TOURING ISTANBUL: Galata Bridge
Dear Foodie Fam,
Eminönü is frequented by waves of tourists. It’s in the former heart of Constantinople and hosts the historic Hippodrome, Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia and Topkapi Palace.
All that history is great but Istanbul is definitely more than just it’s past. After a day at the Egyptian Spice Market, walk on through to take in what many feel is a great example of local lifestyle: the Galata Bridge.
The Istanbul memories that float through my mind are dominated by Dutch and my Galata Bridge walks.
The bridge reaches from Karaköy to Eminönü. Before the final bridge that stands today, four more were built in it’s place, each meeting their own demises. The first bridge was built in 1845 and the last in 1912. With each renovation, business improved for both sides of the Golden Horn. Thanks to the ease at which business could be conducted, the business district of Galata and Sirkeci was founded.
It isn’t exactly the prettiest bridge. It’s first few versions were stalled due to arguments on the style in which they should be built. It’s craftsmanship wasn’t particularly outstanding- crossing the bridge, some have fallen past wooden handrails into the Golden Horn.
It’s not popular specifically for it’s craftsmanship as much as for it’s charm and stories.
The Galata Bridge to seems to amplify the consistent, determined heartbeat of the city.
While movement on top of the bridge improved business, shops and cafes burgeoning below it fostered local community.
This bridge saw oil tanker explosions and sea fires. It’s where raki was enjoyed alongside debates on politics. Its what the British officers named the card game Bridge after during the Crimean war. For a time, it was even the bridge considered “luckiest” due to a winning lottery ticket sold at one of it’s shops.
The Galata Bridge literally bridges the gap between old Istanbul’s most treasured royal and religious sites to the more modern area which is home to many non-Muslim people, foreign merchants and foreign diplomats.
Today, the bridge is swarming with Istanbul’s fishing community, wandering tourists and different vendors.
Whenever we walked the bridge, Dutch was seduced by the vibe and started clicking away at his camera. There was a lot for him to shoot: the view of all the towering landmarks and the lilting cuts each watercraft shaved through the Golden Horn to name a few.
I would leave him to his craft. I would amble down at a distance, letting myself sink fully in the moment and in the trance of Istanbul.
Walking the bridge, there were mostly local men hanging around. Friend sit back in their foldable chairs, talking as they fish. Some laugh with family over cigarettes while other brood in solitude over their’s. Most tended to buckets holding their catch. A few tended to cellphones while they waited on a nip. Sometimes, a little boy patiently learned the craft.
My favorite person to watch fishing was an elderly lady all bundled up and focused fully on her line. She caught a fish immediately after I spotted her. Aint no thang. Not her first rodeo.
I saw couples basking in the obvious romance of the view, taking selfies. (Yes, we were one of those couples. And proud of it!)
I watched ferries and boats cross the Golden Horn or dock at shore and wondered who was going home, to work or maybe a social gathering.
Walking the bridge -especially at night- I felt the city trembling with the lights of nearby mosques, punctuated by rapid blasts of car horns and buoyant with the flapping of hungry seagulls.
