Why Istanbul and I Don’t Get Along

A decade ago, Istanbul and I had a falling out, courtesy of a flu-ridden trip and a hotel that made budget hostels look palatial. Determined to rewrite history, I returned to this so-called “great city”—whatever that means—armed with optimism and a questionable sense of adventure.

We rolled in on the YHT high-speed train, which, in a stroke of genius, dumps you on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, miles from anything worth seeing. Taxis, we thought, would save us. Wrong. No driver would cross the water, and as we hunted, Istanbul unleashed a downpour that turned us into human sponges. Public transport was our only hope—a train to a tram, sounds simple, right? Not in Istanbul. The train was fine, but the tram station could double as a gladiatorial arena, with hundreds shoving and a vending machine that spoke only Turkish and possibly held a personal grudge. The trams were so packed we couldn’t get on them, each one a human Tetris game, so we elected to walk 1.5 km to our Sultanahmet hotel, uphill, in the rain, with packs that felt like carrying small elephants. Halfway, I collapsed into a café for a sandwich ($3) and a drink ($2), because dignity is overrated.

We staggered into our hotel, a charming Ottoman mansion with a view of the Marmara Sea that almost made me forgive the city. That evening, the owner, sensing my despair, pointed us to a rooftop restaurant with views of the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, and the Bosphorus. Dinner ($15–20) was excellent, the sunset passable. Istanbul, you’re trying, I’ll give you that.

With 24 hours before our night train to Sofia, we revisited the Grand Bazaar and Spice Market, hoping to recapture past magic. Big mistake. The Bazaar was a claustrophobic maze of tourist tat, with chai boys dodging crowds like urban ninjas. The Spice Market had more trinkets than spices, a sad shadow of its former self. Hot, tired, and thoroughly over it, we slunk back to the hotel to read until departure. Turkish Rail, in a final act of spite, parked the Sofia train an hour from central Istanbul, forcing us through peak-hour tram and train chaos. I tried to love Istanbul, I swear. Türkiye, you’re wonderful, but your star city and I are done.