear almost everywhere. The sixteenth-century Şehzade Mosque was one of them, quietly embedded in the city. Since the founding of the republic, Turkey has embraced the principle of secularism, separating religion from state governance and making faith more a matter of personal choice.

Institutionally, Turkey is a secular state. On the streets, however, it is clear that the size and influence of its Muslim population remain the predominant backdrop to social life.

We followed the slope steadily upward over rough-hewn paving stones, our gaze shifting between narrow streets, graffiti-covered walls, and the shops along the way. The higher we climbed, the denser the crowds and the stronger the pulse of everyday life. Then, as we turned a corner, Galata Tower finally came into view.

Galata Tower was built by the Genoese in the fourteenth century, originally as part of the city’s defences and as a watchtower. Standing on high ground north of the Golden Horn, precisely between the old city and the modern European quarter, it is a key landmark for understanding Istanbul’s urban geography. The stone cylinder is upright and restrained, quite unlike the open, fluid forms of Ottoman mosques, and retains the enclosed character of medieval defensive architecture. With a wait of more than two hours, we ultimately decided not to climb it.

İstiklal Avenue

From Galata Tower, it was only a short walk to İstiklal Avenue, one of Istanbul’s liveliest streets. Suddenly there were people everywhere; it had been a long time since we had seen so many crowded onto a single street.

As we walked, we kept spotting people in bandages. Istanbul is, after all, a renowned destination for cosmetic procedures and medical tourism. With so many patients coming here, the sight soon ceases to seem unusual.

Restaurants and cafés crowded both sides of the street, most with every seat taken. Whenever business briefly eased, the owners and staff would seize the chance for a cigarette and a moment’s idle staring—before it all became busy again.

Salt Bae, whose real name is Nusret Gökçe, is a Turkish celebrity chef. A video of his theatrical salt-sprinkling went viral in 2017, turning his Nusr-Et steakhouses into popular stops on the tourist circuit.

Now and then, we paused to look at the colourful lamps in the shop windows. Their light reflected the street and its passers-by until it was hard to tell whether we were looking at the merchandise or at the city itself.

At a pavement art stall, cats had been painted as all sorts of characters—some mischievous, others languid—as though they, too, were taking part in the city’s daily life.

Cats truly are everywhere in Istanbul: on mosque steps, outside cafés, and in the shade of street corners. Locals routinely leave out food and water for them. The cats seem less like strays than fellow citizens, so it is no wonder Istanbul is often called the City of Cats.

Yeni Çarşı Street

The moment we turned off İstiklal Avenue onto Yeni Çarşı Street, the bustle fell away behind us. There were fewer people, the street narrowed, and our pace slowed. Several witty pieces of graffiti appeared on a wall around the corner, making us stop for a second look.

Customers talked softly beside a café window. A hand-drawn astronaut on the glass overlapped with the lights inside, bringing reality and imagination together.

Small tables and potted plants stood outside the restaurants along the street. There was no clamorous effort to draw people in; they simply waited quietly for someone to sit down. On one wall, graffiti silhouettes of a dancing couple lent the corner an air of easy playfulness.

One bookshop wrapped its books in brown paper and labelled them “Blind Date with a Book.” The only clues were handwritten descriptions on the wrapping; you had to choose from those and make the purchase before discovering which book lay inside. It was precisely that uncertainty that made us stop.

Farther along, increasingly design-conscious fashion displays came into view. Masked mannequins and arrangements that were spare yet bold gave the little street an independent, flamboyant character.

A woman dressed in black walked slowly past an orange wall, a reminder that Istanbul still retains a traditional, conservative side.

There was no rush to today’s itinerary, because we had skipped famous must-see sights such as Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. Quite the opposite: the day felt exceptionally unhurried. We slipped into the streets and lanes of everyday local life, giving our time to streets, markets, and cafés. We walked and stopped as we pleased, pausing to observe and moving through the city on more intimate terms—ordinary Istanbulites for a day.

At dusk, our ship slowly set sail, leaving Istanbul behind and bound for our next stop, Troy. In the darkness, the Blue Mosque glowed brilliantly. Its domes and minarets, so close only a short while ago, gradually receded along the waterway. The famous places we had missed somehow felt more like experiences already lived, quietly lodged in memory.

Perhaps we will return one day; perhaps we will not. But the scene before us already felt complete—the outline of the city, the lights, the water, and the buildings slowly falling away, all held together in a moment that could never be repeated.

When we slowed down, moved through the city’s everyday life, and tried to live as Istanbulites for a day, travel became more than arriving somewhere and visiting its sights. It became a brief but genuine experience of living. This is how we hope to continue: treating the world as part of life to be experienced, not as a list waiting to be checked off.

Treasures of the Ancient Mediterranean

The original article has been moved to this site.

Day Two: Living Like an Istanbulite

The Theodosian Walls

The Spice Bazaar

The Rüstem Pasha Mosque

Galata Tower

İstiklal Avenue

Yeni Çarşı Street

Treasures of the Ancient Mediterranean

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