Have you ever traveled to a new city and wondered: what the essence of a city is?
Have you ever traveled to a new city and wondered: behind all the tourist attractions, culinary adventures, and beautiful landscapes - what the essence of this city is? What is it that the local people of this region unite over? What are they divided over? What is the energy of the city, and how does that translate into everyday life here? How did the city’s history shape the economic, political, and cultural fabric of society today?
I’m in Amsterdam, on the last leg of my “Europe Trip: Part I.” Since I left Cape Town a month and a half ago, I’ve gotten 3 shades darker, learned how to care for an adorable samoyed named Luna, added Turkish to my list of “poorly understood languages,” and visited five unique locations: Istanbul, Cappadocia, Bodrum, Berlin, and Amsterdam.
Unsurprisingly, Istanbul, the city where I resided the longest, has left the most lasting impression. Lately, I’ve been dwelling on the “essence” of Istanbul. Spoiler alert: it’s melancholy.
Seeing beyond the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque
Upon first arriving in Istanbul, I was quickly swept up into the vibrant night life of Besiktas streets. The Bosphorus shimmered in the distance from my friend’s apartment, and magnificent mosques seemed to grace every other block. The air was filled with the smell of roasted kebabs, cheesy Turkish flatbreads, and turkish coffee, while people hurried by, donning their finest streetwear (often counterfeit).
Yet as I gradually absorbed the new environment around me, I also began to sense the undercurrents of discontent within the city. The more I interacted with Turkish friends, the better I understood the realities of what it was like to live in under the weight of a failing economy. Official inflation rates are at 85% over the past two years, but the real figures are much higher. Rent rates has increased 200% since last year. One of my friends was lucky to have found housing for $450 per month two years ago. Today, that apartment would cost over $1000. For an average Turkish person who makes $400 a month, $4 coffees are now a luxury they can no longer afford.
Hüzün
In the Quran, Hüzün means grief over not being close enough to God, or pain and sorrow over a loss. In modern Turkish it can denote a sense of failure in life, and to retreat into oneself.
One of the most prominent Turkish novelists Orhan Pamuk (for whose writing I have mixed feelings towards), describes Istanbul in his book Istanbul: memories and a city. As a child in the 60s, he witnessed his father went from one bankruptcy to another after the fall of the Ottomans. He paints the city in heavy shades of black and white, describing the juxtaposition of old wooden houses near abandoned Ottoman ruins, the pale gray of the sky, the misty fog enveloping the dark swirling waters of the Bosphorus Strait, and the sight of Westernized Turks huddled in their black jackets during winter snow, walking swiftly past charcoal-colored stray dogs growling menacingly at one's ankles. While hüzün has it’s original definition, Pamuk uses the Turkish word to describe overlapping European and Islamic influences, and the melancholic essence of Istanbul.
After reading his book Istanbul: memories and a city, I couldn’t stop myself from seeing the city through the veil of hüzün, either.
I sensed hüzün both as the collective mourning among the Turkish people for what once was, as well as a internal turmoil over conflicting identities. East or West? Islamic or Secular? Asian or European? Where does Turkey fit within these binary labels, when it once was a dominant world power and people whom demanded recognition in its own right?
Particularly in the cosmopolitan, cultural whirlwind of Istanbul, Istanbul's hüzün feels especially most perceivable when:
Atatürk, Turkey’s revered founding father is adored on practically every corner of the country. Airports, streets, flags hung in windows, many youths even have his signature tattooed on their forearms. He led the secularization of Turkey, emphasizing scientific and Western ideologies, while simultaneously banning public use of any language other than Turkish, discouraging hijabs, and banning the iconic Fez hat entirely. But most of the Turks I talk to don’t think about these controversies. They have an undying, almost blind adoration of Atatürk.
A group of of hijabi (covered) women wait patiently for a bus at the a plaza, standing beside rowdy youths dressed in Metallica tshirts, mini skirts, and combat boots. The teens are smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. The hijabi women and punk rock teens ignore each other as I glance furtively, fascinated.
I experience Turkish elections. My Turkish friends (mostly liberal) are deeply concerned about Erdogan's conservative policies, fearing that he might steer Turkey towards a direction resembling Iran. The older Turkish men who sold us baked potatoes in Ortakoy are Erdogan supporters, chanting phrases like “Erdogan! Number One!” with both thumbs up and a wide grin on their faces. Turkish voter turnout is high, at 87% compared to the United States at 67%. Last week, Erdogan defeated the opposition leader Kemal Kilicdaroglu, securing another 5 years in office.
I pass by the grandiose Dolmabahce Palace everyday when I take Luna for a walk. The construction of this palace bankrupted the Ottoman Empire for the first time, setting off a chain of disastrous events, and ultimately ending its 800 year reign. It’s a beautiful architectural wonder to be sure, but the Dolmabahce serves also as a reminder of the cost of their hubris.
I meet a young Turkish student on the bus from Berlin to Amsterdam. In the wake of Erdogan’s third presidential victory, she and many others are eagerly seeking opportunities to work abroad because she is so distraught by the state of their economy. We also discussed the influx of Russian and Ukrainian digital nomads, who came to Turkey to escape the war. She doesn’t mind them, but their earning in dollars inadvertently led to a significant increase in rent prices, so that local Turkish can no longer afford their homes.
Quick dip in and out of melancholy
Where does Turkey fit within these binary labels [of east and west], when it once was a dominant world power whom demanded recognition in its own right?
I also think about the United States. Amidst the mounting political tensions since Bush’s election, then Obama, and then Trump’s populist rise to power; I wonder if we don’t experience our own unique hüzün here too. I hate to admit it, but “Make America Great Again” was an annoyingly powerful slogan. No matter what your political views are, every American wants to go back to a time when housing was affordable, salaries were fair, and being American means that you are an uncontested global power.
The world feels more fragile today, and more fragmented.
And yet! Here I am in a brightly colored hotel room in Amsterdam city center, pulling myself out of America/Turkey/Istanbul’s swirling hüzün, and into the world of glittering museums, sneaky coffeeshops, and deliciously sugary stroopwaffles. If the Dutch have their own version of melancholy - well, I am content to remain an ignorant, happy tourist.
Thanks for reading as always, and until next time.